“To a lesser degree, you are. But you’re my asshole.”
“Thank you, I think.”
Calvin was smiling when I turned to face him. “How does everything look?”
I shielded my eyes with my hands to reduce the glare. “Fine. It’s too bad we couldn’t get the crate with the globe to fit in the car… would have been nice to have.” I shrugged. “But everything looks good. Thank you for helping me.”
“It’s no problem.” Calvin cleaned up a few bits of packing debris and adjusted the table skirt.
I crouched down to pick up my messenger bag, paused, and plucked at a stray thread on the sleeve of my sweater.
Maroon.
Fuck. Did I really not match? Did I actually look ridiculous and neither my boyfriend nor assistant bothered to tell me? I know I got dressed in the dark this morning in our rush to the Emporium, but when I bought all these new clothes, Pop had helped to make sure interchanging them wouldn’t be a faux pas so terrible that I’d cause society to collapse.
So much for that.
I yanked the sweater off, stuffed it into my bag, and then slung the bag over one shoulder.
Calvin moved around the table and joined me. He offered his hand—knowing I couldn’t see well in the exhibit hall, and also because Calvin was aware that I really didn’t like using my walking stick.
The simple gesture of assistance and affection made my heart beat a little faster.
Calvin had come so far.Really. In December, he was so deep in the closet that even holding a vision-impaired man’s hand for aid likely wouldn’t have happened. But when he decided to come out, an act of not only love for me, but self-acceptance for himself, Calvin never glanced back. That took an unprecedented amount of courage—to look decades of fear and self-loathing in the face and sayno more. If he was able to overcome his anxiety about being an out gay cop, it really did convince me that Calvin would eventually cope with his PTSD in a positive and constructive manner.
I took his hand and we walked to the escalators together. We’d nearly reached the ground level when a sudden shout startled both of us.
On our left, riding the escalator down, was Pete. He waved excitedly, turned, and tried running up the steps. “Ah shit. Snow! Hang on!” he called before disappearing out of view.
Calvin and I looked at each other when we stepped off the escalator.
I reached into my pocket with my free hand and removed a quarter. “Heads we wait, tails we leave him hanging out to dry.”
“Behave.”
“I’m in a pissy mood.”
Calvin let go of my hand and reached up to stroke a bit of hair behind my ear.
“Sorry about that,” Pete said as he appeared over the rise on the correct escalator. “So did you get set up?” he asked, walking toward us.
“Yeah,” I answered.No thanks to you.
Pete looked at Calvin and held a hand out. “Pete White. I’m one of the organizers.”
“Calvin Winter.”
“Pleasure,” Pete said before looking back to me. “You’re not staying?”
“I’ve a business to run. I’ve left cards and brochures. There’s extra stock of both under the table.”
“Attendees would love to meet you,” Pete insisted.
“I doubt that,” I replied.
“You remind me of some of my old students from my teaching days. Bright young things getting interested in the past. You’re the sort who makes it fun for everyone.”
“I guess… I’ll come by on the last day. Friday afternoon all right?”
