Page 4 of A Merry Christmas for Art… and His Tentacles

Interacting with people isn’t that simple. I’ve tried reading books about how to make friends, and I only ended up embarrassing myself. But Frank seems satisfied.

“You’re a good egg, Dean. I’m at the end of my rope here. I can’t deal with hiring lab techs every month because Art has no people skills.”

Dean Miller’s jaw tightens for just a moment, then he plasters on a smile that even I can tell is fake. “I’m looking forward to spending more time with Art. Like the board said, he’s the big brain behind this operation.”

Frank pauses and gives Dean Miller a long look. “One of the big brains.”

“Right, but I imagine he’s the only one of us who’s irreplaceable. It might be good to remember that.”

With that, Dean Miller walks out the door.

Dean

Art spent most of the morning hiding in the back of the lab. Not that I blame him, because Frank was kind of an asshole, and I’m sure that whole meeting was embarrassing. I get it that lab techs keep quitting and transferring out, but really, maybe Frank could warn them or do a better job of hiring people with thick skin.

Not that I’m going to complain about his scheme to make Art more people-friendly, because it’s the perfect excuse to get to know the cutie better.

Not that I want to force myself on the guy, but I don’t think hereallyminds my company. Sure, he said he didn’t want to work with me and that he’d “put up with me,” but sometimes I think avoidance is Art’s love language. I know I make him uncomfortable. Then again, I thinkeveryonemakes him uncomfortable. Maybe I’m delusional, but I think his discomfort with me is quite a bit more friendly than it is with anyone else.

I pick up my phone and shoot off a message to James that I won’t be able to make it to lunch today. After all, I think it’s best to start on our little project right away. Art is going to beawkward until I let him know what’s going on, anyway. He hates not having a plan.

“Hey, Art,” I call out, looking toward the back of the lab. I could go find him, but I don’t want to startle him again.

A tentacle creeps out from behind one of the tall shelves, gently undulating in the air as if sensing what’s out here. I try not to think about how sexy that tentacle would feel undulating against my skin. Poor Art would probably be mortified if he knew what I was thinking about. Eventually his head peeks around the shelf as well.

“It’s almost lunchtime,” I say. Then, because I know Art doesn’t get hints, I add, “We’re going to go to lunch together and talk about Frank’s plan. We’ll make our own plan and schedule to follow so you know exactly what to expect.”

Art nods his head, but he doesn’t come out from behind the shelf.

“Do you have a preference for lunch?” I ask.

“Food. At around 12:30,” Art replies.

I stifle my urge to laugh. Ok then, I guess I’ll be picking. I know he enjoys seafood, particularly shrimp, because he’s eaten it for lunch quite a few times.

“Ok. It’s noon now, so we’re going to leave and walk to the local seafood place up the street. They have some really good dishes, and I know you’ve ordered from there before,” I respond, smiling at Art.

He nods his head, takes a deep breath, and finally comes out from behind the shelving unit.

We make our way in silence to the elevators, and the walk to the restaurant is quiet as well. It isn’t until we’re seated and have placed our orders that I figure if I don’t start the conversation, we’ll never say a word before we go back to the lab.

“I’m sorry about this morning,” I say once the waitress has dropped off our waters.

Art’s tentacles are fiddling with his napkin and cup, and his head is down.

“Frank is kind of an asshole,” I add.

Art looks up at that. “He’s right about my social skills. I don’t know how to interact with people.”

“Yes, well, we’re going to fix that,” I reassure him.

Instead of looking happy, his tentacles only droop. Shit. Maybe I’ve misread this whole thing. I don’t want Art to do anything he doesn’t want to do.

“Unless you have a problem working with me. If you really don’t want to spend any time with me, I’m sure we can find someone else who can do this. I certainly don’t want to force myself on you, Art. No one should be made uncomfortable in their workplace,” I say, resting my hands on the table.

One of his tentacles reaches up and encircles my wrist again, and Art looks momentarily mortified. I only reach my other hand over and pat the tentacle, which circles my wrist more tightly.

Art stares at my hand resting over his tentacle and swallows hard. “You don’t have to… I’m sorry. They have a mind of their own.”

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