Chapter 8
Theo
The weekend dragged by. I spent the entire thing puttering around my apartment, running errands, and trying not to have panic attacks over the idea that I’d lost Diccon forever.
By Sunday afternoon, I still wasn’t sure what I’d done wrong.
I hadn’t flaunted the designs for the expansion next to Common Grounds under Diccon’s nose.
I hadn’t outright called him stupid for not understanding the intricacies of architecture.
I hadn’t really explained myself or the plans particularly well either, but looking back, I wasn’t sure if Diccon had given me enough of a chance to.
Maybe that was the problem. I hadn’t done anything.
I could have come right out at dinner and told Diccon I was the architect of the expansion next door.
We’d almost had an opening in the conversation where that information could have slid right in.
I’d sat right there in Common Grounds working for a few days.
I could have found a way to casually bring it up.
But if I’d done that, would I have lost my one chance at going out with Diccon and shooting for something more than grinning at each other as I got my coffee every morning?
I hated the idea of rewinding to the beginning of the week and not taking a chance by going back to Common Grounds to work after the sprinkler disaster.
I didn’t want to think what would have happened if I hadn’t taken Diccon up on his invitation to go to open mic night.
I was even resigned to the way I’d run out on him after that first kiss.
Me slinking back into the café the next day to apologize was what had prompted us to make a real date.
I couldn’t just let things fall apart. That wasn’t what I wanted at all, and I was sure that wasn’t what Diccon wanted either.
We’d had such a great time. We’d given each other spectacular orgasms. Diccon had had that sparkle in his eyes as we cuddled afterwards that said he wanted to do it again and do more.
I wasn’t going to let that get away from me. Not without a fight.
So I did the only thing I could on a Sunday evening. I made myself a giant bowl of spaghetti and some garlic bread, I sat down at my table, and I pored over the blueprints, searching for anything that might make the entire project easier on Common Grounds.
When I’d designed the new retail space to begin with, I’d been thinking mostly of the client, Jameson Industries.
Kyle Jameson was an interesting guy with a fantastic vision.
He’d spent his entire life in construction, rising up through the ranks to foreman, then manager of the company, and then he’d bought his boss out and reorganized the company as his own.
The new shop on Glenside Ave would be his first solo project, the way he proved himself.
He was overseeing every aspect of the build himself.
But as I looked at the plans we’d agreed on, I could see areas where the bits Mr. Jameson had insisted on might not be the best options for the businesses already in place along that stretch of the street.
The more I puzzled over the whole thing, the more I could see ways to do things differently.
Like changing the construction entrance for the project so traffic wouldn’t be so disrupted in front of Common Grounds.
In the end, I needed a second opinion. So I picked up my phone and did something I never would have done in a million years. I called Chuck, my boss, on a Sunday night.
“Theo. To what do I owe the pleasure?” Chuck answered in a cheery voice. At least I wasn’t bothering him with the unusual call. Well, not yet.
“Hi, Chuck.” I leaned back in my chair and rubbed the back of my neck as every sense within me warned me that disaster was about to strike because I was acting outside the box. “Sorry to call you on the weekend like this. Do you have a minute?”
“As long as you’re not quitting on me, I have plenty of minutes,” Chuck said.
That was a good sign, so I plowed ahead.
“I’m looking at the plans for the Jameson Industries project.
There’s been some concern that the way things have been set up now, the small businesses already operating in that small strip will be negatively impacted during construction.
Especially if they have to close off part of the road. ”
“I believe when we did the assessment, it was decided the impact would be negligible,” Chuck said.
“For the residents, yes,” I pushed on, determination to do right by Diccon growing with every second. “But those businesses rely on foot traffic and walk-ins. The way things look now, they could be blocked off entirely for the duration of construction.”
Chuck hummed. I didn’t know if it was a good sign or not. “Does this have anything to do with that café you like so much?”
Prickles raced down my spine. How did Chuck know about that? “I, er, I do get my coffee there in the mornings, yes,” I confessed.
“And a little birdie told me that you were seen out on the town with one of the baristas who works there and, I believe, partially owns the place the other night.”
