Chapter Twenty-Eight
Gloves on, I threw myself into sifting through the bags of donations. Thankful for the distraction, for decisions that came easily. The black and white of “yes, we can sell that,” and “no, that’s trash.” Clarity, in judgment calls I felt like I was actually qualified to make.
I’d miss it, even if I didn’t love the schedule juggling, and the sometimes-flaky volunteers, and the occasional black garbage bag with contents that stank of ammonia.
Running the store didn’t exactly pay all that well - though I’d managed to save a decent amount, what with living with my folks and the hand-me-down truck - but it’d felt stable, and I could tell myself I was doing some good, somehow.
This new job, in the city, felt altogether more nebulous.
I’d heard the details as though through a haze.
Instinctively retreating, automatically wanting to hold the possibility of leaving at arm’s length.
Now, I was kicking myself for not asking all the questions freshly simmering in my brain.
I knew how to stand behind a counter and ring up sales, and how to dig through other people’s junk looking for potential treasure.
Could I possibly live up to the expectations of something more serious than that?
I could text Flynn, and tell him I’d had second-thoughts.
Claim to have been caught up in the moment, to have lost sight of what my responsibilities were here.
To point out - not unfairly, according to the skeptical little voice at the back of my skull - that we were rushing into things.
That it was quite possibly madness, to decide to date, and live together, and have me move across the state to make all that work. All in the space of one day.
Ten times, twenty times, thirty times, I felt my heartbeat race and the fear of change sweep through me.
Fingers itching to pull the phone from my pocket, to tap out excuses.
And each time, I reminded myself that I’d want to take off my dirty gloves before I started messaging Flynn, and that stopped me.
Ridiculous, really, for the thought of wasting a pair of cheap nitrile gloves to prove so powerful.
And then I looked up, as the bell on the door rang, and his grin flashing at me from across the aisles reminded me that I’d only have regretted sending that text, just as soon as I next saw him.
I felt like vaulting the counter and hugging him, though given there were other people in the store that seemed ill-advised.
At least, assuming Flynn wanted a chance to tell his parents himself, rather than have them find out via the always-efficient town rumor machine.
I limited myself to a beaming smile, instead.
He sauntered over to the register. “Afternoon, shopkeep.”
I rolled my eyes, but my smile remained undimmed. “Can I help you with something, sir?”
Flynn glanced around, at the rails of clothes and the shelves of old kitchen appliances and ornaments. Then did a double-take, frowning. “Are those snow globes?”
I chuckled. “Yeah, for some reason we had three separate donations this week. Clearly the festive season is over.”
He shook his head, looking bemused. “Well, I was thinking more along the line of pants.”
It seemed as good an excuse as any to glance down. The black jeans fitted him just swell, to my eyes.
“The rail right behind you,” I suggested.
Flynn winked, and then turned to browse.
It was difficult to concentrate, with him being there. No, impossible to concentrate: his presence was like a magnet for my eyes, my attention constantly dragged from the bags I was meant to be sorting, to where he was working with studious focus along the rack.
I’d assumed his request was an unserious one, an excuse for him to come to the store and distract me. Only to be surprised, then, when he finally returned to the counter, a few pairs slung over his arm.
“Can I try them on?”
I gestured at the cubicle.
Somehow, focusing on the donations was just as difficult, with the knowledge that Flynn was getting changed only a matter of feet away from me.
The clatter of the curtain rail made me look up, sharply. Just in time to see him beckon me over.
Gingerly, like I was walking into a trap, I crossed the store.
“What do you think?” He turned, craning over his shoulder to see his ass.
They were perfectly nice slacks, in a serviceable corduroy. “They look fine to me. Maybe a bit short?”
Flynn chuckled. “I forget whether that’s fashionable or not, now. I’ll try another pair.”
I went to step away, but he caught me by the arm. Looking at me pointedly, until I stopped trying to pull from his grip.
The curtain was still only half-drawn, but my body just about blocked the rest of the doorway. Or, at least, I hoped it did, since Flynn seemed eager to strip off what he was wearing.
I swallowed, past the lump in my throat, at the sight of him down to his briefs. Crisp white, the waistband only just covered by the hem of his t-shirt.
“Were you missing me?”
The question was like a jolt, a reminder that we were not only in public, but where I worked. My face burned.
“Maybe.”
Flynn smirked, knowingly. To give him his due, it wasn’t like I’d been all that discreet as I checked him out.
“I missed you,” he said, softly. Voice low enough that I knew it would only be paranoia that had me glancing around the store to see if we were being overheard.
Which meant I glanced around, of course, as my self-consciousness swelled. The smirk was only wider by the time I met his eye again.
“I realized I don’t have enough photos of you,” he continued, still holding my gaze. “I was having to entertain myself from memory alone.”
“How inconvenient for you.”
He glanced down, which meant that I automatically did, too. Just in time to see him cup his hand around the swell of his crotch, hefting his junk through the crisp white cotton.
“Flynn,” I said, carefully.
“Yes, Oli?”
Said with such practiced innocence, I could scream.
“I’m at work.”
He leaned forward, so that he could peer over my shoulder. Left, then right, then left again, his chest against mine as he did it. He smelt of sandalwood and something deeper, spicier.
“You don’t seem to be too busy,” Flynn observed.
“Even so,” I said, trying to keep my voice level. “Maybe we can pick this up later, when I’m back home?”
He pulled away. “Or, counterpoint, we could skip the waiting part.”
