Page 39 of A Small Town Spring

I pull myself together and return to my call with Deanna.“Sorry about that.”

“No problem.I think I have figured out the issue with the opening hook.”The author on the other end of the video call arches an eyebrow.“You look unusually happy.”

“What?”I glance at my video feed, the goofy smile on my face utterly unlike the usual sophisticated curve of my lips.

“Good news?”she asks.

“Ah.”Toby coming to the city, dinner plans with him, having him spend the night at my place.It’s almost like a date.Only it’s not.Only it could be.And apparently my mouth thinks it is, if my hokey smile is any indication.“Promising news.”

I havetwenty-four hours to plan dinner, and it doesn’t seem like enough.I want it to be casual but nice, romantic but not too romantic.Maybe I should stop thinking about it as a date.Maybe I should call him and ask if it is a date.Maybe I should cancel.Maybe I should get a head check.

Problem is, I’d call Pete or Jack or even Van or Beck, but all of those happily paired-off gays are going to either tell me to be careful or go for it.Which are the two poles I’m already wildly swinging between.

Instead, I text my sister, someone who’s outside the drama of our somewhat incestuous group.Her dating experience isn’t huge—this is someone who’s been with her high school boyfriend ever since their eyes locked in third period Calculus.Gary is a good man, and I trust him with my sister, which is saying a lot.

But Luce knows me, and lately I’ve been having trouble trusting myself to be me.

Hey Luce, you free to talk?

She calls me while I’m looking at restaurant listings on my laptop.

“What’s up?”she asks.“The boys are in the bath, so I have to keep an eye on them or they’ll turn the bathroom into a lake.”

“How’s work?”

“Fine.It’s harder than I thought working half-time.Trying not to work too much.But mostly good.”Lucetta is a lawyer who took time off when the twins were born and has been working part time since they started school.

“And Gary?”

“He wants to buy a truck,” she says flatly.

“Doesn’t he have a truck?”

“This one is ‘special’—some kind of tow package thing he thinks he needs.”

“Well, he probably does,” I say, knowing how alluring vehicles can be.

“Don’t encourage him, please,” she says tartly.“How’s your work?”

“Busy, which is good.How’s Mom?”

“You know.She seems tired.But she’s fine.Didn’t you talk to her this weekend?”

I talk to her a couple of times a week at least.“Yeah, but it’s not the same as being there.”

“So come visit.”

“Yeah.Well.”The guilt bubbles up fresh in my chest.I can’t tell her that I put off the trip I’d been planning because I’ve been selfishly enjoying spending the time with Toby.“How about Thanksgiving?”

She doesn’t reply to that, instead in her most accusing little-sister voice says, “You met someone.”

“What makes you say that?”

“You’ve been MIA and now you’re calling me to chat.”

“Can’t I chat with my baby sister?”

“You can.What do you want to talk about?”

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