The prickles turned into a full storm of self-consciousness. “How did you know that?” I asked before I could keep the panicked question inside. It was just weird for my boss to know about my love life. But this is what I got for breaking routine.
Chuck laughed. “My wife and I were at Closed Mondays the other night, too,” he said. “I tried to wave at you at one point, but you were very involved in discussions with that young man.”
I sank lower in my seat. “I would have said hi if I’d noticed,” I mumbled. God, what did people do when their boss found out more about their personal life than you wanted them to know?
“He seems like a nice young man,” Chuck said, sounding surprisingly fatherly.
“He is,” I said. “But he’s deeply concerned about the impact of construction on his business.
” I don’t know what possessed me to say what I said next, but I blurted out, “He’s not at all happy about the possibly catastrophic interruption the café will experience during construction.
We…we sort of had a fight about it when he found out I was the lead architect. ”
“I see,” Chuck hummed. “And you don’t want to fight with this man at all is my guess.”
I winced. Chuck was my boss. I needed to remember that. But at the moment, it felt more like I was talking to a father figure. God only knew my dad would never talk to me about these things. He said he was fine, but I still suspected he wasn’t happy about me being gay.
“I like him,” I said, eyes pinched closed, like if I couldn’t see the embarrassment coming at me it didn’t count. “I think we could have something. And I want to try to find a solution to his concerns that will benefit the project and the café.”
“That’s a noble way to look at things,” Chuck said, definitely sounding dad-like. “Do you have a solution?”
“I might, actually, yeah,” I said. “The way things stand now, Jameson wants there to be minimal inconvenience for the residents, but that comes at the expense of the businesses along that stretch of the street. But if we change the location of the construction entrance and shift a few things out of the parking lot space, I think we could find a happy medium.”
“I trust your judgment,” Chuck said. “But why are you asking me about this on a Sunday night?”
“I wanted to get your permission to approach an important client with ideas to change his plans,” I said.
“You’re the lead architect,” Chuck told me.
“But you’re the boss,” I said, feeling more secure, now that Chuck hadn’t just shut me down.
Chuck chuckled. “I appreciate your respect, Theo,” he said. “And I admire the lengths you’re willing to go to for this man you like.”
I blushed hard. “He’s worth it,” I said.
“It sounds like it,” Chuck said. “If it’s permission you need, I hereby give you my permission to do whatever it takes to win this guy over.”
“It’s not that at all,” I said, having a hard time deciding whether I was more embarrassed or excited that I could go ahead and do something that would really help Common Grounds. “I just want to do the best job possible.”
“And you are,” Chuck said. “You’re doing a fantastic job, Theo.
As an architect and a person. Carrie, my wife, has me on this kick where I’m focused on giving people more positive feedback and encouragement, so I’ll say this.
It’s an admirable thing, going the extra mile for love.
That young man of yours is lucky to have you. ”
“Oh, it’s not—” I was about to say that it wasn’t love, but that would have a lie.
Part of me thought it was too soon to throw around big emotions like that, but another part argued that I’d known Diccon for months, and that love hit you when it wanted to, not when you were ready.
“Thank you, sir,” I said, forcing myself to relax.
“I’ll set up a meeting with Jameson as soon as possible and get this all taken care of. ”
“Excellent,” Chuck said. “And if it makes you feel better, I’ve had word that the office refurbishment will be done by the end of this week, so we’ll be back to normal by the end of the month.”
It was good news all around, and after we said our goodbyes, I hung up with more confidence than I’d gone into the call with. That was more than I had hoped for. It propelled me to get out a sketch pad and to jot down a few ideas about how to change the layout of the construction site.
I was so absorbed in my work that I nearly jumped out of my skin when my phone rang close to nine o’clock. Even more startling, Diccon’s name showed up on my screen.
“Hello?” I answered the phone with probably too much eagerness.
“Hi,” Diccon replied, sounding hesitant, which wasn’t like him at all. “Have you got a minute?”
“Yeah,” I said, blowing out a breath and standing to pace. I wasn’t going to be able to stand still during this conversation, especially if it took a bad turn.
Diccon drew in an audible breath, then said, “I’m sorry for freaking out on you the other night.”