9. Sweet Clueless Puppy
SWEET CLUELESS PUPPY
As Friday rolls around, I’m starting to think my coffee-machine hero might’ve been a stress-induced apparition.
I regret not taking the extra five seconds to ask for her phone number in return, and have convinced myself I must have mistyped mine in my rush.
Grace hasn’t stopped by the cafe either, which doesn’t help ease my anxiety.
Her offer to hang out was probably one of those polite, throwaway things people say. That we should totally get together sometime promise, which never materializes. I used to collect them back home.
I shove my doubt aside and focus on work, though I do keep one eye on the front door, in case the bell rings and it’s her. Hope is annoying like that—it clings on even when you’ve explicitly told it not to.
Other than the Monday hiccup, running the cafe on my own this week has gone surprisingly smoothly, and Annabelle’s mood has clearly improved since starting school.
Owen’s too. He’d never admit it because he loves having her around, but the man was in severe need of the reprieve those few hours of school bring.
My mother used to joke kids have a way of sucking the energy right out of you. Succubi, she’d called me once, which was rude, although possibly fair.
However, if that’s the truth, then I seem to be immune. Being around Annabelle charges me, instead of wearing me down. When I mentioned this to Owen, he laughed and said I still have youth on my side. I’m choosing to take it as a compliment.
My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I very casually do not lunge for it.
Unknown
Hey Finley! Sorry it took me so long to text. Busy week unpacking. Any chance you’re free for dinner tonight?
My heart does a little jump.
Unknown:
Its Grace, btw.
I start typing abso-fucking-lutely before remembering I should probably make sure Owen doesn’t need me for anything first.
“Hey Uncle Owie,” I holler across the cafe. It’s empty, not long before closing.
He appears a moment later from the kitchen, flour dusting his beard and shirt. Somehow, this makes him look even hotter than usual, which is deeply unfair.
“Do you need me for anything tonight?” A full-body naked massage, perhaps?
His brow furrows. “No?”
There’s a small flicker of disappointment before I remember my unpopular self has plans. “I was going to grab dinner with Grace.”
Something in his demeanor shifts. It’s subtle, but I see it in the way his jaw tightens, and his mouth becomes a stiff line. “Oh. Okay.” He rubs at his beard, smearing more flour there. “Have fun, I guess.”
That guess is doing a lot of work, and my anxiety latches onto it immediately.
“Is—uh. Is there something wrong with Grace?”
My concern snaps him out of whatever spiral he was falling into. He shakes his head quickly, applying that same weird smile he gave me on Monday.
“No. No, Grace is great. Good kid. I’ve known her since she was in diapers.” He pauses. “God. That must’ve been, what, twenty? Twenty-five years ago? It’s good you’re meeting people your age in town.”
Ah. There it is—the reminder Owen could very realistically be my father.
“I’m glad you’re making friends. Truly.” The last word feels tacked on, almost like he’s reassuring himself. “Do you want to borrow the truck? That way, you can pick her up.”
“Oh, sure. Thanks.”
He turns to walk back into the kitchen, but pauses, giving me another glance. “Uh… When I got milk earlier, the store had some nice bouquets on sale.”
“That’s—” Actually, a fantastic idea! What better way than to start a friendship with some pretty flowers? I nod and smile, hoping he can tell how grateful I am for the suggestion. “Are you sure you won’t need the truck?”
“Not at all.” He waves me off a little too quickly and disappears.
I pull my phone out again and thumb out a quick reply.
Finley:
Dinner sounds perfect!! Pick you up at 7?
Her response comes so quickly, I don’t have time to overthink my use of the double exclamation points.
Grace:
It’s a date :)
I grin and save her contact, the knot in my chest loosening as I return to wiping down the counters. Spring fully returned to my step.
I lean forward in the seat, squinting over the wheel to find the right house. One seventy-two. One seventy-four. Ah. One seventy-six.
I pull to the curb slowly, whispering a prayer I don’t scrape the truck or flatten someone’s beloved family pet in the process. This thing should come with a minimum height requirement to operate. One I would absolutely not meet.
Thank God, Grace’s house is only a couple of miles down the street from the cafe. With the speed I had to crawl along at—given I can only see over the wheel or press the accelerator at a time—I’d be driving all night if it were any farther.
I check my hair in the rearview mirror, make sure nothing’s stuck in my teeth, then grab the bouquet and attempt to climb down from the cab. Attempt being the operative word, as I forget how far the ground is and land hard, knees buckling, dignity evaporating on impact.
