Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Jesse
Jesse’s heart thumped wildly as he tried to look over the sheet of newspaper that he and Arthur had printed together.
Colorful spots peppered his vision. He felt so lightheaded that he could barely even see the text.
After taking a couple of long, slow breaths, the printed page finally came into focus.
Unfortunately, half of the words were still completely illegible.
The ink was too light. Which meant that, if Arthur wanted a perfect sheet, then the two of them would have to recoat the platen and try a second time.
Dammit, Jesse had known that he ought to have told Arthur to circle around to the other side of the press before they started; that way, Arthur could have helped him coat the platen with ink more evenly from over there. But he hadn’t.
He’d been too excited, too enamored, by Arthur’s closeness to think clearly.
The moment that Arthur had pinned him to the press, Jesse’s brain had momentarily become blank, reality itself blurring completely.
Jesse may have even . . . holy hell, had he made some kind of comment in the middle of everything?
Worry churned in Jesse’s stomach as he thought back on it. He really hoped not.
“Did I make a mistake loading the paper?” Arthur asked Jesse, coming up behind him.
Close behind him.
Much, much too close.
Arthur’s hand settled on Jesse’s shoulder. Jesse sucked in a breath, his fast-beating heart stuttering. Slowly, Arthur began to stroke Jesse’s shoulder with his thumb.
Jesse stilled. What on earth was happening?
Someone as rich and important as Arthur Hughes must have been taught not to be so familiar with someone he barely even knew.
Arthur couldn’t have been this oblivious to how these sorts of touches could be perceived.
Unless . . . Arthur wanted them to be perceived like that.
Oh, hell.
Jesse pretended to study the page as he considered the option of recoating the platen in the same, erroneous manner so that he could feel Arthur pressing up against him once more.
In a small voice, Jesse replied, “No. No mistakes loading the paper, but . . .”
Arthur’s scent filled Jesse’s nose as his words trailed off. It was musky and earthy and tinged with notes of violet. And it made Jesse want things. Things he shouldn’t have wanted. Things like feeling Arthur’s weight pressing him into a mattress.
Fuck.
It seemed like Jesse Wolff hadn’t learned his lesson. But Jesse O’Connor needed to do better.
Shutting his eyes, Jesse mentally prepared himself to explain to Arthur the reason why the print had turned out poorly. Even though part of him really wanted them to try one or two or even ten more times the wrong way so that Arthur might pin him to the press again.
“We coated the platen incorrectly,” Jesse forced out.
“Oh.” Arthur furrowed his brow. “Shall we try a second time, then?”
“Yes, only you’ll have to stand opposite me.
Take the handle from there.” Jesse pointed to the other side of the press.
He set the paper on the closest table and walked over to the machine, trying his best not to focus on the shame he felt for the fleeting fantasy he’d had of Arthur taking him to bed.
He picked up the ink roller. “When you were . . . behind me before, we wound up putting too much pressure on only one side of the roller. It caused the ink to be unevenly distributed.”
“Ah, yes, that makes sense. I should have asked before I . . . well, before I took it upon myself to—”
“Yes,” Jesse clipped. “You should have.”
Jesse’s stomach tightened from the ire in his words.
Every Goddamned second of this teaching session, he’d been feeling as though he was at war with himself, fighting these fast-burgeoning feelings for a man who was supposed to be exactly the kind of person he hated.
Even if Jesse had the slimmest chance of his feelings being reciprocated, he knew that it wasn’t smart to let himself want like this.
Because if something ever happened between the two of them, then Arthur could see to it that Jesse never worked in printing again. And then where would Jesse be?
Arthur spluttered a soft, “Sorry.”
Jesse’s stomach tightened even more. Dammit, regardless of what might happen should he ever surrender to these foolish feelings, Arthur had been so friendly toward him thus far. Jesse ought to try to be cordial at the very least.
“No, it, uhm, it was mostly my fault,” Jesse explained, softening his tone. “I should have known that the roller wouldn’t work as well with the two of us on the same side.”
Arthur smiled weakly, unmistakable hurt still lingering in his eyes. Jesse sighed.
“Really, Arthur, I shouldn’t have been so curt with you,” Jesse said. “I’m sorry.”
Arthur’s weak smile broadened a little.
“Apology not accepted. I know I can be a handful.”
