Page 29 of I've Got You

“Any chance of you winning?”

“Well, that depends.”

He walked behind the counter and threw away the broken cup. “On?” he asked over his shoulder.

I followed close behind him. “The pool closes tomorrow. Your second week of shifts. Only dishes counts, and they have to break.” He shook his head at me as I spoke. There was no embarrassment in his face; instead, there was a mildly amused acceptance. “So no chips, no spillages, no dropped cutlery.”

“And I’m on fifteen?”

I bobbed my head. “Yeah.”

“What was your number?” he asked while he started shutting down the coffee machine.

Leaning against the counter, I studied him. There were fewer lines around his eyes, suggesting he was sleeping better at night. The darker flecks in his eyes also seemed a little brighter than they once had. I didn’t think “content” was the right word—he broke too much for me to believe that—but he did seem more relaxed and together. “I’m not sure I should tell you.”

“Oh?” He raised both brows in my direction, and I grinned and lifted one of mine back at him, knowing it got to him that he couldn’t lift just one eyebrow. I’d spent one morning getting him to try and had laughed so damn hard tears had spilled down my cheeks. He’d somehow ended up looking like a constipated rodent. And for a good-looking guy, I still had no idea how he managed to pull that off.

I laughed when he squinted at me. “You might try to sabotage me. You know, drop one too many or one too few.”

With a roll of his eyes, he shot a blast of steam out of the machine, cleaning it down and cooling it off. “It’s not like I intend to do it.”

“Hmm… that may be the case, but still, I’ll take my chances and keep quiet.” I turned in the direction of the scrape of chairs and called out to both Bill and Margaret as they left. Scott did the same. “I’ll get the door.” Scott nodded, and I went to flick the sign to Closed and lock up. I only did two shutdowns a week since Scott joined. And while he was a bit of a disaster, he was capable of making coffee and helping out in the kitchen. I’d been able to rejig all of our schedules so I was doing far fewer hours a week, which meant I was not only spending more time with Libby, but I also ensured I had about three hours to myself a week while Libby was in day care so I could do chores or shop.

When I headed back toward the counter, Scott was in the process of refilling the condiments, having already cleaned out the display cabinets. We were almost done for the night. “What are your plans tonight?”

With a flick of his gaze, his eyes connected with mine and he grinned. “I have a date.”

My breath caught in my lungs and my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth. I needed to breathe, but it was so hard when my gut tightened, painfully so, and my heart had spurted out a hit of painful adrenaline at his words.

Something akin to panic washed over Scott’s features. His eyes widened, his face ashen. “Shit, I mean with my nephews. My sister. I actually got my head out of my ass last week and called her. We’re FaceTiming tonight.”

Air hit my throat, filling my lungs as I took in a whoosh of breath. My reaction scared the shit out of me.

He appeared to hesitate a moment, and then resolve filled his eyes. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” I needed to say more, but the strength of my response to the possibility of him dating…. I shook my head, trying to clear it.

“It’s just a phrase I use with Jenna. Date. I have no idea when or why it started. It’s kind of weird, I suppose.” His explanation made it clear he’d witnessed the effect his words had on me. And he wasn’t gloating, wasn’t behaving indifferently; instead, he was trying to soothe and reassure me. The ice that had taken hold of my body just moments before thawed immediately.

“I don’t want you to go on dates,” I admitted. “That’s probably a shitty thing to say, but I can’t….” Since the words I’d spoken to him a couple of weeks earlier about kissing him, I’d thought about doing so every day, regardless of whether we saw each other or not. When I wasn’t focused on Libby or work, Scott occupied my mind. It was no accident that his work schedule was almost identical to my own. Katie was more than confident to train him up with the basics, and it wasn’t like I had the spare time, but I wanted the opportunity to be with Scott and get to know him better.

He didn’t smirk. There was no visible swallowing or other sign of nerves, and there was no whitening of his face. What there was instead was a steady gaze on me. “I’m gay.”

It wasn’t the time for a smartass comment about shit and Sherlock. Rather, I nodded. This was huge for him. I wasn’t a hundred percent sure, but it was probably one of a handful of times he’d ever said those words aloud before, let alone to anyone else.

“I’m gay and I’m terrified, and I’m excited as hell. I also want to vomit.”

I got it. I really did. How could I not? It didn’t matter what label I stuck on myself, or others for that matter, the task of coming to terms with your sexuality was momentous. Personal acceptance was just one thing in a long list of hurdles many people had to tackle. Pride swelled inside me and spread in my chest, desperate to break free and let Scott know.

“And I want to kiss you, but I’m not ready yet. You were right. Don’t get me wrong, I’m so ready. Hell, I’mreallyready, but I’m not, you know?” He continued talking while I nodded my understanding. “And I don’t want a unicorn tattoo, and I like rainbows, but I don’t want to wave one”—my lips twitched—“and the last thing I want to do is listen to Cher, and I don’t think I’ll be able to handle anyone asking me if I’m the man or the woman in a relationship, because seriously…?” He shook his head, a bewildered, slightly frenzied look on his face.

“It’s just… I’m me. I’m just a guy. I’ve always felt this way, always known. Nothing’s changed, but I feel like everything has.”

At that, I stepped around the counter to his side. He watched me coming. My heart ached for him, for his uncertainty, his confusion. He’d needed to offload and expel all of the crazy things rushing through his head. I would have liked for him to look more relaxed for it, but he was wound up tightly, every muscle visibly taut.

I reached for him and wrapped him up in my arms, not quite sure how he’d react to my gesture. Scott wasn’t a tactile guy. He rarely reached out and touched anyone, beyond a firm handshake. The most I’d ever seen was when he was with Libby. But this moment warranted contact.

With his head pressed against my shoulder, we remained silent. I lightly squeezed the back of his neck, encouraging him to relax and release the tension threatening to consume him. “You know,” I said after a beat, “somehow, someway, it’ll all work out.”

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