“Tomorrow night,” Josh muttered as he smoothed down the T-shirt he’d brought to work for tonight’s date. Tomorrow night, he’d invite Michael back home, and he’d put his queen-size bed to good use once more after the long, lonely three years since Nate left Hartsbridge Island.
For tonight, though . . . Josh picked up his phone and typed in his passcode, only to be met with nothing. No notifications. No emails, no texts, no voice mails, no missed calls.
Had Michael set up tonight’s date last night? Josh had already been half-asleep when Michael drove him home. He had no memory of actually leaving Michael’s SUV, unlocking the house, or anything else until his alarm had gone off at 3 a.m.
God, he was going to look like an idiot, but he had no choice. He quickly typed a text: Sorry to flake on you. Where are we meeting? He had to deal with autocorrect three times, but he finally got rid of the squiggly red underlines and sent the text to Michael.
Too tired to stay upright anymore, he sat down and braced a foot against the desk drawer that was stuck open. When his phone went dim, he swiped at it, waking it up again. And again.
The third time the screen darkened with no response from Michael, he thought to check the timestamp on his own text. Almost fifteen minutes had passed.
He had the usual three bars of service, which meant the island’s one cell tower hadn’t gone on the fritz. The next nearest cell towers were on the mainland, too far north and south to properly overlap Hartsbridge Island.
Maybe the text hadn’t gone through?
Suspicious, he copied the text, pasted it into a new one, and resent it. He immediately regretted it. Retexting was clingy. Demanding. Potentially dangerous if Michael was driving. Definitely inappropriate and pushy if Michael was having a bad PTSD moment. And just to keep himself from becoming a pest, Josh put his apron back on and went to see if the team up front needed any help.
“Thought you were outta here, boss,” Dee told him as he went to check the soups.
Momentarily tongue-tied, he busied himself stirring what was left of the tomato basil. He was not going to admit to being stood up. “Just . . . trying to get a jump on tomorrow. See what we need done before I hit the library.”
Dee sighed. “We’re fine, Josh. Really.” She stepped away from the deli counter and elbowed him. “Go on. Get out of here.”
Go where? he wondered, hanging the ladle and putting the lid back on the pot.
Thankfully, he got a text as he headed into the kitchen. He nearly strangled himself with the apron in his rush to take it off, and he dropped his phone when he pulled it out of his pocket.
Swearing in whispers—there were a few customers out there, after all—he gave up on the apron and retrieved his phone. Buzzing with excitement at the thought of seeing Michael soon, he had to enter the unlock code twice.
Trapped at the VA in Manchester. See you tomorrow instead?
Josh read the text twice, and his heart sank. Michael hadn’t mentioned going to the mainland, and that text was borderline rude, considering their standing date should’ve started a half hour ago. More.
Was Michael pissed at him?
No. No, it couldn’t be. Last night’s kiss had been sweet and hot and so damned tempting, making Josh want more. He’d just been on the verge of undead, so he hadn’t—
He hadn’t invited Michael in. He hadn’t even hinted at moving their relationship beyond cuddling in restaurants and sharing sweet good-night kisses. Shit. And while Michael had made it clear he didn’t want this to be anything like his old one-night stands, surely he hadn’t been expecting things to move so glacially.
Michael was bored. He had to be. By now, he was helping Josh out of a sense of obligation. That was why he’d been so quick to ask about the bookkeeping figures for the last couple of days. Once they were done with the business plan, he’d be free to move on to better, sexier, smarter, thinner prospects.
Josh made it to the office before his legs gave out. He sat down hard, making the chair creak, and stared at the text through eyes that had gone blurry. Trapped at the VA in Manchester. That was practically code for Anything is better than hanging out with you, right? Otherwise, Michael would’ve said something about heading to Manchester last night. Or he would’ve at least texted before their expected date. Hell, he would’ve answered Josh’s first text. Waiting until text number two was practically a warning for Josh to stop bugging him.
Message received, loud and clear.
Thanks to Josh’s stupid business plan and his lack of experience and his even worse lack of sex appeal, the relationship was over before it had ever really started.
Fucking shit.
