Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
FINN
“Finn, good to see you!”
I’m in the small office of the local business association, waiting for my scheduled meeting with a paper cup of coffee perched on my knee. When I look up, I see that my friend Mohammed is there, sporting a bright pink tie and a crisp white shirt.
“Mohammed! What a nice surprise. I didn’t know it was you I’d be seeing today.”
We met each other a few years ago at a local book club and have maintained a casual friendship since. I know him to be easy to talk with and community-minded, a great person to give advice on the matter at hand.
“Normally, this would be outside of my purview. But that’s one reason it took us some time to schedule the meeting,” he says, and gestures into his office. “We’re a little understaffed at the moment.”
I walk in, and we each take seats in a pair of upholstered office chairs, a small table between us.
“I’m grateful you could find the time,” I tell him. “You’re probably aware of the situation on my block?”
He nods as he takes out a notepad. “We’ve been keeping up with the broad strokes. That’s what brought you in today, yes?”
“It is. I haven’t dealt with a situation like this before, and hoped the association might have some advice or resources to offer.”
“I did some looking into the matter,” he says. “You’ll understand we can’t pick sides in a dispute, but the tension seems to be rising, which makes it everyone’s problem. I heard you organized the rest of the block and initiated dialogue with the garage. Is that right?”
I nod. “It seemed to be helping, although since the protest started, I fear we’re moving backward again. Heightened tension was not my goal.”
“It’s true that the community outrage may have heightened the tensions, which isn’t ideal.
But there’s value in letting the problem air instead of trying to hide it away.
” He jots a few things down. “The next step would be to hire a mediator and look for a compromise solution. Last year, we would have been able to help with that, but unfortunately, we just had to cut our budget. Mediators are on hold for now.”
“That’s too bad,” I say, disappointed. “Maybe the other businesses can help me hire someone independently.”
“It’s an option,” Mohammed says. He pulls a paper from the back of his notepad, which he hands to me.
“Here are some recommendations of professionals we like. And I’m going to keep searching in case there’s more the association can do considering our current restraints.
We’re eager to see this feud put to bed. ”
I hesitate before asking, “Restraints?”
Mohammed sets the notepad down. “To be honest,” he says, voice lowered, “we’re facing some major financial hurdles, and it’s not just the business association.
The city has cut funding for a number of neighborhood programs, and the donor base hasn’t stepped up to fill the gap.
There’s an anti-gay member of the Buffalo city council who seems to especially have it out for us.
A coalition of groups are working on it, and we have already been trimming some of the festivals, street beautification, that sort of thing.
But even working together, we’re scrambling to keep up with basic services. ”
“Oh.” I sink back in my chair, surprised and disheartened to hear that, although I do remember hearing some rumblings this summer, now that he draws my attention to it.
The art show Kavya is organizing was nearly canceled, for one.
“That’s not good. Is there anything the rest of us could do to help? ”
The magic of the gayborhood doesn’t just happen on its own. It takes a lot of civic organizations, volunteers, and community involvement. If that’s at risk, the rivalry with the garage might be the tip of the iceberg.
“Since you mention it,” Mohammed says. He considers me for a second, then gets up to close the door before returning to his seat.
“I’ve been trying to track down additional donors to cover the gap.
There’s one state-wide arts organization that might be a perfect fit, and I think I’ve convinced them to come see what we have to offer. ”
“That’s great! One visit to the gayborhood, and they’ll be won over.”
“I hope so. A representative might come through on Sunday.”
I perk up. “Ideal! The community scavenger hunt is Sunday.”
It’s one of the most popular yearly events.
People organize teams, dress in elaborate costumes, and race each other around the gayborhood as they compete for top prizes donated by local businesses.
I’ll be working the shop instead of participating this year, but I have donated a gift certificate, which will be the prize for “Most Enthusiasm.”
“It will definitely show our character. Although I’m not sure public feuds and protests, valid as they might be, will do us any favors.”
I frown and tap my fingers on my knee. “Right. That’s true.”
“Any chance we could sweep things under the rug for one day? I’m hesitant to ask.
