Page 8 of Grief & Glitter

“Your laugh is genuine,” I replied, a sincere compliment for a sincere compliment. He lowered his head slightly, then handed me his extra cup of dip. “Is this my payment for agreeing to be your personal stylist?”

“Sure, we can call it that.” He gifted me one of those warm chuckles that turned my knees to rice pudding. He was really very cute. Very, very cute. “Do you have time for hats and maybe a suit today? Or do you have to go home to get things wrapped for Penny’s birthday party?”

“Penny?” He tapped the Sephora bag with the back of his large hand. “Oh! Penny. Right. Penny. Penny’s party. Penny’s party is much later. She works nights. At a go-go lounge. I have time. Always time to shop!”

“Cool, thank you.” He pushed the cheese cup closer to my side of the table. “Go ahead and eat your payment.”

I couldn’t stop my smile. I dipped my large pretzel bite, swirling it in the cheese, then hurried to shove the dripping bit into my mouth. Cheese coated my lips. I had to lean up to avoid dripping onto my fall sweater.

Gideon reached out, a napkin in hand, to dab at my chin. My reaction was immediate. Fear propelled me back into my seat with such force that the chair squealed over the tile floor. Gideon’s blue eyes went round. I had to choke down my bite, my face flaming with embarrassment as I shot to my feet while anxiety slapped a chokehold on me.

“Sorry, sorry. I… I… sorry,” I wheezed then bolted for the escalator as every living soul in the food court—and Gideon with the lovely laugh—watched me make a total ass of myself.

Chapter 4

Gideon

I stared at the space where Ryan had been, still trying to work out what I’d done wrong. We’d been laughing, and he had cheese on his chin, and I reached across with a napkin without thinking about it, and then he looked at me like I’d taken a swing at him. Maybe I crossed a line I didn’t know was there. Whatever it was, I scared him, and that thought followed me out of the food court and stuck.

I wasn’t here for pretzels or for Ryan, even if running into him had turned out to be the best part of my afternoon. The charity dinner was coming up fast, and the email from team ops had made it clear my high school graduation suit wasn’t going to cut it. The department store sat at the far end of the mall, rack after rack of blue and gray suits that all looked the same to me. I was still pretending I knew the difference when a sales assistant found me, a tape measure looped around her neck.

“Looking for anything in particular?”

“A suit.”

“I gathered.” She smiled. “For a special event?”

“It’s for a special event.” I left it there.

“Perfect, let’s get you measured.” She waved me toward the fitting area, and I barely turned before someone said my name.

“Gideon?”

Ryan stood a few yards off, breathing hard as if he’d hurried the whole way, the small striped shopping bag crushed against his chest so tight the paper handles had folded under his fingers. His face was pale.

“You okay?” I asked. “I’m sorry if I did something that⁠—”

“No, you didn’t.” Ryan cut in before I could finish. “Can I talk to you for a second?”

“Sure.” The sales assistant took the hint and drifted off to give us space.

“It’s not for a friend,” Ryan said, lifting the bag. “The makeup. There isn’t a Penny. I don’t even know anyone called Penny.” He laughed, but nothing about it was funny. Then he looked up at me straight on, as if he was daring me to say something. “It’s for me.”

I didn’t know what to say to that, not right away. He stood there holding my gaze as if he was waiting for me to laugh or call him weird or worse.

“Did you think I’d—” I stopped and started again. “In the food court. I didn’t mean to touch you like that. I wasn’t going to hurt you.” I’d always been the biggest guy in any room, six-four and built the way wingers get built after enough years taking hits along the boards, and standing there I wanted to fold myself down smaller, take up less space, not loom over him the way I clearly had.

“I know that, but my brain—” Ryan tapped his temple.

“So, you’re saying that you like wearing makeup,” I said, careful with it.

He tipped his chin, and there was determination in his expression, but maybe a flicker of fear. “Yes.”

“Okay.”

His forehead creased as if that wasn’t the answer he’d braced for. “That’s it?”

“I mean, yeah.”