Opening the store was hard enough for Josh on a good day, without a sleepless night, packing up freshly sliced meat for the catering gig, and going through the usual morning routines. He was a zombie, one hundred percent certified undead and ready to star in a postapocalypse survival drama. Well, not star. He’d be an extra at most. Even as a zombie, he was more dumpy than terrifying.
When his phone alarm buzzed at 6 a.m., he turned off the meat slicer, stripped off his gloves, and went to unlock the front door. After propping it open to let in some fresh air, he made it halfway back to the counter, only to turn midstep, remembering the sandwich board.
God, he was going to be useless at the library today, but there was no one else he could send. This was a one-person event, and he and Dad were the only ones on the insurance for the delivery van. More paperwork Josh had neglected, come back to bite him in the ass.
And of course the sandwich board fought him this morning, when one of the hooks at the bottom finally worked free of the wood frame. “Fucking fuck,” he muttered, shoving the screw-end of the hook back into the now-too-large hole, only for it to fall out again. Anger burned through his fatigue and despair, giving him the strength to screw the hook into the wood without predrilling a hole, but he knew that wouldn’t work. The four hooks at the bottom of the sign needed to be even so the chains between them would be the same length. Otherwise, the sign would wobble. And that was assuming he didn’t split the wood by shoving in the hook.
He propped the sign against the wall and sank down next to it, letting his head fall back with a thud that did nothing to help him focus. There was no point in trying to do anything else for the rest of the day. The librarians wouldn’t starve; they could always call for an emergency pizza delivery.
Caught up in his self-loathing, he didn’t notice the shadow that blocked the rising sun’s warmth until a soft voice asked, “Josh?”
It took him a couple of blinks to clear his eyes. “Dr. Miller!” he yelped, feeling heat rise in his face at her smile.
“Are you all right?” Her British accent made the question sound perfectly normal, not like she was asking if he was having a breakdown. Which he was, of course. A life breakdown instead of a mental one. Not that he was going to go into details with her.
“Broke the sign.” He held up the little brass hook, as if to explain further.
She gave him a curious look, head tipped to one side. Then she turned and walked away, heading for her car.
Wonderful. Now he’d alienated his not-really-a-boyfriend and his best customer. He closed his eyes for a few seconds, trying to will the ground to open up and swallow him, but he wasn’t that lucky.
After a couple of beeps and the thump of a car trunk closing, Dr. Miller returned, holding up a roll of duct tape. “Will this help?”
Revitalized, he accepted the tape and twisted up onto his knees so he could get to work on the sign. “You’re a saint.” He could wrap a piece of tape through the last link in the chain, then tape the makeshift tab to the leg of the sign. It would hold for a few days, until he could arrange a more permanent solution.
“So I’ve been told,” she answered wryly. “Be glad it’s me and not my wife who found you in your moment of distress.”
Over the sound of ripping duct tape, he asked, “Why’s that?”
“She’s n
ot to be trusted with power tools. She’s an emergency room visit waiting to happen.”
Josh glanced over his shoulder at her. “Uh. She’s a surgeon.”
“Yes. Quite trustworthy with a scalpel. Never let her near electricity. Or plumbing. Or wood, for that matter.” She wrinkled her nose.
The tension knotted up in Josh’s chest broke apart. He laughed and continued taping the chain in place. “I’ll keep that in mind.” He scooted back and set up the sign, then grinned when it didn’t immediately collapse. He got to his feet and turned, offering the duct tape to Dr. Miller. “Thanks. You’re”—he blinked—“in jeans?”
“Not an office day,” she said, taking the tape from him. She slid the roll over her hand, turning it into a hipster-chic chunky bracelet. She could make anything look good. “I’m going to the library fund-raiser. Have you heard about it?”
A little bit of that tension came back, but it was nothing Josh couldn’t handle. “Yeah. I’m doing the catering.”
Her smile turned pleased, almost smug. “Then it looks like a two-bagel day for me.” She walked with Josh to the doorway, then nodded her thanks when he gestured her in first. “Are you certain you’re all right? You seemed a bit distressed.”
