Page 80 of The Gaybor War

"Neutral blinds," I repeat solemnly. "I’ll have a word with them."

Satisfied, Eunice departs. The door clicks shut.

The silence that follows is not calm. It’s electric. Charged with everything we didn’t get to finish.

Carter exhales slowly. "I can’t believe that just happened."

I turn to see he’s still close. Too close for sanity, but not close enough for relief.

"You handled her well. Very authoritative. I almost swooned."

"What’s she got against flamingos, anyhow?"

"Let’s see." I tick items off my fingers. "They’re pink, not beige. That should be obvious. They stand on one leg, which implies imbalance in the universe. Eunice likes her universe balanced. They signal fun, which is HOA code for things we cannot regulate yet but desperately want to. And worst of all, she may be harboring false notions that flamingos are some sort of gay mascot. Basically, they’re threatening to people who believe lawn neutrality is a lifestyle."

He huffs a laugh, then sobers. His gaze drops to my mouth, my collarbone, the space between us, and lingers.

"We were interrupted," he says unnecessarily.

"Yes. Rudely."

Another beat passes. He doesn’t step back. Neither do I.

"I meant what I said," he adds. "About not doing things halfway."

My chest tightens pleasantly. "Then you should probably leave."

His brow furrows. "Why?"

"Because, if you stay, I’m going to stop being patient."

That does it. His breath catches. He nods once, like a man accepting a difficult truth.

"Tomorrow," he promises.

"Tomorrow."

Carter turns, opens the door, and pauses. "Benji?"

"Yes?"

"We’re removing the sign together."

I glow with anticipation. "Hot."

He groans and leaves. I lock the door, lean back against it, and let myself breathe for the first time in twenty minutes.

Weaponized patience is exhausting.

But God—it’s working.

Chapter 21

The next three days settle into something new.

Benji and I don't hide whatever this is, but we don't announce it either. We text. We linger on opposite sidewalks after work. One of us inevitably finds an excuse to cross the street, and the other conveniently happens to be outside already.

Morningwood notices before we do.