Chapter Seven
WINTER
Winter
“What do you mean he freaked out?” Ro asked.
I was doing the six a.m. kitten feed after nowhere near enough sleep.
I shrugged, helping Bright take the bottle. “If you’d calm down, you’d be drinking by now,” I told him. “Goodness me.”
“He might be ready for some solid food,” Ro suggested.
Hmm, maybe. I’d have to ask . . .
I sighed. “I could ask Deacon, but after last night, I don’t know.” Then I remembered she’d asked me a question. “When he arrived, he was a bit panicky. I made him hot chocolate, which worked to calm him down a bit, and he admitted to overthinking.”
“Oh, if only you could relate,” she deadpanned.
I rolled my eyes. “I expect he’s got me beat in the overthinking department.
Anyway,” I said, getting back to the story.
“And he’d said he had questions for me, but he gets something in his head and can’t let it go until he’s either asked the question or found the answer.
I don’t know.” I took a deep breath in. “He told me he likes guys. That he’s gay. ”
She wiggled in her seat. “Oooh.”
It was far too early for that. “And I told him I was too. And that I was asexual, which he assumed I meant biologically, that I could reproduce with myself.”
She pressed her lips together so as not to smile.
I snorted. “That’s okay. It was funny. After I realized what he’d assumed. He mentioned Komodo dragons, and I was like, what the heck?”
She chuckled, her hand to her mouth. “Oh, how I wish I’d been there.”
I gave her a look that said, Uhhh, no you don’t. “Then he shared a story from college where a guy had kissed him without permission and how greatly it had upset him.”
She quickly frowned. “Oh, that’s terrible.”
“And then I went ahead and touched his arm, also without permission.” I sighed, still mad at myself about that. “He doesn’t like to be touched. Not without warning, at least.”
“Oh.” Ro shrugged. “That’s fair enough. No one should touch anyone else without permission.”
“I know,” I said, defeated. “I was just trying to reassure him. I don’t know. It was stupid.”
Bright finished all his bottle, so I wiped his cute little mouth, put him carefully back into the basket, and fixed Merry’s bottle.
“Anyway,” I continued. “After we cleared the air on that, by me deciding to play a little game of let’s tell each other what we do and don’t like, he was relaxed again. ”
“Until the asexual conversation.”
I nodded, picked up little Merry, and sat back in my seat as he took his bottle.
“Yes. Until then. He was fine, I thought. He did go a bit red when I mentioned sex, or the lack thereof, being asexual and all. But then he declared we should get work done, which we did. Then when we were almost finished, he shot up, flustered and panicky, and he bolted. Not before stopping long enough to leave his gloves with me in case I didn’t have any. ”
“Aww.” She gave me a sad smile. “Do you think the mention of sex was the trigger?”
I’d replayed the entire conversation in my head a hundred times instead of sleeping. “I think so, yeah. But that’s just the point. I don’t want that.”
“But he probably sat there thinking about everything you’d said, thinking about sex, and . . .” She gave me a pointed look. “Maybe he thought about sex.”
I groaned out a sigh. “It’s such a mess.
Maybe I’m not the one he should befriend.
I don’t want to upset or confuse him. It’s just .
. . he’s so smart; he can pull facts and random tidbits of information out of nowhere.
And he loves peace and quiet, and he loves books.
I’ll see him skimming pages and he likes to touch the pages. It’s so adorable.”
“You like him,” she said.
“I do. But . . .” I sighed again. “It’s complicated. He’s complicated. And I’m so busy right now. It’s got disaster written all over it. And I worry that he’ll get hurt.”
She studied me for a few long seconds. “I don’t think he’s that complicated. I think once you figure out his ebb and flow, you’ll be fine.”
“His ebb and flow?”
She gave me that patient smile that I knew prefixed some pearl of wisdom.
“You know the Māori people of New Zealand have a word for autism. Takiwātanga. It means in their own time and space. I think that’s beautiful.
” She patted my shoulder before putting her cup on the sink.
“You’ll figure each other out, Win. In your own time and space. ”
I got to the store, still thinking about Ro’s words, still thinking about Deacon, still thinking . . .
The problem was, I did like him.
I liked the quietness about him, the restraint. He was unassuming and unpretentious. There was no ego, no subterfuge. I doubt he’d ever told a lie in his life, and there was much to be said about that.
So yeah, I liked him.