Well. That was elegant. There’s a very real chance Grace is going to have to help me back into the driver’s seat, which would be humiliating on infinite levels.
Once I’ve reassembled myself, I hop up to the front door and ring the bell.
Her place is a cute, cottagey sort of place—a rental, Owen told me—with sweet window boxes and teal shutters.
It’s the kind of house you’d expect to see in a small-town Hallmark movie.
A moment later, the matching teal door swings open, and Grace appears, beaming at me.
“Why don’t you look handsome!” Grace steps aside and beckons me in.
I shuffle over the threshold, smoothing a hand down my wrinkle-free button-down.
I’d been wearing one of my usual slightly scraggy T-shirts before I left, but Owen had been insistent I dress a little nicer.
He even ironed the damn thing for me, muttering about how kids these days don’t know how to make a good first impression.
It was sweet. A little odd, maybe. But sweet.
“Owen picked it out,” I say, suddenly aware I’m still clutching the bouquet awkwardly at my side. I lift it toward her. “These are for you.”
“Aw, Finley. You shouldn’t have.”
She takes them, bringing the flowers to her nose in that way women seem pre-programmed to do, then gestures for me to follow her into the kitchen. She rummages through a few cupboards before pulling down a sunny yellow vase.
“They were also Owen’s idea,” I add.
That gets me a look. One eyebrow quirks up, but she doesn’t say anything as she peels away the paper and starts arranging the flowers—peonies, if I remember the store’s sign correctly.
“I think he’s excited I’m making friends,” I offer.
“He thinks you’re on a date, babe.”
I blink. “No, I—”
Grace gives me a look that’s equal parts fond and deeply amused. You sweet, clueless puppy, it says.
“Even if I hadn’t recognized his truck, the way you fell out of it would’ve tipped me off that he lent it to you. And it was covered in mud this mornin’ when I walked by. Which means he cleaned it for you, too.”
I open my mouth to argue, then stop. Holy shit. He did clean it. He took Annabelle out for an hour this afternoon. Something about running an errand, while I’d stayed home, happily buried in my book.
“Is that the nicest shirt you own?” I pretend to be offended by the implication, but she rolls her eyes. “Lemme guess, he told you to open the car door. Pick up the check. Ask lots of questions, Finley. Be respectful.”
The accuracy is unsettling. Owen had even pressed forty dollars into my palm on the way out, mumbling, Take it just in case, when I tried to hand it back.
“Oh my God,” I breathe. “He high-school-date-dad’d me.”
Grace bursts out laughing. “Oh, babe. He most definitely did.”
It takes us a minute to stop laughing, the whole thing teetering just shy of absurd. Anyone with eyes can probably tell women like Grace are not my type. You know, given they’re women and all. Unless—
“Wait. This isn’t a date, right?”
I gulp, a worried mass already forming in my throat. Isn’t that what she’d said in her text? It’s a date. I hadn’t meant to give her the wrong idea.
Grace only laughs harder. “Heaven’s no. This ain’t a date. Unlike Owen, my gaydar is fully operational.”
I let out a chuckle in relief.
“Plus,” she adds lightly, setting the finished bouquet in the center of the table and grabbing her purse, “I think everyone—except Owen himself—can see how smitten you are with the man.”
“Am not,” I protest weakly.
“Sure, hon. Whatever you need to tell yourself to sleep at night.”
I should probably feel embarrassed by how transparent I apparently am, but I can’t find it in me to care.
We fall into easy banter as she feeds Paws McCatney—a big, fluffy, orange cat with white splashed across its chest and ears—then slips on her shoes. We decide taking her car is the safer choice, and she pulls away from the curb, turning right onto Main Street and heading away from the cafe.
“Do you really think Owen doesn’t know I’m gay?” I ask, staring out the passenger-side window as the high street slides by. My heart drops getting caught on a thought I hadn’t let myself consider until now. “He wouldn’t have a problem with it, would he?”
We’ve never talked about my sexuality—obviously—I’d always assumed it was one of those truths written plainly across my face. I don’t exactly hide it. Good on him for not jumping to conclusions, I guess.
What if his finding out changes things? What if he doesn’t want me staying with him anymore?
Or worse—what if he doesn’t want me around Annabelle?
