Chapter 24
James
Iwas seriously beginning to wonder if it was possible to actually vibrate out of one’s skin, because if it was, Marc was about two-point-five seconds away from doing just that.
In hindsight, we probably should have waited to decorate the wall where he planned to install the display refrigerator.
Thankfully, it was nowhere near as large as the monstrosity that was the walk-in taking up the back.
“Maybe I should have them put it on the other wall.” Marc darted me an anxious look and continued to chew on his thumbnail, or what was left of it.
The way he instantly relaxed made my heart soar and my chest fill with pride. It was such a small thing, but I loved that I could give him this comfort. The little groan he let out, however, was not helping.
“Okay, but—”
I subtly tightened my grip and leaned down to whisper, “Easy, baby boy. It looks great where it is. All of your hard work is paying off. Trust yourself.” When I pulled away, I was surprised to find him studying me.
“I trust you.”
Fuck, I loved him. All the times I’d fallen too fast, too hard for someone paled in comparison to how utterly gone I was for Marc Weathers. “What do you say we grab lunch at McSharry’s after they finish installing the fridge?”
He groaned and dropped his head against my chest. “It’s Saturday. They’ll be packed.”
I chuckled, releasing my grip on his neck to run my hand down his back. “At least you know they’ll be open.”
“I’m never gonna live that down, am I?” He pushed away to check on the status of the install.
“Not in this lifetime.”
One of the installers stepped back, dusting his hands, and I glimpsed a rainbow wristband.
Maybe Fairhope wasn’t as bigoted as I feared.
Andy hadn’t seemed to encounter any issues while he was here.
Then there was little Rumi and her family.
Perhaps an open life here was more possible than I initially gave it credit.
Sure, not everyone would be decent as we’d already experienced, but as Andy liked to say, “Not even pizza could make everyone happy.”
“That should do ya,” the other installer said, as he finished picking up the last of the packaging from the floor.
“Fine shop you’ve got here. My boy would get a kick outta these funny lizards.
” He leaned over and plucked at the springy tail of one of the metal critters that looked like it was crawling out from behind the refrigerator, causing it to bounce dramatically.
“Take it. We got way too many of them.” The side-eye Marc shot me said he had not missed my helpful relocation of his disturbing orgy-murder of lizards.
The man waved his hands in front of him. “Nah, I couldn’. But I’d love to bring the missus by some time. She and her gal friends are always looking for new places to use for their volunteer organization events.”
Marc’s eyes brightened, and my heart swelled to see the joy in him.
This was his dream, his passion. And he positively glowed with it.
“Sure, I’d love to work with local volunteer groups.
I haven’t had cards made yet, but I can give you my direct info so she can get in touch.
” He scrambled over to the counter where he kept his lists and jotted down the info.
The installer with the rainbow band looked around while they waited, his gaze perpetually drawn back to Marc.
I might have felt some kind of way about it if it wasn’t also clear that he’d clocked the Pride sticker in the window and every time his gaze went to Marc, it inevitably slipped to me.
“So… I noticed the shop doesn’t have a sign out front.
This used to be Petunia’s Petals, right? ”
“Yep. I’m her great-nephew,” Marc replied, tearing free the paper and giving it to the other installer.
“You planning to keep the name or change it?”
Marc’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. I could see the lowkey anxiety darkening his eyes from here and sighed internally. “I, um, I hadn’t really thought about it. Keep it, I guess.”
“Nothing for nothing, and don’t get me wrong, I’m all for nostalgia,” he glanced at the small Pride flag then back at Marc, “but I think you should change it. You know, make it your own.”
“Huh, I’ll, uh, have to think about that.” He cleared his throat and shoved his hands into his back pockets as if he were shoving down his sudden discomfort. “Thanks again for coming out on a Saturday. I know that’s not your norm.”
“Pshh,” the first installer said, waving him off.
“It was either this or get roped into helping my brother-in-law empty out his shed. Last time I was there, he made me try his homemade moonshine that had me regretting every life decision since the Rebirth.” Marc barked a laugh, and the rainbow installer shook his head.
Likely this was not the first time he’d heard this tale.
“Needless to say, it was an easy decision. It was Frankie over here that needed the convincing.”
I glanced at rainbow installer—aka Frankie—who shrugged.
“Can’t say as I regret it. You guys are good people.
” It seemed that was the end of it as they gathered their tools and made their way out the back, but while Marc was bidding the other installer goodbye—again—Frankie stepped up to me.
“Y’all make a cute couple. I really hope you stick around.
This place could stand a little more color.
” He gave me the faintest smile, dipped his head, and walked over to the delivery truck to hop into the passenger seat.
“What was that about?” Marc asked, stepping up beside me, sliding his hand into my back pocket as he looped an arm around my waist.
I wrapped an arm around him as well and tugged him close so I could kiss the side of his head. “Nothing, baby boy. He was just expressing how excited he is about the shop being here.”
