Chapter Twenty
Sam usually picked up the mail from the box outside the office, but that morning, Connor was running early for a job and decided to check on his way to the workshop.
He liked thinking of ways to make Sam’s day a little better—mostly because he liked thinking of Sam—so saving the man a chore or two had the bonus of making Connor’s day a little better as well.
It had been two days since the events at Connor’s apartment, and his skin still tingled when he thought of how good Sam looked splayed out naked on his sheets.
After Sam had gone home that evening, they’d stayed up late texting back and forth, neither of them wanting to be the first to say good night.
When Sam had shown up for work the following morning, Connor found it hard to wrench himself away.
Out on jobs, it was difficult to focus. Yesterday, he’d forgotten to change the setting on his multimeter and blew the internal fuse.
He hadn’t made a rookie mistake like that since his apprentice days.
Connor opened the mailbox and fished out the stack of mail.
Among the bills and circulars was an envelope addressed to him, with the Oakdale town logo printed on the bottom corner.
Connor stepped into the office and dropped the rest of the mail onto the front desk.
Then he thumbed open the tab on the envelope and pulled out a single-page letter with his name at the top. As he began to read, his heart sank.
The door jingled, and Sam walked in, holding a brown paper bag. He often stopped at the bakery on his way to work and picked up treats for them to share. “Good, you’re here. They had the apple turnovers again.”
“What’s this?” Connor held out the letter.
Sam put the bag of pastries down on the desk and took the piece of paper from Connor, his eyes scanning the contents. “Holy shit.” He looked up with a grin. “You’re a finalist in the Oakdale business awards!”
Connor had to work to keep his voice even. “Sam, I thought I made it clear that I didn’t want to do this.”
Sam folded the letter and turned it over in his hands. “Okay, yes, you did say that.”
“And I meant it. Look, I have no interest in being in the limelight. I don’t need the extra attention.”
“Why not?” Sam asked. “You could always do with more attention. That’s how you grow the business.”
Connor sighed and paced the threadbare carpet in the middle of the room.
He wasn’t sure he was having such a visceral reaction to this because Sam had nominated him without his knowledge or because the prospect of standing in front of the town and pretending he was some model citizen made his toes curl.
“Is this about you thinking you’re not good enough?” Sam prodded gently. “Because if you weren’t deserving, they wouldn’t have picked you.”
Connor opened his mouth to retort but couldn’t argue with Sam’s logic.
“I want to show you something.” Sam moved behind the desk and pulled open the bottom drawer.
He took out several photocopied sheets from a folder and handed them to Connor.
“I made copies as evidence in case I had to plead forgiveness. Well, except Mrs. Thatcher’s. That was a grab-and-go situation.”
Connor shuffled through the pages and saw they were handwritten testimonials from his clients.
A business that goes above and beyond the call of duty. Connor came out after hours to help me get the power back and didn’t charge extra.
I’m on a fixed income, and he offered a payment plan I could afford.
This is what small-town service should look like.
“I didn’t have to do much, really. Your work spoke for itself. Even the judges saw that,” Sam continued. “And I’m sorry I went behind your back, but I felt like you needed to hear it from someone else. Your dad’s opinion isn’t the only one that counts.”
Connor glanced up and caught Sam’s knowing look. He stacked the papers together and placed them on the desk. Maybe that was it. Here he was again, preempting his old man’s disapproval. “I don’t know. It’s so showy. Like I’m putting myself out there.”
Sam gave Connor’s sleeve a playful tug. “So put yourself out there. This is a chance to celebrate all your hard work. Show everyone what an awesome job you’re doing.”
His face beamed with a confidence Connor didn’t share. He couldn’t help but feel Sam’s faith in him was misplaced.
Then Connor remembered at school, when he’d shown up late to lab and their biology teacher, Mr. Monroe, had paired him with Sam—the only kid left in class without a partner. They were supposed to note down the different parts of a cell structure and determine whether it was plant or animal.
Sam explained this quietly before moving the microscope with the first slide over to Connor. “What do you think?”
If it had been anyone else, Connor would have shoved the thing back with a deadpan “Nope.” But the way Sam addressed him, with every expectation that Connor was, in fact, a thoughtful and diligent student, made him pull the microscope closer and peer down at the squiggly smudge on the slide.
He’d spent the rest of the lab hyperconscious of the proximity of Sam’s elbow to his arm and obsessing over how their fingers had touched for the briefest of seconds when he’d passed the microscope back.
“Okay, okay,” Connor said. “Enough with the pep talk. You’re lucky I find it very, very difficult to be mad at you.”
“I was kind of banking on that.” Sam leaned in, the tension diffusing as he planted a kiss on Connor’s mouth. Then he let out a sigh of relief. “I’m glad that’s settled.” He unfolded the letter again, unable to hide his excitement. “It says you get to invite four guests.”