He’s never given me a reason to think he’d respond like that, but if Grace is right and he truly never considered it…
Maybe that’s the only reason he’s been so welcoming.
Grace slows at a stop sign, glancing both ways before pulling through.
“He probably never thought about it. But no, he definitely wouldn’t have an issue.” She sighs, tapping her fingers against the steering wheel as we pass the hardware store. “A few years back, Doctor Abraham came out. Well, came out isn’t the right word. He was outed. Pretty spectacularly too.”
I wince.
“Not everyone in town took it well. People stopped goin’ to him.
Folks who’d trusted him for decades decided they’d rather drive an hour outa their way than see the man who delivered half their kids, because he's queer. Owen was the first and loudest to stand up for him. I’ve never seen the man so riled.
He reminded everyone real quick about all those values they love preachin’ in church: lovin’ thy neighbor, supportin’ your community, all’a it. ”
She shakes her head. “Someone painted slurs all over the front of the doctor’s practice one night. Owen was there first thing the next mornin’, scrubbin’ it off before his appointments started.”
Something warm unfurls behind my ribs, spreading outward until it feels like my whole chest is glowing. I already knew Owen was a good man—knew it down to my bones—but hearing how fiercely he defended someone under attack for their sexuality… It makes my mouth pull into the widest of grins.
“So no,” Grace finishes. “He wouldn’t have a problem. And I know for a fact he marched over and gave Elodie a piece of his mind after he heard what she said to you the other day.”
That part, at least, I knew. I’d tried to keep the whole incident to myself until Mrs. Patterson had loudly checked in on me the next day, right in front of Owen.
He’d dragged the story out of me and stormed across the street to Elodie’s salon.
I watched them bicker through the window.
She hasn’t been within ten feet of the cafe since.
Grace hesitates, then adds, “Honestly, I always thought after the doctor was forced out, we might get a similar announcement from Owen.”
The words hit me sideways. “Wait, you think Owen is gay?”
She flicks me a look that seems to say a million different things before returning her attention to the road. “I’d never presume. It’s just… I dunno, Finley. I’ve known him my whole life. He’s always been easy on the eyes. Always had that pure heart. That man’s the full package.”
She lets out a small breath. “You know how the women in this town fawn over him. I’ve never known him to go on a real date.
Not since whatever happened with Elodie in high school.
I figured maybe he was worried this town wouldn’t support his choice in partner.
He might’ve been right, at least back then.
Folks eventually came ‘round after the good doctor’s news. ”
Her voice trails off as she pulls into the parking lot of a slightly ramshackle barbecue joint. You can tell by the way it’s half-falling apart it will have the best food. Places that look like this always do.
“I thought maybe he wouldn’t keep somethin’ like that close to his chest forever.”
Grace turns toward me and pulls her long red hair up into one of those artfully messy knots people pay good money to recreate in a salon.
“He said he doesn’t do casual,” I tell her, the words slipping out before I can stop them. “And he’s too busy for anything long-term.”
She shrugs. “That might be true. Still, the man’s almost forty. Not a single person in all that time?”
Unease works its way up my throat. This feels like a line we shouldn’t be crossing.
Whatever Owen’s reasons are, sexuality included, they’re his.
If he wanted to date, he would. If he wanted the whole gossip-hungry town to know, he’d tell them himself.
Yet, there’s something in Grace’s tone I can’t shake.
“What are you saying?”
She opens the car door and climbs out. I follow, quick enough to catch her by the arm before she can wave me off and head inside.
“All I’m sayin’,” she says gently, “is flirt with him a little. See how he responds. Who knows, maybe you’ll be surprised.”
I stare at her, horrified. “I couldn’t do that. He’d toss me out on the street.”
She smiles, eyes bright with mischief. The idea she’s dangling is absurd. Impossible. Owen wouldn’t be interested in someone like me. He’s older, settled, responsible. Sure, my mind might run away with fantasies of him. But they’re just fantasies, and I’m…me.
And yet, the thought worms its way in anyway, dangerous and far too tempting for comfort.
“Worst case scenario, he doesn’t even notice. Best case? You catch the eye of the daddiest daddy there is.”
I groan. “You’re going to get me in trouble putting ideas like that in my head.”
“Either that,” she hums cheerfully, “or I’ll get you laid.”
Now there’s an image that will haunt me all night.
I give her a light shove toward the restaurant. “Enough. Let’s eat before you completely ruin my ability to look the man in the eye.”