Page 21 of Maybe You

“To resist? Trust me when I say it’s one hundred percent unnecessary. Just give in to the temptation and come over to my side. I promise I’ll make it worth your while.”

I send him an exasperated look. “Do you ever turn—” I gesture toward him, not really sure how to describe what I mean. “—all of this off?” I ask.

“Funerals,” he says immediately, like he’s got that answer locked and loaded. “But only if I respected the deceased.”

“And if not you’ll just hit on the widow?”

He shrugs, completely unapologetic. “I’m not gonna lie. I do some of my best work at funerals.”

“Christ’s sake.” I’m thoroughly exasperated as I turn around to go and pack the cleaning supplies away.

And still, he doesn’t leave. Instead, he helps. I just do not get him at all.

Once we’re done, we grab our stuff and head outside. I lock up and turn around.

The streetlights paint the world with a yellowish hue. It’s late April, so the nights are still cool. I pull my jacket tighter around me and look at Sutton again.

“Well… thanks,” I say. “For the help.”

In reply, he simply salutes me.

With no idea what else to say or how to react, I just nod, stuff my hands in my pockets, turn around, and start to walk away. My bike’s still in Remy’s care. I fucked it up badly enough that he needed to order parts to get it fixed, which means I’m relying on my feet and the subway system.

“Do you want a ride?”

Sutton’s voice stops me, and I turn around, walking backward now.

“I’m good,” I say.

For some weird reason and only for a flash of a moment, I swear he looks relieved. But it might just be my imagination because, once again for the people in the back, I do not understand him.

I turn back around.

“See you, Wren,” he calls after me just as I’m about to turn a corner.

I lift my hand in acknowledgment.

I’ll eat my hat if he comes back tomorrow.

FOUR

The next day that hat comment comes back to bite me in the ass.

Sutton’s waiting outside, in front of the building. He’s leaning against the wall next to the door, casually eating churros from a white cardboard box. Somehow, some way, he manages to look elegant while doing it. He shouldn’t, but he does.

Some people seem to be born with an innate grace that allows them to come off sophisticated no matter what they do. Sutton got a big helping, obviously.

I stop in front of him, and he extends the box toward me.

“You didn’t break in this time.” I take the churro he’s offering without even really thinking about it.

“I’m not allowed to eat inside after the infamous Spaghetti Bolognese Incident of two thousand and twenty-two.” He picks up the last churro and stuffs it in his mouth.

“Do I want to know?”

“Probably not.”

I cock my head to the side and study him. “So, just to clarify, it’s okay to break in, but eating is where you draw the line?”

---