“Well, you’re coming, of course,” Connor said. “You roped me into this, so you can suffer through the proceedings.”
“And your parents,” Sam replied matter-of-factly. “That makes three.”
The reluctance must have shown on his face because Sam shot him a pleading look. “Ask them. You don’t know what they’ll say until you do.”
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea—especially with how my dad feels about the whole thing. I’ll think about it,” Connor said, if only because Sam looked so hopeful. “But if I do, you have to bring your mom.”
Sam groaned. “And I just know she’ll be desperate to come.”
“Not sure why you’re complaining. Lily’s great.”
“That’s Mrs. Bryant to you, Finnis.”
“I’m charming enough to be on a first-name basis.”
Sam raised an eyebrow. “Charming, huh?”
Connor smirked and moved in for more than just a peck.
Sam arrived early at Thistle Inn for trivia Thursday night. Not as early as Brian, though, who’d already nabbed them a table. He threw up his hand and waved Sam over.
“Here.” Brian tossed a rolled-up black T-shirt onto Sam’s lap when he sat down. “It’s official. You’re a Wise Guy now.”
Sam grinned and shrugged off his jacket to pull the team T-shirt on over the shirt he was wearing. “Thanks. Not sure I’m much of an asset, but I’m honored to be a part of the team.”
“By the way, the other night—what a goddamn revelation!” Brian said, his eyes widening. “Do you know how many of Jules’s friends we’ve tried to set Connor up with? We were starting to think he was either extremely picky or an ax murderer.”
“Okay, calm down. This is all new for him,” Sam said, remembering the shake of Connor’s hand when he closed the door after Brian left.
“I just feel like I’m seeing him with fresh eyes,” Brian gushed. “Like all the stuff I couldn’t put my finger on makes perfect sense.”
Sam couldn’t help but smile. It was sweet how invested Brian was in Connor’s life. The two of them were good friends; he hadn’t fully realized that until now. It must have been a relief for Connor to see how accepting Brian was—especially considering how long he’d kept him in the dark.
“He hasn’t told his parents yet.”
“Right, I figured as much,” Brian murmured. “Wait—back at school, did you know?”
Sam shook his head. “It’s a fairly recent discovery for me as well.”
“You guys are too fucking cute together. I can’t deal.”
Sam laughed. “Whatever, man.” He felt so much lighter now that someone else knew. It made it seem more real somehow, a tiny step in the right direction.
“Nice threads.”
They both looked up to see Connor had arrived at the table. Behind him, Marcus and Evie followed with the beer.
“I know, right? It suits him,” Brian said as they all took seats. “How long have we been searching for that elusive fifth player?”
“You sure about this, Spielman?” Marcus teased, picking up the pitcher and pouring beer for everyone. “Last week, Sam was convinced The Beatles’ first single was ‘Hold Your Hand.’”
It was a fair point. Sam was undeniably shitty at trivia. “I won’t pretend to be as fanatical as the rest of you. I do have a life,” he shot back.
“To Sam.” Brian raised his glass, and the rest of the team followed suit.
Sam glanced across the table at Connor, who was grinning widely. It was like being accepted into the man’s inner circle.
“Finnis, you’re going to have to tutor our newest recruit,” Brian said. “Get him up to speed.”
Connor gave a resigned shrug. “I can’t perform miracles.”
Sam snickered, and the two of them exchanged a look before he realized he needed to tone it down lest it become obvious to everyone else that they were flirting. The thought summoned a prick of unease. He was finding it harder than expected to be careful about how he acted around Connor in public.
Sam had met men at varying points on their journey, and while he believed there was no right or wrong timeline for these things, he hadn’t been involved with someone who was closeted before.
He tended to gravitate toward the out-loud crowd.
Having copped enough shit growing up, it would be a step backward to start pretending.
But being with Connor felt so right, and his situation was complicated.
Connor had done a lot of work on himself to come to terms with his sexuality.
It was his father’s illness and their tumultuous history where things got stuck.
His fear of damaging the relationship further was what stopped him from living an open life.
Is it fair to risk imploding the situation with his father so I can feel validated?
Telling Brian was progress. Perhaps it would give Connor the confidence to finally broach the subject with his parents.
Connor’s foot brushed against Sam’s ankle under the table, and Sam was hit by an all-too-familiar rush of anticipation.
Just a look from across the room or the innocent brush of Connor’s hand on his shoulder was enough to flip Sam’s switch.
Sam took a swig of his beer and stroked the inside of Connor’s calf with the toe of his shoe.
The circumstances weren’t ideal, but then, when he’d moved back to Oakdale, he hadn’t exactly planned on falling for someone—let alone Connor Finnegan, who treated Sam like the highlight of his day. He couldn’t bear the thought of calling that off over a technicality.