Chapter 26
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
FINN
Riley walks out the door, and through the window, I see him slouch back into the garage. Only a moment after that, he takes off on his motorcycle.
The night of our failed date, I went to his apartment twice, pounded on the back door and even tried to talk to his window, but I got no response.
His reaction at the cafe stung, but I also remembered the note he wrote me as NotAnOgre.
The more I processed what happened, the more I just wanted to find him and tell him the truth, that it’s me.
It would have been easier if I could have at least sent him a message as MorningEnthusiast, but Clay didn’t have my bag after all.
He had a bag of art that Kavya was sorting, using the Bloom bags when her own boxes ran short.
It wasn’t until yesterday that I located my stuff in the basement of the craft center, and with my phone, was able to two-factor into my secret email again.
I finally sent a message to his NotAnOgre account, asked him to meet up again so I can explain in person, but I’ve heard nothing back.
I’ve kept a careful eye on the garage, expecting to see Riley arrive fifteen minutes before everyone else for work each day, or to huff down the street to either the burger place or the taco place at noon.
But he never seemed to appear, and as time stretched on, I found myself pausing, thinking carefully about what I wanted to do.
I’m going to tell Riley the truth, that’s for certain. I’m just still trying to understand what that truth means to me.
I busy my way around the ice cream social until everyone disperses, back to work for the remainder of the afternoon.
The event has been a success, the mechanics and the rest of the block mingling and having a generally noncombative time together.
A few people linger to thank me for hosting, and soon the foot traffic picks up, keeping me occupied for the rest of the day.
When there’s still no sign of Riley at the end of the day, I hang up my apron and decide to take a walk around the gayborhood to sort my thoughts. It’s a gorgeous evening, warm with a gentle breeze, and I have a lot to get my head around.
I keep returning to Riley’s words at the café.
His immediate reaction was that he didn’t want to see me, and he found a particularly hurtful way to express the sentiment.
He ran away from me then, and he ran away this afternoon, too.
In fact, he seems to always be running away from me, bristling and retreating when we start to get closer.
It stings when he acts that way, a kind of rejection. And it makes me wonder if he can see through his own emotions enough to notice me, especially when it most matters.
As uncomfortable as it is knowing that we’re pen pals while he’s still in the dark, it does give me time to process all of this.
My initial joy is still there, something in my heart hoping that this is right.
But if all these emotions are real, if I’m seriously on the edge of falling in love with Riley, I need to know that he’ll be there for me.
That his would be a love that I can rely on.
My head spins. Even if he is right for me, I’m not certain that Riley won’t retreat.
In his letters and in person, he’s always insisted that he’s fine on his own.
He sees himself as a misfit and a loner, and I know how quick he is to put his walls up.
But I also know what I see, and I see the rest of the mechanics looking to him with respect.
I see his friend Chase trusting him to run his business.
I see Riley doing his part to bring the bikers together and find peace with the rest of the gayborhood, and willing to apologize and work to make things right, too.
And I don’t only know Riley the gruff mechanic. From our letters, I know another side of him, sensitive and passionate. He cares about other people and doing right. He’s entirely, honestly himself, and I like that about him.
Now that I can apply what I know from the letters to how I understand Riley, I only appreciate him more.
There are happy couples and throuples strolling around the gayborhood, scattered among the groups of friends. Everyone seems to be smiling tonight, laughing together. I see one of the librarians take her girlfriend’s hand, while beside her, Leon breaks a cookie in two and hands half to his husband.
Could Riley and I be another happy couple in the gayborhood? Would he hold my hand when we walked down the street?
I picture us both at the bookstore, leaning in close as we scan the shelves together, and a warm smile fills my face.
Maybe Riley really will decide that he wants to be a loner in the end, that his fantasy of buying a house with a husband and adopting dogs is just that. Fantasy. It hurts to imagine, but I have to accept that it’s a possibility. Even if he ultimately retreats from me, though, I know what I want.
I want to give us a chance.
The next morning, I’m determined to track him down.
If he’s avoiding the garage, and potentially avoiding me, I know where he lives.
I’ll knock on his door and wait him out if I have to.
