Page 38 of A Small Town Spring

“What?”

“Friends?”

“Why wouldn’t we be?”

“Just—well, no reason.I guess.”

“What does that mean?”

“Dude, nothing.If you say you’re just friends, that’s cool.”Van sounds suspiciously unbothered, as if he knows something I don’t.

“Of course we are.He’s not—” I pause.Finishing that sentence seems dangerous.

Van’s blue eyes sharpen on me, his thick black brows creasing together to form a hood of speculation.“You know he’s not straight, right?”

“Not straight?”I had suspicions, but Toby has never said anything definitive.

“Bi.He told me a few months ago.”

My world narrows to a point.“Oh.”

“Not that it matters, because you’re just friends.”

I reach for my wine and my skin slides impotently against the glass.When did my palms get so sweaty?

“That’s right.Just friends.”

Van lets it go, but I have trouble following the rest of our conversation.Knowing for sure that Toby’s not straight isn’t great for my concentration.I’ve worked so hard to keep things purely friendly between us.I’ll just have to keep trying.

Nineteen

A few days later,I’m on a video call with a client when my cell flashes with an incoming call.From Toby.

A call.Not a text.It could be something urgent or an emergency.Is Luna okay?Did a pipe burst in the house?

“Deanna, can I put you on hold for one second?”I mute my sound and video and pick up the call before it goes to voicemail.

“Toby?”

“Kingston, hey.I’m coming to Manhattan tomorrow to visit the gallery.Should we get dinner or something after?”

“Tomorrow?”

“Yeah, just finalized the plan.I’m taking the train in.Figured I could take the train back after dinner with you.If you’re free.”

“Why don’t you stay over at my place and drive back with me Friday?”It’s not until I issue the invitation that I remember my apartment doesn’t have a second bedroom, just an above-average comfortable couch.“Then you won’t be in a rush.”

“Oh.”He sounds surprised.“Yeah, that would be better.I could see the Hockney exhibit at MOMA before coming home.I think I can take a day off work.”

“Great.So, I’ll see you tomorrow.Dinner.”

“I’ll leave the restaurant to you,” he says.“I know you’ll pick something fabulous.”

“I generally make everything fabulous,” I respond automatically.

“You do,” he says, his voice warm and intimate in my ear.“Until then.”

“Bye, Toby.”

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