Page 12 of Triple Tidings
A knit cap. A charger for a phone. Fifty-eight cents.
Icy wind nips at my exposed skin as I turn away, staring into the dark windows of the small bookshop. The first time I visited this place, I was wrapping up my final year of med school and took a break from studying to see my brother’s new business venture. Bram and his partner had just purchased the defunctbank a little way down the street, with the intention of turning it into an architecture firm. It had been vacant for a decade and absolutely looked it. His enthusiasm was infectious, however, and I found myself grinning when I stepped outside afterward, looking back and forth down the street, in search of a convenient place to sit down and work on a lab report for a few hours.
The Stack was visible from the front doors, a beacon of caffeine, comfortable seating, and free Wi-Fi, and I hadn’t hesitated to head that way. It turned out to be exactly what I had in mind. The Wi-Fi was fast, the other customers were quiet, and nobody minded if I took up residence at one of the little tables in the back with my computer.
That isn’t why I went back, though.
After all, there were other places to study, ones closer to my apartment, and with similarly favorable qualities. Just as I did when I booked a room at The Chestnut Bed and Breakfast, what drew me to return to The Stack was a person. A man. One who became much more than a friend before too long.
I’d liked Wells. A lot. He was great, and maybe if I hadn’t been leaving for my residency, it would have gone a different way. I did, though. I left, and after this goddamn long, I have no business showing up at his place of work. Not when he looked at me like he’d seen a ghost and all but bolted at the earliest opportunity.
Before he’d seen me, though, I’d seen him. I’d stood in the doorway, watching him talk to Lacey, gripped by a twisted combination of desire and jealousy. Wells was older now, his hair had changed from brown to gray, his features were more rugged, and his shoulders a little broader. Still, I knew him immediately, and the relationship I’d gone out of my way to avoid thinking about too much had all come rushing back.
Inside the shop, I can now see a figure moving around, a deep-red sweater discernible even through the darkened glass.Without pausing to second-guess the impulse, I step forward, marching away from Wells’ truck and across the sidewalk, pushing open the door to The Stack.
This place hasn’t changed much, and I pause, reeling at the sudden sense of déjà vu as a gruff, male voice calls over the towering shelves. “We’re closed, and the register’s empty! If you want to steal some shit, take it from the self-help section!”
I can’t help laughing as the sound of booted footsteps echoes off the wood floors in the otherwise silent shop. In seconds, the scowling proprietor of The Stack steps into view, his expression darkening at the sight of me.
“Am I really less welcome than a burglar?”
Wells scoffs. “Burglars don’t want to have a conversation with me. What do you want, August?”
“To have a conversation with you,” I counter, watching him carefully. “Are you dating Lacey?”
Silence. “Why?” His expression is rigid when he responds, as though he’s forcing himself not to react.
Wells isn’t the only one struggling to keep himself in check. The thought of him and Lacey together is, at once, the most arousing and the most horrible thing I can imagine. She said she was single, but I know what I saw when I entered the lobby of The Chestnut this morning. Whether or not they’re togethernow, Wells is most definitely interested, and if I were to hazard a guess, I’d say Lacey is, too.
The two of them live here, they run businesses only a few miles apart, and possibly have a few friends in common, too. Wells is a few years younger than me, closer to Lacey’s age than I am. They fit together in a way that makes sense, and in a way that I certainly don’t.
A bitter taste fills my mouth.
Being on the outside has never bothered me more than it does right now, as I’m forced to confront the possibility of theman I left behind and the woman I hardly know being in a relationship. They’re good people, and I should want them to be happy.
Even knowing it makes me a selfish asshole, I can’t stand it.
“Curiosity,” I reply simply, turning my attention to The Stack’s display of branded merchandise on the wall beside me. Absently, I reach out to touch the hem of a heather gray T-shirt, remembering the one just like it stored in a drawer back at my house in California.
It’s probably too small for me now, though I don’t know for sure. I never wear it or even take it out. It’s been there for years, unworn, untouched, and often forgotten, but never donated or thrown away. It’s fairly obvious that I’m not the sentimental type, yet I’ve held on to that ratty old T-shirt, and never once did I dare ask myselfwhy.
With difficulty, I allow my hand to fall back to my side, turning to the owner of the shop. “I stayed at The Chestnut the last time I was in town, too.”
Wells’ jaw tightens. “Good for you,” he spits, glowering at me.
This reaction seems to confirm my initial assessment of the situation. Just like me, my old flame is attracted to the pretty bed and breakfast manager and isn’t excited about having competition. He certainly isn’t aware that I’ve already fucked her, and I can’t decide whether it’s wise to disclose that information just yet.
Once, I adored getting a rise out of Wells Davis. He liked to think of himself as immune to any playful antagonizing, and it was a special kind of satisfaction to prove him wrong.
I liked him, and I’d forgotten just how much, until now.
Wells’ stare is heavy on my back as I turn, strolling over to the bulletin board by the door, which has a selection of local flyers for events, services, and business cards pinned up around the edge.
What the hell am I doing here?
“If you’re interested, ask her out,” comes the gruff challenge from the man behind me. “I don’t give a fuck. You’re here for what? Three days? Four?” He lets out a hard, humorless laugh. “When you leave her in the dust, that will be one more thing she and I have in common.”
Unable to keep up the pretense of giving a shit about the senior center’s bake sale, I round on him. “You’re still pissed at me for that? I chose the career I’d battled my way through four years of medical school for, over a man who wouldn’t admit he was bisexual, even when he was balls deep in my ass.”