I knew what I should say; what the sensible, careful, adult thing to do was. Problem was, the words wouldn’t come, and my silence was apparently permission enough.
His eyes were narrowed, bottom lip caught between his teeth. “I wanna kiss you so fucking bad.”
As I watched, he pulled up his t-shirt, half-exposing his chest. Abs clenching. It’d be so easy to take the half-step closer, to run my fingers down his skin.
A cough, from across the store. I very nearly jumped out of my skin.
“Can I pay for these, when you have a moment?”
The barest turn of my head. Just sufficient to call out, over my shoulder. “Coming!”
Flynn was still breathing hard when I looked at him again. No hiding the grin, though.
Carefully, I took a step back. Pulling the curtain as I did it, hoping that discretion was sufficient to hide the half-naked man inside the cubicle.
My hands were sweaty, as I returned to my spot behind the counter. Glad of the waist-high barrier between me and the fifty-something woman with her armful of blouses, even if I’d have preferred the opportunity to readjust myself.
“Sorry about that,” I told her, brightly. “Was just helping a customer figure out his options.”
She was gone by the time Flynn emerged. The shop empty, in fact: a few more sales rung up, and nobody to catch him as he yanked the curtain across and winked at me.
“You’d better be buying something, after all that.”
Flynn grinned, crossing over to dump the pants he’d picked out on the counter. “How could I resist, with the quality of service here.”
I snorted as I started tapping prices into the register. “You’re impossible.”
“Impossible to resist?”
Reaching over, I grabbed a fistful of his t-shirt and pulled him to me. Enjoying his expression of surprise, the way he licked his lips just before I pressed mine to them.
It was a quick kiss, all things considered, but still a sloppy one. Flynn’s eyes gleamed when I released him.
“So does this count as busy, today, or...” His question was left dangling.
I frowned, trying to process the stab of defensiveness I suddenly felt. “I mean, maybe? We’re only a small store, really, and this is hardly a huge town, and it’s after the holidays, so...”
“Oli, stop.” His interruption was soft, to match his smile. “I wasn’t criticizing. I’m just curious about your day.”
I nodded, mute. Suddenly not quite trusting myself to speak without blabbering more excuses.
Flynn glanced around the store. “You’ll miss working here.”
It wasn’t clear if it was a question or a statement. I nodded again.
He fixed me with a look. “When they offered you the new job, what was the one thing which stopped you from just turning it down? Because I know that was your first instinct.”
My memories of that conversation were blurry, from surprise and disbelief. None of the certainty of the letter they’d followed up with, black ink on a white page.
“Well, I didn’t know you then. Not properly, I mean,” I said, haltingly.
Flynn chuckled. “This wasn’t me fishing for compliments.”
“They talked about the more-money part and the better job title, and all that stuff. And that sounded great, but...”
“But that’s not what’s most important, in Oli Carter’s world,” Flynn supplied. Smiled at my shrug. “So...”
“I asked them why, exactly, they wanted someone doing that particular job. Trying to find the hidden gems, why did it really matter? Couldn’t each community decide what was most valuable to them?”
“It’s a good question.”
It’d felt like more like a dangerous question, when I’d voiced it. A foolish one, too: second-guessing how necessary the job you’d just been offered actually was.
“They said it was about taking a step back, and seeing the bigger picture. About not just what individual communities wanted, and needed, and could benefit from most, but joining the dots between those communities. And it was about money, sure, and making the most from every donation, but I - well, whoever got the job - would be in the perfect place to make sure nobody got forgotten along the way.”
Flynn was grinning at me. “Only you could take a management job, and somehow make it even more local than what you’re already doing.”
“I’m just...”
“Adorable,” he interrupted. “You’re just adorable. And I’m biased, because you’re also my adorable boyfriend. But even if I wasn’t, I’d have to be blind not to see they picked the right guy.”
He was vibrating, practically, with a strange, brimming sort of energy.
Enough to make my fingers itch to pull him into me again; to drag him, bodily, across the countertop - half-sorted piles be damned - and onto the floor.
And then, well, fuck whoever came in through the door: they could see what they pleased.
Perhaps the hunger was visible on my face, or maybe Flynn just felt some of it too. Enough, anyway, for his grin to blossom into a beaming smile.
“When do you finish?”
I glanced up at the clock on the wall. It hurt to look away from him. “Five.”
Only a few hours, and yet I knew the waiting would be interminable.
“I’m meant to go back tomorrow.” Said, not like an ending, but a lure. “You could start moving your stuff, if you wanted.”
I blinked at him, wrong-footed. Brain skidding, from our flirtation to this practicality delivered with the same tenor. “That’s...”
“Too soon?” Flynn licked his lips again, watching me intently.
I shook my head. “Not... not that. I’m just...”
He cocked his head; no mistaking the invitation there.
“I’m meant to be working,” I explained, “and I need to pack, and... well, and contact head office. Accept the offer, officially I mean.” I took a deep breath. “There’s just a lot to do.”
Flynn nodded, slowly. “If I’m pushing you too fast, we can slow down. I can just go back on my own, for now.”
The picture, bright in my mind’s eye, of him climbing into the big SUV and - with a wave, a look that could only feel meaningful - pulling away and down the street.
How my stomach would feel, clenched and roiling, at saying goodbye.
The way I knew I’d kick myself as soon as he turned the corner, for being so damn cautious.
“No,” I told him, with a finality I knew the rest of me would have to catch up with. “No, let’s get this thing started. There’s no point in wasting time.”