Page 16 of Protecting the Nerd

“York,” Quillon said. “Can we…?”

He extended his hand, his intention clear. It felt like a pivotal moment, the physical manifestation of our fake relationship. I hesitated, not out of disgust or fear but because of the bizarre nature of the situation. However, rational thought won, and I placed my hand in his. Quillon wrapped his fingers around mine, firm and warm, and a jolt shot up my arm. It was just an act, just two clasped hands clasped, nothing more.

We walked in silence, my mind racing. Despite the chatter in my head, I couldn’t ignore the warmth of Quillon’s touch. I’d never had such intimate contact with another man, alien yet not entirely unpleasant. Could I pull this off? Make this relationship seem real to those who knew me—a man who kept his personal life as tidy and compartmentalized as a well-organized database?

“Is this okay?” Quillon glanced at me with a hint of concern.

“Fine,” I replied curtly, trying to quash the rising tide of self-consciousness. This was just another problem, like a complex equation requiring a calculated solution. I would need to work on my reactions, condition them until they were natural, unforced. Only then could I convince others—and perhaps myself—that this charade was genuine.

As we walked down the street, the weight of Quillon’s hand in mine became less pronounced and settled into something that approached normalcy. Until we ran into Mrs. Henderson, my former music teacher, who shuffled along the sidewalk, pushing her walker at a snail’s pace. She stopped and peered at me over the rim of her glasses.

“York Coombe? Is that you? My stars, we thought you’d gone and forgotten all about us!”

“Hello, Mrs. Henderson,” I said in a loud voice. Her hearing wasn’t what it used to be. I offered her a small smile, deeply aware of Quillon’s hand still clasped in mine. “I could never forget Forestville.”

“Well, with how things are, no one would blame you. Not much here for you to return to, now is there? But who’s this handsome young man you’ve brought with you?” She appraised Quillon with a keen eye, one that missed nothing despite her years.

“This is my boyfriend, Quillon.” I was proud of how natural that had come out.

“Nice to meet you, ma’am,” Quillon said, the picture of charm. Mrs. Henderson’s scrutiny softened, and she nodded approvingly.

“Welcome to our little corner of the world, Quillon.” She turned to me again. “Are you still playing?”

She’d taught me to play the piano and, by doing so, had introduced me to the wonders of classical music. “Sadly, no, Mrs. Henderson. I live in an apartment. Not the best place for a piano.”

“That’s a shame. You were gifted, York. But I understand.” She patted my biceps with a trembling hand.

“Thank you.”

“Take care now,” she called after us as we continued our walk, her words leaving a trail of warmth in their wake.

As we passed the hardware store, Mr. Kowalski tipped his hat at us, a gesture of recognition and acceptance that didn’t require words. At Brianna’s Bakery, we ran into Brianna, who was closing her store. “Hey, honey.” She rose on her tiptoes and gave me a warm hug. She barely reached my shoulder, but her hugs were always the best. “It’s so good to see you again.”

She probably didn’t mean it beyond the standard small-town kindness, but that was okay. I preferred it to my parents’ indifference. “You too.”

I stepped back and gestured at Quillon. “This is my boyfriend, Quillon. Quillon, this is Brianna, who bakes the best pastries you’ve ever had.”

“Well, how about that?” She playfully slapped my shoulder. “You’ve been holding out on us.”

She hugged Quillon, who looked a little shocked as he awkwardly patted her back. “Nice to meet you, ma’am.”

She grinned. “Don’t you dare ma’am me. It’s Brianna, honey. I’ve known York since he was an itty-bitty baby.”

She was seven years older than me, another classmate of my brother’s. Hell, she had babysat me occasionally. She was the sweetest person, always so nice and kind.

“So, what brings you to town?” Brianna asked.

I took a deep breath. Here went nothing. “I’m working on something and needed a change of scenery, so we figured we’d stay here for a while. We’re in Ms. Carol’s house. Well, Tomás’s now, I suppose.”

“Oh, that’s such a cute little place. I’ve always been envious of her garden. That woman sure had a green thumb.”

I chuckled. “Don’t count on me to keep anything alive. I can barely take care of myself.”

Quillon wrapped his arm around me, and I was startled. “Good thing you have me, babe.”

Babe? Oh my god, I would have to work much harder to control my reactions. Awkwardly, I leaned into his embrace. “You are a wonderful cook.”

That, at least, was true, so I wasn’t violating his rule of not adding unnecessary details.

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