Page 41 of Love in Mission City
“It doesn’t matter.”
I longed to reach out to him. But I might scare him off…and that would be worse. “It matters to me.” I poked at my food—my appetite having fled. His pain was so damn obvious.
“He left me because I was too stodgy. Too boring.” He gazed at Sheffield. “We had to sell the house because he couldn’t buy me out, and I knew I’d be too sad there. I bought the condo, rescued Sheffield, and the rest is history.”
So about five years ago. Ouch. I grinned. “You just haven’t met the right guy. We need to find you someone special. I’ve met a bunch of gay men in town. Met one the other day at the pet food store. I think he’s a little too flirty for you, but I could be wrong.”
“Is he…as brash as you?”
“Uh…” I didn’t see myself as brash, but what the hell did I know? “I’m outgoing.”
“You’re…”
I cocked my head.
“Perfect.” He whispered the word as he dug into his salad.
With a grin, I finished off my food. When I was done, I snagged our plates.
To my relief, he didn’t just get up and leave.
“Okay, so I’m thinking I need to hang a few of the pictures I’ve accumulated over the years. Most are smaller, but cute. I was thinking a collage of sorts. Or like pieces of a jigsaw.”
He frowned. “I know nothing about interior decorating.”
“You don’t have to know how to decorate. You just have to tell me if something works or not.” I snagged the box of paintings, framed photographs, and other things I’d picked up over the years. I grabbed the photos of my family, lovingly placing them on my desk for safekeeping. Of course, I picked Tansy’s first. A moment of pure, unadulterated joy. The moment she’d met puppy Bowser. “Okay, I think this one as the center.” I held it up.
Byron lowered the recliner and stood. He approached and held out his hand.
I gave him the photograph.
“This is…” He smiled. “Your sister?”
“Yeah, Tansy. The one with cerebral palsy.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone so…happy.” He gazed wistfully.
“Wait until you meet her.”
“Oh, I don’t think—”
“Great, don’t think. Help me organize the photos.” I pivoted to the opposite wall. “And I think that’s for the paintings and other artistic things.”
“Uh…”
“Great. Do you know how to hang these things?”
“Well, certainly—”
“Awesome. Let’s get started.” I wasn’t going to tell him my mom had shown me years ago.
Fortunately, Byron didn’t ask why I had everything needed to hang every photo, piece of artwork, and painting.
Two hours later, we walked the dogs together. At my insistence, of course.
An hour after that, Byron was home, and I lay in bed, admiring the beautiful displays.
I just have to convince him to give me a chance.
