G.G. opened the door wearing jeans and a paint-stained t-shirt that immediately made Trevor wonder if he’d been moping since he couldn’t possibly have been working on anything. G.G.’s hand was still bandaged, a loose, messy wrap of gauze that Trevor glared at, unable to help himself.
He looked up when G.G. said his name quiet and surprised, and wiped the glare from his face.
If G.G. had been saying no, he had every right to. But nobody liked being stood up, so Trevor also didn’t give him a smile.
“Are you okay?” G.G. asked, which threw him. “I thought your headache might have gotten worse.”
“You were worried?” was the first ridiculous question Trevor had, and for some reason, he asked it.
“I told you, you’re allowed to rest, Brian Trevor Matheson,” G.G. remarked in a faintly wistful voice, somehow sounding almost exactly like Sky.
Trevor stared at him in absolute consternation, which made G.G. frown a little, then drop his other hand to his bandaged one to pick at the gauze.
“I wasn’t sure you’d be by,” G.G. said, glancing over the empty court before looking back to Trevor. “It’s late, and you didn’t yesterday. Of course, you don’t have to. I just thought….” He didn’t say what he thought. He changed the subject. “I have a dish for you to take back but I wasn’t sure if I should wash it.”
Trevor bit the inside of his cheek and stared at G.G. offering himself up like that in his careful way. He cleared his throat to speak pleasantly. “Spaghetti with meatballs. The pasta is not homemade but the meatballs and sauce are. Although my grandma says to tell you that the sauce did not simmer all day because she is a busy woman.”
G.G.’s head went back and he drew his eyebrows together, perhaps correctly wondering if Trevor’s grandmother was angry with him.
“She’s ticked at the moment because she’s confused,” Trevor revealed without explaining anything more. If G.G. wanted an explanation, he could ask or beg for it. Trevor took a step closer to the door and held out the grocery bag. “Thank you for the box from the bakery.”
G.G.’s eyebrows unfurled.
“Did you like it?” G.G. briefly worried his bottom lip. “I wanted something that would go well with tea. But that’s not the tea you drink?”
Trevor slowly inclined his head without taking his eyes off G.G. “She said she told you that. And yeah.”
G.G. didn’t seem any less quietly anxious. “So you didn’t like them?”
“They were delicious,” Trevor informed him with real pleasure, rewarded by the flood of pink above G.G.’s beard. “Unexpected, and the sort of exquisite dessert it would never occur to me to try on my own.” He watched the shudder G.G. tried to suppress, then added, “I saved you one.”
Pretty eyes widened. “You didn’t need to do that.”
Trevor started to answer as he shook his head, but G.G. shifted the grocery bag around in his good hand, either nervous or trying not to strain it more than what he must have already done.
Trevor considered that fail attempt at a bandage again and then murmured, “I can’t tell if you aren’t asking because you still think it’ll bother me, or if you genuinely think I’m too angry to do it.” He exhaled in exhaustion at himself, at G.G., at broken kitchen knives, everything. Then he leaned in. “I know I didn’t need to save one for you. I did it anyway.”
G.G. stared at him without pulling back. “What?”
“What?” Trevor echoed him with false innocence. “I saved you one because I wasn’t sure if you ordered anything for yourself, and you should have a treat, G.G. I want you to.”
Tantalizing hints of feelings crossed G.G.’s face before he seemed to steel himself. “I thought you were disappointed. With me. When you didn’t show after we… after you said what you said.”
“Iwasdisappointed,” Trevor admitted. “But not with you.” G.G.’s frown returned. Trevor shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. I’m sure you have your reasons. And I appreciate that you were concerned for me. More than I can say, really.”
G.G.’s frown deepened.
Trevor held out his hand. “If you want, I’ll rebandage that for you. Wrap it too, if you haven’t figured out anything else for the shower. We can do it in silence if you don’t want to talk to me. It’s fine. I really am happy to help.”
G.G. stepped aside for him and followed Trevor’s path to his kitchen with a perplexed, distracted expression that didn’t fade even when they were standing by the kitchen island and Trevor turned to gently remove the grocery bag from G.G.’s wrist.
“I wanted to get you something nice.” It was nearly a question.
Trevor set the grocery bag aside. “They were exquisite,” he told G.G. again. “Lincoln must have been overjoyed at the chance to make them.”
The door to the kitchen was nudged open by Miss Delilah, who came right up to G.G. and then Trevor, twisting around his ankles in a friendly greeting before sneezing and bolting to the spot under the nook.
“His business is still slow without as many commuters,” G.G. said absently. “Why were you disappointed?”