The visit is intended to be casual, and I’m not supposed to spread the news about it or prepare anything special.
The last thing we need is everyone swarming the representative with attempts to impress.
But considering the circumstances, if you could discreetly hide the feud during the scavenger hunt, it would be a big help. ”
“I can try,” I tell Mohammed, and he nods encouragingly. “I’m not the one who organized the protest, and I hardly have sway over the garage. But if there’s anything I can do to bring peace for a day, I’ll do it.”
He sets his notepad down. “I appreciate that, Finn. The neighborhood orgs are all getting together to strategize and support each other, but unless some new funding comes through soon, I’m afraid we’re all going to feel the impact.”
On the way home, I process the information I received from the meeting.
The stakes are even higher than I realized, and I’m still lacking a clear plan to move forward with the garage.
Mohammed trusted me enough to share some of what’s happening behind the scenes, though, and I don’t want to let him or the gayborhood down.
At least I’m making progress in other parts of my life. I took a chance and invited NotAnOgre to meet, and he was open to the idea.
I’d been considering the possibility for a few days, but I finally brought the idea up simply because of how happy I was to talk to my pen pal when he started the chat.
Our familiar, easy connection was a relief in a hectic week, reliable and comfortable and fun.
I felt better just typing away with my anonymous friend, and that seems like a very good reason to try meeting in person.
It could even be casual. Neither of us have suggested we would be more than friends.
The stories we write are erotic, but that doesn’t mean we’d have the same energy as our characters.
It would be an experiment, and if we do decide to take the plunge, I’ll be best served by eliminating expectations.
On the way back to The Scoop, I make a detour and stop for a new book, smiling as I step off the street, through the big red door, and into The Velvet Page.
Our local LGBTQ bookstore, the Page has been around since the eighties. The owners, Linda and Lee, love to rearrange the place every year or two, and it's a constant maze of comfy furniture, crowded shelves, and literary displays.
I holler out a hello to the employees in the back and make my way to the current location of fantasy novels. There’s a new book out, the first in a series by one of my favorite authors, and I know from the reviews that Rise of the Storm Goddess will not disappoint.
As I turn down the aisle between two tall shelves, I’m surprised to see Riley rounding the opposite corner. My mouth pops open, and he pivots on his heel, walking back out of the aisle and away.
Standing there, I feel both dejected and relieved. Riley and I have managed to avoid each other on the block, and in some sense, there’s not much to say until Chase responds to the letter I delivered.
I take a step forward again, and Riley surprises me by walking straight back into the aisle. “Hello,” he says gruffly and nods in my direction. “I’m here to get a book.”
I tense, hesitating. The jeans he’s wearing are tighter than his usual fit, and they draw my attention to how muscly his thighs are. Riley is wearing an old gray T-shirt with a motorcycle printed on it, and he’s let his scruff grow out, making his light beard thicker and darker.
Damn, just as hot as ever. So much for getting it out of my system.
“Hello,” I answer, measured. “I’m also here to get a book.”
I take one step forward, and he takes one step forward, too, before we each stop in our tracks.
“We’re still waiting to hear back from that letter,” I say.
Riley snorts. “We’ve been busy. Your protesters are taking up all of our attention.”
“They’re not my protesters. They spontaneously organized themselves. I’m trying to compromise and keep the peace.”
“Is that why we’re dealing with a smear campaign?”
“I didn’t write the newspaper article,” I object, frustrated all over again that the story went forward before we’d exhausted our other options.
An argument in the middle of the bookstore will just make this problem worse.
I dart my eyes down the shelf to locate Rise of the Storm Goddess, which is marked with a little banner announcing new releases.
There’s thankfully one copy left, but when I glance back up, I see that Riley is looking directly at it.
He catches me looking at the same time, and we both lunge forward. I grab the book before he does and jump back, holding it away like he might snatch it.
“That book is the only reason I came in here,” he says.
“Same for me.” I clutch it with both hands, feeling like I just won an Olympic medal. “I’m sure they’ll get more copies in tomorrow. They get a delivery every Thursday.”
