“Yeah, I might still need to go away those dates,” I suggested, trying to sound casual.“For work, I mean.”
He reached over his shoulder, fingers kneading the back of my neck.“Don’t even fucking think about it.”
Delivered with a sort of blithe amusement, yes, but I had no doubt that the repercussions would be entirely serious were I so foolish as to actually book something that weekend.
“Fine, fine.It’s just they’re going to be so...”
He chuckled.“Mom-ish?Interested in every little thing?Obsessively cautious about seeming intrusive, yet simultaneously asking the sort of questions usually only a doctor or a therapist would dare voice?”
I sighed, feeling even worse about the prospect.“All of the above.”
“We should be grateful they get on,” Flynn reminded me.“Plenty of people aren’t so lucky, with their in-laws.”
I nudged him with my elbow.“Don’t you dare say ‘in-laws’ when they’re here.You know full well they’ll only jump to conclusions.”
“I can’t believe you refuse to make an honest man out of me.”
I stood up, hoping there was still coffee left in the pot.“Considering it’s only been a month since I moved into your room, I think put-a-ring-on-it is a touch premature, no?”
Flynn’s grin told me he was only kidding around, though I also knew the way he held out his mug for me to refill was deathly serious.
“It made sense, and you know it.”
I agreed, if only because it’d become interminable, moving all my stuff out of the way when we had weekend guests.Which - to Flynn’s amusement, and my simmering frustration - had proved to be the case more weekends than not.Finally, I let myself be swayed by his argument that our sharing a bedroom was the best idea, even if only for logistical reasons.
“It was cute, having you come knocking at my door when you were horny,” I teased.
His expression suggested he remembered things differently, an argument I knew neither of us would win.
“We could just tell them we’re busy,” I said, nudging the topic back on track.“Or, suggest that they stay in a hotel, at least?”
“They’re our parents, Oli.And your best friends.And it’s not like we don’t have the space.”
I sighed.“You’re too nice.”
“And generous,” Flynn reminded me, smiling.“And handsome, and flexible, and physically-demonstrative in imaginative ways.”
“Insatiable, some would call it.Like a horny teenager.”
He reached out, hooking his fingers into my belt and pulling me close.His knees pressed against my thighs.“We missed each other’s teenage years, remember?So now we’re just catching up on lost time.”
Seven months in, and the ‘catching up’ hadn’t lost any of its enthusiasm.I didn’t have any other relationships to compare it to, but it was hard not to conclude that - for all my fears at the outset - things were going well.
Flynn liked to tease me that I was still “holding my breath” and waiting for disaster.Then again, as I invariably reminded him, he’d turned out to be the “go to therapy and spill out all the dread” type.Maybe dating was easier if you had one of each sort.
My biggest fears hadn’t had a chance to come true, anyway.I missed working at the thrift store - well, seeing the regulars, at least - but my new job had been a revelation.Without the unpleasant squelch of ominous garbage bags to deal with every day, I could focus on helping stores around the region pluck out the rare and the unusual.
I’d already been on three road trips, grudgingly borrowing Flynn’s SUV - which I still didn’t quite trust - and returning with the trunk and rear seat packed full of everything from porcelain dinner services to vintage stereos.Each email felt like an opportunity to willingly dive into some deep research hole, curiosity whetted by a cellphone snapshot of an unusual vase or elaborate beadwork on a jacket.
Best of all, I was getting to know the other Olis, spread around in a patchwork of thrifts that were all invariably struggling, and always essential to their local communities.A little network of gems, each getting more and more proficient at spotting their own “diamonds in the rough.”Making sure they got the credit, and that their towns benefited from the proceeds, left me kicking myself I’d waited so long to leave my comfort zone.
Not that I’d tell Flynn that, of course.He’d only say “I told you so.”
His smug expression, when I caught him staring at me as I pored over my laptop, spoke volumes on its own.I’d given up on cussing him out for it; defaulted, instead, to flipping the computer around to show him “the dreaded spreadsheet.”As it happened, running a local thrift store on a shoestring budget had a surprising amount of overlap with trying to rein in the financial excesses of your smart, generous, but periodically-profligate boyfriend.
“What are you grinning about?”
The question dragged me back to the kitchen, and the smell of coffee and fresh donuts, and the curious look on Flynn’s face as he tugged my belt, pointedly.I plucked the phone out of his hand, and set it down on the counter.
