Page 33 of Beyond the Hedge Maze

He shoved a large bite of hummus in his mouth to stall, trying to figure out how he wanted to answer this question. “I don’t technically work for him. We work for the same company, but he works in the Chicago office, and I work for my cousins in London. It’s fine, I get to meet new people all the time, which I like, but I don’t know, that’s all it is. Fine. It’s only for another year.”

“You’re quitting?”

“I guess. That’s when my sentence is up, at least. I promised my dad three years of working in exchange for Cambridge.”

“And your plans for after that? Will you move back to the States?”

“I don’t know what I’m going to do. I don’t really want to move home, but it might make the most sense in the end. Sean always jokes that I’m like a lost puppy waiting for someone to take me in, to give me a command and a good home. Maybe he’s right. I have to admit that it was nice to have the decision made for me of where I was going to go work. Avoided the soul searching bit, I guess…”

Jesse’s voice trailed, and with it, his thoughts as he let them run amok. Maybe he should stay working for Emerson; maybe someday he’d find a spark there. Alternatively, if that didn’t work, maybe he’d hide away and continue ignoring his problems. He could move into one of Uncle Albert’s rooms and haunt Chapman House instead. At least he’d be close to Oliver.

“And Sean is your…boyfriend?” Oliver didn’t look at him as he asked, seemingly occupied by ripping a napkin into tiny pieces.

“You ask a lot of questions.”

Oliver looked up from his paper massacre, and Jesse smirked, leaning back on his hands. He stalled for time and let his eyes roam all over Oliver. Today he was wearing light colored trousers and a dark blue, almost black, cable knit sweater that made his blue eyes appear like they were glowing. He made a show of looking him up and down. It was lecherous, he knew, an indecent perusal. And with each second that passed, Oliver’s cheeks turned more and more red.

Oliver’s retort was snarky and quick. “You keep answering them.”

“Sean is my best friend. Not my boyfriend.”

“Cool. Interesting, in fact.”

Jesse decided right then and there that he wasn’t reading too much into these meetups with Oliver. Oliver was clearly fishing for information.

“It is cool. Maybe even interesting.”

Oliver glared at him, and Jesse’s smirk stretched to a grin, his eyes nearly squinting shut. Oliver stretched his foot towards Jesse, kicking him lightly in the shin. Instinctively, Jesse grabbed it, his thumb finding the smooth skin covering Oliver’s ankle bone under the hem of his trousers. Oliver took in a sharp breath and instead of letting go, Jesse continued, gently caressing the spot, fanning an early spark he hoped would catch flame.

CUCKOO. CUCKOO. CUCKOO. CUCKOO.

This time it was Oliver who was first to his feet. “Come on!”

Another fit of giggles erupted from their mouths as they split up and scurried around the room, looking for the source of the sound.

CUCKOO. CUCKOO. CUCKOO. CUCKOO.

Jesse knew he must be standing right on top of it; the sound was so clear. There was a small group of clocks sitting on the floor in front of a large grandfather clock pressed against the wall. “I think it’s over here!”

Oliver scrambled over to him, pressing his shoulder against Jesse’s. They stood, holding their breath as they waited, and Jesse wished for a little more time. A little more space between the third and final chime.

CUCKOO. CUCKOO. CUCKOO. CUCKOO.

They both looked around to the clocks at their feet and on a nearby shelf, none of which were making a sound.

Jesse ran his hands through his hair again. “I’m going to lose my mind.”

Oliver crouched down, inspecting the clocks on the ground, holding each one up to his ear to check for a ticking like Jesse had done earlier. Suddenly, he perked up, setting down the last clock in his hand. From his position on the ground, he pointed to the grandfather clock. “It’s in here.”

“So you’ve lost your mind. This isn’t clock-ception, Oliver. There’s not going to be a clock inside of a—” Oliver opened a small hatch at the base of the grandfather clock, and pulled out a tiny, birdhouse shaped cuckoo clock. “Oh. Well. It seems as though there was a clock inside of another clock.”

Oliver threw his head back and laughed, and Jesse joined him, snatching the small terror out of his hands and inspecting it at eye level. It was so cute. A dainty box with finely carved wooden detailing. Jesse decided that its fate would not be met with the blunt end of a mallet, but only if he could put a stop to the winding mechanism.

“I wager this room is going to be a lot less entertaining now that you’ve found it,” Oliver said.

“A lot more peaceful, you meant to say.”

“You know, when you get tired of Uncle Albert, there’s a rather impressive collection of cutlery downstairs.”