His face screwed up with obvious skepticism. “Really? Excitement isn’t really a word I’d associate with the guy.”
“Eh, you might be surprised. Now, come on, I’m starved.”
He snorted. “You’re always starved. You’re a freaking giant. It’s a wonder you’ve managed to last this long. But I suppose I have been promising you McSharry’s.”
“Darn tootin’” I replied with a toothy grin.
“Ew. No. Just,” he shuddered, removing his hand from my back pocket, “no.”
McSharry’s was exactly as advertised: local, packed, and Irish down to its bedrock.
It was also “hot as blue blazes” as Marc put it, and no way in hell were we sitting outside in this muggy-ass heat and getting, as he colorfully put it, “swamp balls”.
I didn’t know whether to laugh or kiss him.
These days, I trended more and more towards the “why choose” option.
“What’ll it be, boys?” the waitress asked.
It was refreshing to see that she was wearing nothing more elaborate than a simple black tee with the pub’s logo on it and worn jeans.
Guess that was another perk of smaller towns.
Restaurants treated women like actual people instead of objects to be ogled.
I glanced down at the plastic menu we’d been given upon being seated and bit my lip. Clearly reading my indecision, she tapped her pen on her notepad, then tucked it into her half-apron.
“How ‘bout I grab those Guinness first? I’ll be back in a jiff.” She spun away to retrieve the beers from the bar, and I could not have been more grateful for Southern politeness. Or I could have, if Marc hadn’t snickered so loud I could hear it over the steady noise of the place.
“What?” I asked, slapping the plastic menu against the table.
“Me, what? You, what? Why are you so…?” He gestured with his hands to vaguely encompass my general person. “It’s a pub, not, I don’t know, the Mansion of Calgary or something.”
I laughed so hard, I swear to God I almost fell out of my chair.
Wiping at my eyes, I struggled to pull myself together.
Seriously, the things that came out of his mouth.
There was no predicting any of it. I could read his face like a book, sense how he was feeling from across a room, but for as long as I lived, I’d never be able to tell what would come out of Marc’s mouth next.
“That’s… that’s,” I pushed down another burst of laughter, “not a thing. Like at all.”
“It is too,” he huffed indignantly.
I shook my head, still failing miserably at tamping down my humor. “No, baby boy. It’s Calgary Castle, and it’s in Scotland.”
He scowled and grumbled, “Don’t see how that’s any freaking different, but whatever,” then asked louder, “Okay, so what? My point still stands. What’s got you all twisted?”
“I just can’t decide what to get. I’m torn,” I admitted.
He rolled his eyes. “Honey, we can come back.”
My heart plain stopped beating. And even though it hurt like hell, I wasn’t sure I wanted it to start again.
Because right now, in this moment between beats, Marc had called me “Honey” like he meant it, like it was something he’d done a thousand times and would do a thousand times more and a thousand times more after that.
In this moment there was a life together, a life filled with laughter and love and flowers, so many flowers.
In this moment was the future. In this moment was forever.
Except.
Southerners called perfect strangers “honey.” It wasn’t an endearment; it was a sweetened placeholder for a name. It didn’t mean anything.
“JD?”
“Huh?” I shook my head, and my heart resumed beating, though the pain stayed.
He gave me a soft smile. “You said you were torn. What things were you torn between?”
“Oh. The, uh, Shepherd’s pie and the fish and chips.”
He took my menu and snapped the two together, tilting back to hand them to the waitress. “There you go. That’s what we’ll have.”
“You got it, sugar.” The woman walked away to put in the order and I looked at Marc.
“I might be a giant, but I can’t actually eat all of that.”
“Be pretty rude if you did, since I was planning on eating half of each.” He gave me one of his beaming smiles before taking a drink, and the pain that had followed me from my zone-out eased. Oh. Oh.
“But what about what you were going to order?”
“I never really came here. Beer is beer, and while the live music is usually on point.” He shrugged in lieu of finishing. “I’m mostly hoping it doesn’t disappoint.”
It was really hard to tell with the dim lighting in this place, even with what was coming in from the windows, but it looked like Marc was blushing.
He was worried I wouldn’t like the food because he hadn’t properly vetted the place?
Not even that. It sounded like this was a place he rarely, if ever, patronized.
But he was here—with me—because he thought I might like it.
If I thought I could get away with it, I’d have launched over the table and kissed him within an inch of his life.
But there was no chance of that, so I settled for something way less elaborate.
I nudged his foot under the table and waited for him to meet my gaze.
“Guess we’ll have to be the judges then, won’t we?
Who knows, maybe it’ll have to be added to the rotation. ”
The tentative smile he gave me was, fuck, it was everything.
But then he went and slid his foot up my leg and set my blood on fire.
And goddamn him, it was going to be miserable as hell sitting through lunch with a semi.
Knowing damn well what he’d done, then the fucker went and winked.
I didn’t want to hear another word out of his damn mouth about how he was shit at flirting.
From where I was sitting, he was rocking expert level, and I would know.