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But no kissing, no asking, only a long awkward pause after we clicked off the TV each night. And me, ready to climb the blinds at Blessed Bean at the mere mention of Cal.
“Your new roommate is pretty awesome,” Sam observed as he made me a mocha. The coffee house specials board advertised a seasonal lavender white chocolate mocha, which sounded tempting, but I wasn’t sure I trusted Sam or his ever-revolving crew of teen employees to not end up with something approximating soap.
“Careful. We’re not allowed to compliment Cal.” Leon cackled from a table near the door. The retired owner of Measure Twice and his husband, Frank, were town fixtures and even more up on gossip than me.
“Says who?” Frank scoffed, big shoulders rolling as he stood to carry their empty cups to a nearby bus tub.
“Cal. He’s opposed to niceness.” Leon wasn’t wrong, but I didn’t so much as nod. Cal might be cranky, but he was my kind of cranky, and only I got to tease him about his prickly nature. Instead, I let Leon continue to prattle on. “Also, Holden glares every time the man’s name comes up.”
“I don’t glare.” I held up my hands and schooled my expression. Had I been that damn obvious of late? Apparently so, because Sam laughed right along with Leon.
“Glower protectively?” Leon suggested with a knowing smile. “How are things going over there anyway?”
“Leon, quit fishing.” Frank mercifully returned to fetch his husband, steering him toward the door. “Let’s get to the grocery store before it gets busy.”
“I love Leon, but he’s wrong here,” I said to Sam as they left. “I want to hear about what Cal did well.”
“Oh, I think Leon’s got it exactly right.” Sam’s eyes sparkled. “And Knox has the vision for what the Stapleton house could become, but Cal is an absolute workhorse. A beast.”
Despite my protests, I felt some kind of way about the compliment for Cal. “He’s injured.”
“Is he?” Sam frowned as he slid me my drink. “He said he’s doing great other than itchy stitches.”
“He still shouldn’t overdo it.” I ignored my drink in favor of fiddling with the wrapped straw Sam handed me.
“Yup. There’s that protective glower.” Chuckling, he gave me a knowing look. “I’d say you’re cute, but you might sock me.”
“I care about his health.” I ground out the words, dry as one of Sam’s biscotti. Undoubtedly, part of my crankiness had to do with the spike in my pain levels after my totally worth it night in Cal’s bed. One stiff wakeup was enough to create days of issues until my body cooperated again.
“Mm-hmm. Anyway, I hope Cal sticks around.” Sam said it offhand like Cal was as mercurial and welcome as the sun in the Northwest. And like the sentiment wasn’t the first and last thing I thought every day. Smiling, Sam grabbed a rag to wipe down the counter. “He’s done wonders on the ground floor. Hand-washed all the baseboards. About to turn him loose on the upstairs, and Knox talked me into finally scheduling the exterior painting. The house might actually be inhabitable soon.”
“That’s good.” As far as I knew, Sam had yet to spend a night in the house, but maybe all the remodeling progress would prod him into actually moving in. And the longer the house took, the better. If Cal felt saving the house was a personal mission, then loyalty to Sam notwithstanding, I was fine with the work dragging out months. Hell, get crazy and make it years.
“What’s up with you? Other than the obvious?” Sam asked as I finally took a sip of my drink. “I figured you’d be crowing to anyone who would listen about solving the Stapleton case.”
“I didn’t solve it.” I sounded petulant as a tween. What I meant was that the indictment hadn’t been handed down and that we had a body but no justice and more questions than answers. But I could have modulated my tone, made it less easy for Sam to nod smugly.
“Oh. That’s it then. Not enough credit for your liking?”
“It’s not only me. Neither the press release nor the press conference mentioned Cal and his contributions.” I knew perfectly well I was adding more fuel to the gossip fire, but I couldn’t let Sam think this was all ego. “That sort of publicity could really help him.”
“And you,” Sam added mildly.
“I don’t need funding in the same way.”
“Yeah, but you love being out front.” Sam scrubbed at the counter, tone almost loving, which was possibly more infuriating than if he’d been pointed.
“I’m not that bad.”
“Of course not. You’re more comic relief than a braggart. But you can’t deny enjoying being the center of attention.”
“You’d be surprised.” I pursed my lips. That was me. The guy with the jokes. Why did it feel like only Cal saw me as something more? And perhaps that was why I’d enjoyed the kink with him so much. I wasn’t a clown with him. Wasn’t the comedian or the life of the party. I was the one in control, the one he respected and begged. The one he needed.