There’s no telling what’s going through Riley’s head after our failed meetup, and I’m done waiting for my opportunity to find out.
As I restock the display case and get The Scoop ready to open, I notice a man running frantically up the block. A moment later, a woman goes sprinting after him.
Concerned, I walk to the front door. When I step outside, there’s a young guy jogging in the same direction.
“Glube spill!” he says with a gasp. “It’s a Glube-alanche!”
Alarmed, I look up the street in the direction they’re running.
A couple blocks away, there’s a small crowd gathered near the Glube store, and a glistening mass of Glube flowing out the door and oozing down a side street.
After I lock the shop, I jog up toward them all, and I see that it’s headed straight toward the crafts center.
“Oh no!”
Nicholas and Clay jog up beside me. “It’s true!” Nicholas says, gasping for breath. “He’s been hoarding lube.”
Clay shakes his head. “This is a disaster. I knew that building had structural problems.”
“It’s headed for the craft center,” I tell them as my thoughts race. “All the art Kavya moved there! And it just keeps coming!”
Clay nods, determined. “We’ve got to help,” he says, and takes off jogging again.
Nicholas throws his hands in the air. “How are we supposed to stop that much Glube?” he asks to no one in particular, then goes running after his man.
He’s right. The gloopy lube looks unstoppable, but it’s moving like a slow-motion wave, giving us a little time. Thinking fast, I pull up the group text that I’ve been using to communicate with the rest of the block this summer.
SOS! Glube emergency! There’s a catastrophic leak headed straight for the crafts center. Anyone available, come help!
Immediately, my phone begins to ding with reactions, but there’s not time to read them. Instead, I turn my eyes to Liberty Garage. Determined, I race down the street and right inside, where the mechanics are busy at work, unaware of the disaster unfolding nearby.
A couple bikers shout a greeting to me, but when my eyes land on Riley, I beeline straight to him.
“Finn,” he says, surprised, and sets his wrench down. “Hi.”
“There’s been an accident at the lube store. Glube is about to inundate the arts and crafts center. Can you help?”
It only takes Riley a second to process, and just like I hoped, he’s immediately all in.
“Can we stop it?” he asks.
“I don’t think so. Unless you have an unusually large amount of sandbags on hand. But it’s moving very slowly.”
“Your friend’s show,” he says immediately, remembering. “Maybe we have time to empty the buildings and save some of the art.”
“With Glube filling the street, there’s no room for cars to drive up. But your motorcycles might find a path through.”
“We’ve got carts that we could haul.”
“That might work.”
Riley nods, determined. “I’ll organize the mechanics.”
“I’ll head to the scene,” I say. Heart pounding, I turn on my heel, but am surprised when Riley grabs my arm.
“Stay safe,” he says, voice raspy. “Just… don’t get hurt, okay?”
I hold his eye. “You, too.”
When I get outside, I see that more of the neighborhood is gathering around. Everyone seems to be in a panic, and the lube is still coming, a constant flow. Xander huffs around outside his shop with a push broom, futilely attempting to shove the lube back.
“My Glube!” he yells out, distraught. “Years of Glube!”
I rush down to the end of the block. The gathered crowd looks to be at a loss, so I quickly clap my hands to get their attention.
“Everyone!” I holler out. “If we form a line, we can pass paintings and other objects up from the basement and hopefully save them before the lube flow arrives.”
A man from the center shakes his head. “So much is in the basement,” he says, distraught. “It’s simply more than we can move all the way up the block by hand.”
Leon, Sonia, and a few other people from the block come running up. “We got your message,” Leon says. “How can we help?”
“It might be too much to move by hand,” I agree, “but luckily, we’ve got some bikers in this neighborhood.”
Right on time, the rumble of approaching motorcycles fills the air. Riley comes first, a line of mechanics on bikes behind him. They carefully roll around the lube, up the sidewalk, and down to the center.
I look to the man who works there for guidance. He’s clearly overwhelmed and frozen in place, though, so I step in, knowing there’s no time to lose.
“Start a line in the basement,” I call out. “Pass up the most important items first. We’ll load them onto carts, and the bikes will haul them away. There’s plenty of space to store everything in the back of The Scoop for the time being.”