And I could tell myself that a friendship with him would be great—and it would be—I’d be lying to myself if I said I didn’t want more with him.
I wanted to sit somewhere cozy and read in blissful silence together. I wanted to cuddle on the couch with him and watch Pride and Prejudice. I wanted to hold his hand when he got overwhelmed with the world . . .
And that there was the problem.
That was very likely more than he could offer.
Which was fine. More than fine, actually. Because I certainly had limitations too. It’d be grossly hypocritical of me to blame Deacon for his boundaries in physical expressions of affection when I expected other men to respect mine.
So friendship it was.
And friendship was great. Not to be underestimated or taken for granted. I valued friendship first and foremost. I always had.
My very reasonable brain understood this.
My heart was just a little confused.
“Oh wow,” Ro said, scaring the shit out of me. She was standing in the store, holding two cups of coffee to go, looking around at all the floor space that used to be boxes, looking at all the full shelves and signs. I hadn’t heard her come in.
“Jesus,” I breathed, hand to my thumping heart. “Make a noise or something next time.”
“I called out,” she said, handing me one of the cups. “You were too distracted.”
Ugh. “Yeah, sorry.”
“You got busy in here. Looks great.”
“That’s mostly Deacon’s doing,” I said. Given the inventory machine he was.
Her eyes softened, and I needed to not fall down that rabbit hole of misery, so I gestured to the one remaining, rather large box on the table.
“Just the Christmas decorations to go. And there should be another delivery today, I think. Well, I hope. We can do another final test run of the point-of-sale system to triple check we’re ready for our first day tomorrow, but it should be an early finish today. ” I shrugged. “I hope.”
She gave my arm a reassuring squeeze. “You’re more than ready.”
It wasn’t lost on me that such a simple gesture as touching my arm was what upset Deacon last night. Well, one of the things . . .
“It should be a more relaxed day, anyway,” I said. Because I was ready. I was soooo ready for the store to be open.
I sipped my coffee and sighed at how good it was. “Did they sell out of the lemon scones already? Just wondering why you didn’t buy any.”
She snorted. “No, there was a whole cabinet of amazingness at the diner, but I thought we could close at lunchtime and have some downtime at the diner. It’ll be the last time we get to do that for a while.”
She was right, and I felt bad for not realizing that. “I’d love that.”
Some rather loud and persistent meows came from the basket. “Oh, Bright,” I said, not even having to see which of the kittens was yelling for a feed. Sure enough, he was trying to climb out. “Listen here, little mister,” I said, scooping him up.
He was so stinking cute.
“They’re growing like weeds,” Ro said, giving him a little pat. “Oh, don’t forget to ask Deacon about introducing some solid food.”
My eyes met hers and I sighed. Right, yes. I had to speak to him.
“You have to speak to him at some point,” she said gently. “He’s their vet. And the longer you leave talking and clearing the air, the harder it will be.”
I narrowed my eyes at her. “Do you have to work at being right all the time, or does it come naturally?”
She laughed at that. “Oh, darling. Rhetorical questions and sarcasm this early in the day wouldn’t bode well. I should have ordered you a triple-shot latte.”
Yes, yes she should have.
Being this tired before the store opened probably wouldn’t bode well either.
As if she could read my mind, she put her coffee down and pulled the box of Christmas decorations over. “Okay, so for you to have an hour lunch break and an early night tonight, we need to get cracking. You feed the boys, and I’ll start on this.”
And so that’s what we did.
Ro hummed happily as she took everything out and began to assemble the Christmas stands, and I gave Bright his much-demanded milk.
When it was Merry’s turn to be fed, I took out my phone and, assuming Deacon would be busy at work, I decided a text would be less intrusive and he could reply when he had time.
When he was ready.
Hi, it’s Winter. I have a question about introducing solid food. Mostly for Bright. I think he’s ready but the internet has conflicting information. I wanted to ask you. When you have a moment to reply, that’d be great.
I sent it and let out a slow breath.
Then, realizing far too late, I hadn’t mentioned anything about last night or even conveyed any niceties at all.
I should have said something.
Would he think I didn’t care? Would he prefer I didn’t mention it at all? Would he rather I never mention it at all, or would he want me to acknowledge it so he could get it off his mind without having to be the one to bring it up?
Ugh.
Why was this so hard?
Why was I overthinking every little thing?
Because you like him. Because you want to fix it. Because you like him.
Goddammit.
I quickly thumbed out another text.