CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
FINN
Riley walks out the door, and through the window, I see him slouch back into the garage. Only a moment after that, he takes off on his motorcycle.
The night of our failed date, I went to his apartment twice, pounded on the back door and even tried to talk to his window, but I got no response. His reaction at the cafe stung, but I also remembered the note he wrote me as NotAnOgre. The more I processed what happened, the more I just wanted to find him and tell him the truth, that it’s me.
It would have been easier if I could have at least sent him a message as MorningEnthusiast, but Clay didn’t have my bag after all. He had a bag of art that Kavya was sorting, using the Bloom bags when her own boxes ran short. It wasn’t until yesterday that I located my stuff in the basement of the craft center, and with my phone, was able to two-factor into my secret email again.
I finally sent a message to his NotAnOgre account, asked him to meet up again so I can explain in person, but I’ve heard nothing back.
I’ve kept a careful eye on the garage, expecting to see Riley arrive fifteen minutes before everyone else for work each day,or to huff down the street to either the burger place or the taco place at noon. But he never seemed to appear, and as time stretched on, I found myself pausing, thinking carefully about what I wanted to do.
I’m going to tell Riley the truth, that’s for certain. I’m just still trying to understand what that truth means to me.
I busy my way around the ice cream social until everyone disperses, back to work for the remainder of the afternoon. The event has been a success, the mechanics and the rest of the block mingling and having a generally noncombative time together. A few people linger to thank me for hosting, and soon the foot traffic picks up, keeping me occupied for the rest of the day.
When there’s still no sign of Riley at the end of the day, I hang up my apron and decide to take a walk around the gayborhood to sort my thoughts. It’s a gorgeous evening, warm with a gentle breeze, and I have a lot to get my head around.
I keep returning to Riley’s words at the café. His immediate reaction was that he didn’t want to see me, and he found a particularly hurtful way to express the sentiment. He ran away from me then, and he ran away this afternoon, too. In fact, he seems to always be running away from me, bristling and retreating when we start to get closer.
It stings when he acts that way, a kind of rejection. And it makes me wonder if he can see through his own emotions enough to notice me, especially when it most matters.
As uncomfortable as it is knowing that we’re pen pals while he’s still in the dark, it does give me time to process all of this. My initial joy is still there, something in my heart hoping that this is right. But if all these emotions are real, if I’m seriously on the edge of falling in love with Riley, I need to know that he’ll be there for me. That his would be a love that I can rely on.
My head spins. Even if he is right for me, I’m not certain that Riley won’t retreat.
In his letters and in person, he’s always insisted that he’s fine on his own. He sees himself as a misfit and a loner, and I know how quick he is to put his walls up. But I also know what I see, and I see the rest of the mechanics looking to him with respect. I see his friend Chase trusting him to run his business. I see Riley doing his part to bring the bikers together and find peace with the rest of the gayborhood, and willing to apologize and work to make things right, too.
And I don’t only know Riley the gruff mechanic. From our letters, I know another side of him, sensitive and passionate. He cares about other people and doing right. He’s entirely, honestly himself, and I like that about him.
Now that I can apply what I know from the letters to how I understand Riley, I only appreciate him more.
There are happy couples and throuples strolling around the gayborhood, scattered among the groups of friends. Everyone seems to be smiling tonight, laughing together. I see one of the librarians take her girlfriend’s hand, while beside her, Leon breaks a cookie in two and hands half to his husband.
Could Riley and I be another happy couple in the gayborhood? Would he hold my hand when we walked down the street?
I picture us both at the bookstore, leaning in close as we scan the shelves together, and a warm smile fills my face.
Maybe Riley really will decide that he wants to be a loner in the end, that his fantasy of buying a house with a husband and adopting dogs is just that. Fantasy. It hurts to imagine, but I have to accept that it’s a possibility. Even if he ultimately retreats from me, though, I know what I want.
I want to give us a chance.
The next morning, I’m determined to track him down. If he’s avoiding the garage, and potentially avoiding me, I know where he lives. I’ll knock on his door and wait him out if I have to.There’s no telling what’s going through Riley’s head after our failed meetup, and I’m done waiting for my opportunity to find out.
As I restock the display case and get The Scoop ready to open, I notice a man running frantically up the block. A moment later, a woman goes sprinting after him.
Concerned, I walk to the front door. When I step outside, there’s a young guy jogging in the same direction.
“Glube spill!” he says with a gasp. “It’s a Glube-alanche!”
Alarmed, I look up the street in the direction they’re running. A couple blocks away, there’s a small crowd gathered near the Glube store, and a glistening mass of Glube flowing out the door and oozing down a side street. After I lock the shop, I jog up toward them all, and I see that it’s headed straight toward the crafts center.
“Oh no!”
Nicholas and Clay jog up beside me. “It’s true!” Nicholas says, gasping for breath. “He’s been hoarding lube.”
Clay shakes his head. “This is a disaster. I knew that building had structural problems.”
