Chapter Eight
Jesse
Hours later, Jesse finally finished composing the newspaper formes.
He was suddenly very thankful that the only newspaper printed by Putnam was such a small one, each week’s paper only a few short pages, the contents filled with happy news stories and simple advertisements.
Because now, he could spend more time with Arthur elsewhere.
Unfortunately, the minute Jesse completed his work, two other employees showed up at the shop.
Only Thomas Grant and Ellis Williams, but still, Jesse knew that, from that moment forward, he and Arthur would have to be careful not to act too familiar with each other, which would be that much harder now that they had kissed.
Just as Jesse opened his mouth to tell his colleagues that the formes were ready and that he ought to be leaving, he remembered that Arthur wanted to take a printed sheet of paper back home with him.
“Would either of you mind if I printed a test sheet?” Jesse asked as Thomas and Ellis both worked to remove their coats.
At the same time, both men muttered “no” in response.
Arthur clapped his hands together, and a big smile stretched across his face as he exclaimed, “Wonderful!”
Jesse’s cheeks caught fire instantly.
“Dammit, Arthur,” Jesse wanted to say. “Stop being so charming.”
Instead, Jesse walked over to the Grasshopper, and Arthur followed.
Pretending that he was merely providing some sort of refresher lesson, Jesse re-explained how the press worked while Arthur looked on, pursing his lips and nodding as though he was very intrigued, clearly having caught on to Jesse’s ruse.
Together, they printed the test sheet. Once it was ready, Jesse picked it up so that he could pretend to look it over. But then, even though he was only supposed to be pretending to check it, he noticed a small error in one of the lines, and his face fell.
Arthur came up behind him. “What is it?”
Sighing, Jesse said, “One of the lines reads ‘Swift and Company Wool Soap. Four in a qack. Someone chose a q instead of a p.”
“Ah.” Arthur rocked back on his heels. “Mr. O’Connor . . . isn’t that one of your lines?”
Jesse’s muscles tensed as a pinprick of self-reproach twisted in his stomach. It was one of his lines. Cheeks burning, Jesse began to walk back to the table so that he could fix it, but Arthur’s voice stopped him.
“You’re right to be upset, Mr. O’Connor,” Arthur said.
“With the way the paper reads right now, it is rather misleading. Why, had I picked up tomorrow’s issue with it like this, I’d have been confused as to why the soap was made from wool, rather than feathers.
” Jesse tilted his head, and Arthur grinned.
“Ehm, because ‘qack’ is sort of like ‘quack’?”
Jesse threw his head back and groaned while Arthur began to chuckle, though Jesse then found himself smiling a bit, too. Arthur’s funny remark seemed to have had the infuriating and wonderful consequence of easing the familiar sting of self-reproach.
Arthur lowered his voice to a whisper and said, “You see, I knew there was a part of you that enjoys my silliness.”
Jesse’s heart stuttered. Sometimes it seemed like Arthur was making a sincere effort to not be inconspicuous.
“I need to fix the paper,” Jesse said, intentionally ignoring Arthur’s too-familiar remark. “Do you want a corrected sheet, Mr. Hughes, or—”
Arthur snatched the paper out of Jesse’s hand.
“No, I’ll keep this one, thank you,” he said, folding up the paper.
Arthur tucked it into his inner breast pocket and then patted it like it was a treasured keepsake and not the pitiful evidence of Jesse’s mistake that it really was.
Jesse tried not to let himself obsess about it as he fixed the forme.
He had to endure a bit of light teasing from Thomas over his error, regardless.
God, he couldn’t wait to leave. For oh-so-many reasons.
Afterward, once Jesse had corrected it, he walked over to the punch clock. Arthur came with him.
“I ought to be leaving now myself,” Arthur said. “So, I would be happy to see you home, Mr. O’Connor. I imagine that the streetcars can be very unreliable right now, what with the snow.”
“Uhm . . . yes, that would be helpful,” Jesse said carefully. “Thank you, Mr. Hughes.”
In only a matter of minutes, both of them were ready with their outerwear, and the moment they were outside, Arthur let out a forceful exhale, as though those last few minutes they’d spent in the shop with Jesse’s colleagues had been the most trying of his life.
“We can, in fact, travel together to your neighborhood, yes?” he said before then tacking on Jesse’s name in what had to have been the most playful tone of voice possible. “Mr. O’Connor.”
Smiling, Jesse let out a breath through his nose. “Assuming you still want to spend time together, yes, I should hope so. I’m not waiting for a streetcar while you ride over without me in your winter carriage.”
