“Aaargh! You’ll at least call him and ask him out? Date the guy?”
I shrugged. “Maybe.” If he called me, if he wanted to. I wouldn’t hold my breath.
I spent way too much of my time asking people to do things for me—adopt this needy dog, donate this money, mention the shelter in that story or blog or website. As much as I adored having the shelter and space to help so many more pets, and as much as Neil took a lot of the begging duties off me, it still felt stifling. The dogs and cats and rabbits and iguana and all were innocent and important. I could ask for them. Asking for myself was one step too far.
Anyhow, Brooklyn was new in town. He hadn’t met many people yet. Gaynor Beach was full of hot gay men. Also kind gay men, and funny, smart, going-places gay men. All sorts of guys who were closer to his age, and didn’t come with a pack of rescue dogs and a job that ate their every waking moment. He could do better.
James was shaking his head. “Arthur, we’ve been friends for what, four years now? I bet I know what’s going on in your mind.”
“Hah.” I straightened. “Did you guess I was debating what I should make for dinner?”
“Sure you were. Have you talked to Brooklyn today, or texted him?”
“We texted last night.” Or at least, he had. I’d left it on read, because I’d been tired, headachy, and emotional, and likely to say things I didn’t mean to, if I’d gotten started. And then in the morning, it was embarrassing that I hadn’t at least said thank you. So I put it aside to think about later, and the longer I waited, the more embarrassing it got.
“Aren’t you curious how things went with that teen sister?”
“I guess.” Yeah, I was. I liked Cheyenne, despite how clearly she didn’t want me around. She had spunk, and from what little Brooklyn had told me about his parents, I had mad respect for her, keeping that independent spirit despite them.
“Give me your phone.” James held out a big hand.
“Why?”
He waved at me. “Trust me.”
“Okay.” I touched the lock and passed my phone over.
“I won’t look at the messages before, I promise.”
“You can.” There was nothing questionable down in words.
“Really? That’s disappointing. Okay, how about this?” He recited aloud as he typed. “‘Hey there, sorry I left you on read last night—’” He aimed a narrowed frown at me. “‘I was really tired. Had errands this morning but I wanted to know how—’” He paused typing. “What’s the sister’s name?”
“Cheyenne.”
“Really? And he’s Brooklyn? Their parents had a theme.” He went back to typing. “‘—how Cheyenne is doing. And how you’re doing. Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.’” He eyed me. “Is that okay?”
It was what I should’ve sent if I didn’t have my head a long way up my ass. The click of small nails in the hall made me say, “Add, ‘Chili misses you.’”
“She does? That little four-legged viper doesn’t miss anyone.”
“She’s not that bad. And she really likes Brooklyn.”
“Wow, he must be a saint. Done.” James typed, hit send, and passed the phone back to me.
Brooklyn’s not a saint, but he is a good man. I missed him a lot in that moment. Missed his dimpled smile across the table and the sound of his voice and his hand under my elbow when I overbalanced.
Before I could put my phone away, it chimed. The name at the top said Brooklyn.
Brooklyn
We’re making progress. Had a decent chat, talked to a lawyer. How are you doing? Did you have your doctor’s appointment? What did they say?
James caught my wrist and tipped the phone toward him so he could read the screen. “That doesn’t look like a guy who’s not interested.”
“I guess.”
He stood, pushed the chair in, and pointed a finger at me. “Text him back or call him, whatever. And eat. Or I’ll sic Mama on you.”