Josh glanced across the green at the view that was so familiar. The diner’s neon sign flickered. The shadow of Hercules the stag spread in a long, dark patch over the grass. The air was full of salt and the promise of summer.
There wasn’t a hint of Michael anywhere.
“Yeah,” Josh said, only half lying. He’d been alone for most of his life. He could manage it again. “Yeah, I’ll be fine.”
Josh stayed fine all through the morning rush, wrangling regular customers, the first tourists of the official summer season, and the two new staffers he and his dad had hired before the Brooklyn trip. Work was a welcome distraction, even if his heart did give a lurch every time the bell rang. He had to tell himself not to look, that his staff could handle the crowd; he needed to focus on the tail end of breakfast and the catering order. He had only an hour of breathing room before he needed to pack the truck, so if there were any last-minute emergencies, he needed to be ready.
And shit, had he checked the gas in the truck? Dad had taken it out last time, and while he was usually good at topping off the tank, sometimes he got busy.
Josh would have to check. Ignoring the bell as it rang again, he stepped back from the slicer, saying, “Dee, take—”
“Oh crap,” Dee interrupted, looking past Josh at the front door.
Any reprimand for unprofessional conduct died before Josh could figure out what to say. Michael slipped into the restaurant, wide-eyed and pale, gaze flicking between the knots of people at the tables, the register, the ordering counter. He looked about two seconds from bolting, as if only Kaylee straining at the leash kept him inside. She was heading for the ordering counter, or trying to; even when she stopped pulling, her tail was wagging, like she at least knew what she wanted and where to get it.
There was no way Josh would get through that crowd. Instead, he rushed into the kitchen and out the side door to the back hallway. Before he could open the swinging door to the front, it opened, nearly slamming into his face.
“Shit,” Josh gasped as he jerked back, forgetting professionalism. He had time enough to blink once before Michael was right in front of him, pulling him into a hug so tight it crushed the air from his lungs.
Josh’s abrupt exhale was halfway to a laugh of crazed relief. Apparently they hadn’t broken up after all? He wrapped his arms around Michael’s body, feeling the rock-hard tension in his back, the faint hitching of his breath. He was leaning to the right, thanks to Kaylee pressed hard against his right leg, which was something she did when Michael was on the verge of one of his . . . episodes. Whatever.
“Hey,” Josh whispered into Michael’s ear. He rubbed his hand up and down Michael’s spine, wishing he knew what else to do. “It’s okay.”
“I’m— I feel—” Michael huffed in frustration and buried his face in Josh’s hair, breath coming in hot, quick pants. “The thing. Feeling bad.”
Josh had only the vaguest idea where Michael was headed. He shook his head, saying, “It’s really okay.”
Michael let out a broken laugh. “I’m sunny.”
He had to mean sorry. Josh hid his smile at the choice of word replacement, wishing that sunny was the right word after all. He couldn’t stand seeing Michael like this.
“For last night?” he asked, still rubbing Michael’s back. It didn’t seem to be helping, but it wasn’t hurting either, as far as Josh could tell.
Michael nodded, stubble rasping over Josh’s cheek. And that was weird. Since they’d started dating, Michael had taken to shaving, even though Josh liked his five-o’clock shadow almost as much as he liked those reading glasses. So why hadn’t he shaved this morning? It wasn’t even that early—not for a guy who’d previously shown up here at 6 a.m., cheerful and awake.
“Don’t worry about it,” Josh said. Four little words dismissing fifteen hours of anxiety and self-doubt, but it was worth it to feel the way the taut line of Michael’s shoulders eased.
“It was—the, um, VA—the people—” Michael’s fingers dug into Josh’s back.
“Hey, it’s the government, right?” Josh asked, trying for a light, casual tone. “I can imagine how much it must have sucked.”
Michael sighed again and nodded. “So much.”
Josh gave Michael a kiss on the cheek, way back by the hinge of his jaw. “Want to sit down?” When Michael tensed up, Josh quickly added, “In the office. It’s quiet. Nobody will bug you. I can bring you breakfast.”
“Um. Making food place. The kitchen,” Michael said, the last word carried on a sharp exhale, as though relieved he’d remembered what to say. “Kaylee can’t go there.”