“Garage, too, if you need space,” Riley calls out. He pulls his helmet off. We catch eyes, and he gives me an impressed nod. It sends a tingle through me, but there’s no time to process.
“You heard the man!” Riley barks out. “Let’s get moving!”
Quickly, everyone jumps into action. Enough people have gathered to form two lines, and as boxes of art start to appear, Riley directs the mechanics, keeping a steady motion as they load their carts and haul everything off to safety.
We’re moving fast, but I keep glancing up the block, where the large flow of lube continues to gain on us, glistening destruction in its path.
“Finn!” Kavya calls out. She runs my way. “The art! This is a disaster. Is everyone safe?” she asks.
“I think so,” I answer. “And we’re working hard to save the art, but it’s going to be a direct hit on the center.”
Kavya, alarmed, looks at the building, then tilts her head to the side as she glances around. It causes me to pause for a moment and take the scene in as well.
The entire gayborhood seems to be activated.
Neighbors are efficiently handing off the boxes while a couple people from the center organize them, shouting instructions.
Riley loads up another cart and slaps the back of the motorcycle, a signal for Pirate Bill to take off.
By the time the next few boxes arrive, Ali is in position to receive them.
“I need to get down, help prioritize,” Kavya says, and hurries in to join the crowd.
When I glance back up, I see the Glube carry a park bench, headed for a slow-motion collision with Little Joe’s motorcycle.
“Move, move, move!” Riley yells, hurrying everyone out of the way just in time as Little Joe veers.
Riley jumps on his own bike and gestures for people to hop in the cart he’s hauling.
Kavya comes running out with a bird sculpture in her arms, and I take it from her and load it in the cart while she climbs in behind.
Harry comes running out of the craft center. “The time is nigh!” he screams. “The time is nigh!”
“What?” Clay asks, confused as he holds a box in his arms.
“It’s curtain call!” Harry replies. “The last hurrah! No time for an encore!” A few more people stare at him blankly, and he thrusts his finger toward the lube. “The Glube has arrived, abandon ship!”
That snaps everyone into motion. People flee in every direction, and as we watch from the sides, horrified, the flow finally reaches the building. It gloops and burps and slimes all over, pushing through the door.
Xander falls to his knees on the sidewalk. “My Glube,” he cries out. “My precious Glube.”
Kavya lets out a deep breath of relief as she watches Clay deposit the last box. “We got it all,” she says.
I realize my hands are shaking, but when I glance around, it seems that no one is hurt.
The street itself is covered, wet with lube and significantly damaged.
Shrubs are destroyed, lights toppled over, and every building on the way seems to have taken a hit.
The bulk of the lube, however, continues straight into the building, where I’m sure it’s filling the basement we raced to empty.
Emergency services arrive, and the crowd eases back to give them space.
A hand lands on my shoulder, and when I turn, I see Riley has returned. His face is flushed from exertion. For a moment, the only thought in my mind is that I’m happy to see him.
He retrieves his hand. “Good call getting the mechanics,” he says, his voice low and rumbling. “Looks like we didn’t have a minute to spare.”
I nod. “Thanks for pitching in.”
“Glad we could help.” He looks over to the flooded building, then back to me. “I know this isn’t the best time,” he says, “but I need to apologize for how I acted the other day. At the café.”
“Oh.” I’m relieved to hear him say that, and hope bubbles up in me. Maybe he won’t run away after all. “Yeah. You fled before I had a chance to talk to you.”
He furrows his brow. “I know I did. And there’s no excuse for acting like that, and especially not for saying what I said. That was wrong, and I didn’t mean it. You deserve better treatment.”
I’m grateful that he’s taking accountability so directly. “Apology accepted.”
“Good. But there’s something else I need to say to you, too.”
“I’ve been hoping to talk to you as well.”
Riley swallows. I realize he’s nervous. He doesn’t seem to know that I’m the person at the other end of those messages, so what could he want to talk to me about?
“In that case, maybe we could step somewhere private?”
I nod. “Sure. My apartment is over by the park.”