Jesse let out a fast breath through his nose, almost huffing a laugh. Arthur Hughes calling himself a handful. Percy had been too serious, too self-important, too snobbish to have ever made a remark like that about himself.
Jesse headed over to the other side of the press.
He reminded himself that he needed to try to ignore the percolating feeling of want still thrumming through his veins.
He needed to pretend that he wasn’t interested in Arthur.
Or, hell, that he wasn’t even aware of what Arthur had been so obviously trying to tell him over the course of the morning with his overtly playful remarks and his too-familiar touches.
Leaning over the press, Jesse held up the roller and instructed Arthur to take the opposite wooden handle. Then, together, they coated the platen. Afterward, Arthur positioned the paper near the cylinder. And then Jesse turned the crank. All the while, Jesse tried not to let himself want.
After the paper flopped out, Arthur hurried over to take a look while Jesse returned the cylinder to its original position.
“It looks perfect,” Arthur said proudly, his eyes scanning the page.
Jesse inspected it. “Mmm . . . not bad.”
“Does this press always require two people to operate it?”
“Ideally,” Jesse replied.
Arthur began tapping his lips with one of his fingers, covering the lower part of his face with his hand. It seemed to be a habit of his. One that Jesse found terribly endearing. Jesse’s muscles tensed as he braced himself for what Arthur might say next.
“Would you want to help me talk about this one, then? If I’m asked to show the organizers how it works? Or, otherwise, if I’m ever asked to demonstrate how one of these presses operates at one of the private events at the fair?”
Jesse’s stomach fluttered and twisted, making him feel both ill and elated at once.
“I . . . could,” Jesse said, cautiously. “I hadn’t really settled on visiting the fair myself, though.”
Arthur’s big, beautiful eyes went wide.
“What? Why not? It will be the most spectacular event of the century.”
Jesse snorted. “Well, that’s a bit of an exaggeration.”
“Is it? I mean, there will be new inventions to see. New foods to try. Electricity!”
“I’ve seen electricity.”
“God, Jesse, so have I. I have it in my home.” Jesse barely resisted the urge to curl his lip.
How fortunate this man was. “But not like this. Trust me.” Arthur let the sheet of newspaper flutter to the floor.
He was seemingly incapable of placing these things on tables where they belonged.
After a moment, Arthur took a step toward Jesse and placed his hands on both of Jesse’s shoulders, his movement wrought with urgency.
“You must visit the fair. At least once.”
Jesse’s stomach fluttered some more, both from the feel of Arthur’s touch and from the slightly harrowing realization that he couldn’t manage to not enjoy Arthur’s unbridled, child-like enthusiasm. Arthur really was the most ridiculous man he had ever met.
“I’ll consider it,” Jesse said reluctantly.
“Good.” Arthur released Jesse’s shoulders and took a step back.
“Well, regardless of whether or not you intend on seeing the rest of the fairgrounds, it seems to me that you’ll have to see the hall where the printing presses are now that you’ve agreed to help me.
” He paused to raise his eyebrows a couple of times, his expression playful and eager.
Oh, God, the man’s personality was intoxicating.
“And I bet that will entice you to see the rest of the fair, then, too. Perhaps we could explore it together, even.”
Jesse mentally fumbled for a response. Arthur was being way too familiar with him. He wasn’t even bothering to pretend to be subtle anymore. Arthur wanted him. Jesse was sure of it. And God help him, he was starting to want Arthur, too.
Arthur cleared his throat, his smile faltering as though he took Jesse’s silence as rejection.
“Anyway . . .” Arthur rubbed his hands together for a couple of seconds. “I think it would behoove us to head to my other shop now. I wouldn’t want to keep you late today.”
It seemed that Jesse’s stunned silence had saved him. For now.
He managed a soft, “Yes, I think that would be best,” in response.
So, Jesse and Arthur put on their hats, gloves, and coats, and headed over to Hughes Press. It had been a long time since Jesse had operated one of the larger presses, but he was confident that he would remember well enough to provide a basic overview.
Cold winter wind whipped around them as they traversed the streets of Chicago.
Once the two men had made it a half of a block, it began to snow.
Catching a few fat, wet snowflakes on his gloved hand, Jesse wondered whether the snow would stick.
It was probably cold enough. In fact, it was rather surprising that there hadn’t been much snow over the past few weeks, when compared to some previous Januarys.