“I know when they get their new deliveries,” he says, as though offended.
I glance at the book. “Do you even like this author? Or is this like at NiagaraCon, a hate read for you?”
“I do like her!” He crosses his arms over his chest. “She has interesting characters.”
“Yes.” I straighten my posture. “Surprising plot turns, too. I guess we actually do agree on something.”
We look at each other suspiciously.
Riley frowns. “You know, business in the garage has dropped off. Like a boulder off a cliff. Even people who support us are reluctant to cross a protest.”
“I don’t recall you being particularly caring when it was my business that suffered.”
He uncrosses his arms, and I see a slight wince on his face. “Fair enough. That was wrong of me,” he says. “Your concerns are valid. I see that, and I should have tried to address them earlier. It’s just that we’re only getting started. This could easily sink us. And I guess I’ve been defensive.”
I am not going to feel guilty that the neighborhood has turned against the garage, just like I will not allow myself to feel guilty about getting the book first. Like NotAnOgre said, I deserve to celebrate my wins, and The Scoop is thriving again.
“My business has only been around a year. You don’t think this disruption could sink us, too? Anyway, I own The Scoop. My entire life is wrapped up in that shop. You’re only intending to stay in town until next summer, if I recall.”
“I might plan to leave, but I still care,” he says.
“I care about the employees. And I care about Chase. He’s one of my only friends.
” He clears his throat, looking awkward but pushing through.
“And I care about the rest of the block. Haven’t done a good job of that last one, but it’s a.
.. unique place, and I want us all to succeed. The Scoop included.”
For once, our voices aren’t raised. We aren’t arguing, exactly, and Riley seems to realize the same. Shaking his head and pulling his walls back up, he frowns.
“It’s my responsibility to make sure this business succeeds,” he concludes. “I take my responsibilities seriously. And I, uh, I’ll remember to add my responsibilities as a neighbor to that, too.”
That commitment to his responsibilities is another quality of his that I can’t help but admire, and honestly find a little sexy, too.
His apology also earns him some goodwill.
When he steals a glance at the book in my hands, though, I remember who I’m dealing with.
We probably shouldn’t even be seen in the same vicinity, knowing how this town likes to gossip.
When he turns to walk away, however, I stop him.
“Riley, wait,” I say, and after glancing around to ensure we’re alone, I step forward. Surprised, he arches a bushy eyebrow at me.
Our businesses might be caught in a feud, but I believe him when he says that he cares. And the fact is we can’t make a good impression during the scavenger hunt without his cooperation.
“You know about the scavenger hunt on Sunday, I assume?”
“I’ve heard something about it.”
“For reasons I can’t entirely get into, it’s important to the whole gayborhood that the event goes smoothly.
I’m not sure if I can get the protesters to stop for a day, but I’m going to try and do whatever I can to make it a peaceful afternoon.
I know it’s a stretch to ask you for a favor right now, but if there’s any way you could get the bikers to take it easy, too, it would really make a difference. ”
He looks at me skeptically. “You want a truce? For the sake of a scavenger hunt?”
“For the sake of the gayborhood,” I say. “I know it sounds strange, but we need the event to go off without a hitch and for the block to put our best face forward. I’d explain more if I could. But if there’s any way you could help us have one peaceful day, it would mean a lot to me. To everyone.”
Riley swallows, and we stand across each other for an awkward, loaded moment.
“Anyway,” I say, “please consider it. But I should be going. I’ve got a busy day ahead at work.”
“Fine.” Riley grabs another book from the shelf, seemingly at random. “Me, too.”
I glance at the book he grabbed. “You read a lot of vintage tentacle horror?”
“So what if I do!” he barks and turns on his boot heel, storming off.
I can’t help but laugh to myself. Every encounter with Riley is a surprise, whether it leaves me fuming, laughing, or dizzy with an orgasm. I’m not expecting him to grant my request, but at least I tried. And the fact that he apologized for how he’s been acting is notable.
“Good taste in books, too,” I mutter.