“Actually, I came here in a sleigh. One of those Albany cutters.”
“Really? Where is it?” Jesse asked, raising an eyebrow.
“I left it with my horse,” Arthur said with a shrug.
Dear God, had the man ever set foot outside his home?
Jesse wrinkled his nose. “Well, I hope it’s still there. Someone may have stolen it.”
“Oh, God, that’s not likely, is it?” Arthur asked, his eyes widening. He immediately whipped his head forward, then let out a sigh of relief. “Nope, not stolen. I see it there.”
“Next time, you should find a place for it.”
“Well, I typically travel with my coachman. But for what I hope are obvious reasons, I came here by myself this time. Truthfully, I’ve only ever taken the sleigh out one other time, and it was when I had traveled to see a friend of my parents’, so I simply left it in their mew.
I wasn’t sure where I was supposed to park the thing when I came here this morning. ”
Warmth swirled in Jesse’s chest. Arthur had changed his method of transportation for him.
It was so unexpected, so unlike what Jesse would have ever thought someone like Arthur would do, and, oh God, it was so incredibly sweet (though a little stupid, too, since the man hadn’t had the sense to move his presumably expensive sleigh off of the street corner).
After a few more paces, Arthur and Jesse reached the sleigh.
Thankfully, it had stopped snowing a while ago and not much snow had fallen into it.
Arthur walked over to his horse. Meanwhile, Jesse ran his hand over the sleigh’s painted wood—red with black-and-gold trim—and then took notice of the fabric on the seat, which was nearly the exact same shade of crimson.
It was one of the nicest sleighs that Jesse had ever seen.
He hadn’t seen many of this size, either.
Normally, in the wintertime, Jesse saw some of Chicago’s wealthier families traveling in carriages whose wheels had been replaced with runners, and that alone brought on a blizzard of envy.
He’d felt envious of those even as a kid.
Jesse could still remember the first time he had seen one.
He and his father had been visiting a market outside their little neighborhood.
Upon seeing the carriage flying past them, Jesse had excitedly asked his father if he’d ever be able to ride in one.
In response, his father had simply laughed at him.
And now, Jesse was about to ride in something equally, if not more, luxurious.
“It’ll be a bit of a tight fit for the two of us, but I won’t mind,” Arthur said as he untied his horse from the hitching post. He threw Jesse a wink. “No, I won’t mind at all.”
Jesse couldn’t imagine ever becoming accustomed to Arthur’s blatantly flirtatious comments. After Arthur removed his horse’s blanket and folded it, he climbed into the sleigh and held out his hand to help Jesse inside. Jesse took it.
“Have you ever been in a sleigh before?” Arthur asked.
Jesse shook his head and muttered a soft “no” as he settled onto his seat.
“Ah, well, I’m happy to provide you with the experience, then!
” Arthur exclaimed. After a pause, he narrowed his eyes, looking inquisitive.
“Actually, considering the amount of snow, how’d you make it here this morning? ”
“I, uhm, I walked,” Jesse said.
“Walked?!”
“Well, the streetcars weren’t running yet because of the snow. And I couldn’t be late to start on composing the formes. So, I walked.”
“Oh, you poor thing,” Arthur said in a way that simultaneously tugged at Jesse’s heart and sent a bolt of irritation rushing through his veins. He hated the thought of Arthur pitying him.
“It’s fine. I’m used to it.”
“Would you like for me to send someone to take you to the shop the next time it snows? At least, if the snowfall is significant enough?”
Jesse’s stomach tightened unpleasantly. “No, thank you. I can look after myself.”
“Are you sure? Because I hate the thought of you trudging through the snow so early in the morning. Goodness, you must have been freezing.”
“Arthur,” Jesse said curtly, a hint of pleading in his voice.
Arthur winced, crumpling in on himself like a sheet of cheaply manufactured paper that had been incorrectly loaded into one of the cylindrical presses, and Jesse felt a twinge of regret, the emotion manifesting as a pinching in his chest.
“I wouldn’t want to trouble you, is all,” Jesse said, hoping that he could fix it.
“You wouldn’t be,” Arthur murmured softly, his eyes fixed on the curve of the sleigh. “Would you ever . . . I-I mean, what if . . . what if I could be the one to take you to work? Would you still say no to that?”
Jesse began to chew on his bottom lip as he thought it over, the pinching feeling in his chest worsening. Accepting Arthur’s help . . . it would make him feel so small. But he hated how crestfallen Arthur looked right now.