Josh lowered his voice to a whisper. “We’ll sneak her through. Nobody will know.”
“But all the people,” Michael protested weakly. “They’ll see.”
“I’ll go ahead of you and close the kitchen door. Everyone’s out front, dealing with the rush. Nobody goes into the office except for me and Dad.” Josh laughed softly. “It’s cramped and kind of annoying, what with the fluorescent lights always flickering.”
Michael huffed out a laugh of his own. “Sounds nice.”
Josh gave him another kiss, throwing in a quick squeeze around the waist. “Is that a yes?” he asked, leaning back to look into Michael’s bloodshot eyes.
With a faint smile, Michael nodded. “Yeah. And . . . thanks.”
“He wasn’t kidding,” Michael muttered to Kaylee, though he was looking up at the ceiling. They both were. The long fluorescent bulb wasn’t strobing on and off, but the flicker was definitely there, happening just frequently enough to keep him from really relaxing.
Another ten minutes, and it’d probably give him a migraine—not to mention what it was probably doing to Kaylee. He had a vague memory of reading something about dogs not responding well to fluorescent light.
“Back, Kaylee,” he finally told her, and she backed away from the chair, giving him room to stand. He turned on the desk light, then reached across the tiny room and flipped the switch, killing the misbehaving fluorescent.
With a sigh of relief, he sank back into his chair. A twitch of his fingers got Kaylee to rest her muzzle against his thigh again. He closed his eyes, listening to the muffled sounds of the restaurant, the hum of conversation, the whir of the meat slicer, the scrape of metal pans from Josh cooking breakfast, despite Michael’s protests that he didn’t have to.
Really, Michael would be happy with a cup of strong coffee—just enough caffeine to get him safely home. He’d driven the last five miles in a daze. He had zero memory of leaving the mainland, except for the obnoxious white sign for the new gas station positioned right where the bridge met the island. He hoped he’d remembered to park in a nonhandicap spot. Or had he left the placard on from his stop at the motel where
he’d tried—and failed—to sleep last night? Again, his mind was a blank.
He had no idea how long it was before the door cracked open and Josh peered in, bringing with him the sharp scent of onions and smoky bacon. “You awake?” he whispered.
Michael sat up with a smile. “Yeah. Sorry. The fluorescent light was . . .” He waved a hand toward the ceiling.
Josh grinned and stepped inside, careful to avoid Kaylee’s slow-wagging tail. “Everything bagel with egg and cheese, double side of bacon, and coffee,” he said, balancing the tray on top of a stack of paperwork. “Want some water for Kaylee?” He reached for her ear, right by his fingertips, but stopped himself before touching. It was polite—proper etiquette, in fact—but Michael’s stomach gave a strange little twist at the sight. Josh wasn’t a stranger. He was family, and not just to Michael.
“You can say hi,” he told them both, giving Kaylee a nudge toward Josh. She was happy to take the hint and nosed at his hand, probably tracking the scent of the bacon. “And you don’t mind her eating in here?”
“Of course not.” Josh didn’t just scratch at her ears. He crouched and made kissy noises as she sniffed his face. “Such a good girl,” he cooed at her. “Yes, you are, aren’t you? A hell of a lot nicer than the mainlanders. Right, baby?”
Michael knew his smile had gone lopsided and silly, but he didn’t try to hide it, instead drinking in the sight of his boyfriend—boyfriend?—being sweetly affectionate with Kaylee. “Did you want to share?” he asked, taking his plate off the tray. Kaylee didn’t turn away from Josh, but she gave a quick sniff that betrayed her interest in breakfast. No surprise there. Last night, they’d eaten fast food from the place across the street from the motel.
Josh planted a kiss on Kaylee’s muzzle, then stood up. “I need to get ready for the library job. You take your time. I don’t have to leave for another couple of hours.”
“The library—” Michael’s broken brain finally caught up with the date. “The fund-raiser? It’s today?”
“Yeah.” Josh tipped his head. “Didn’t— No, you look exhausted. Did you even sleep last night?” he asked gently, brushing his fingers against Michael’s jaw.
Change of Address Page 18
