Me:Are you okay? It’s been over an hour and a half since I sent you an email, and I know that would be perfectly normal for most people, but you are not most people, and you’ve never taken more than ten minutes to reply to any of my emails in thepast three years. I apologize if I’m out of line, but I just want to make sure you’re all right.
I know I’m out of line.
Despite our less-than-professional work relationship, it is still very much aworkrelationship. I throw her unprofessional anime recommendations on the regular, and she responds with similar lack of hinge, but that doesn’t mean we know anything personal about each other.
In three years, there has never been ahow are youor awhat are you up to?
She knows I like anime. After my years of bombardment, I know she also likes anime.
That’s the extent of our personal connection.
Huh.
Worry eating away at me, I stare at the chat I’ve just started and feel the profound loneliness of this situation as it seeps into my bones.
I know nothing about the person I would consider my closest friend after December.
That realization causes a tsunami of unwelcome and unidentifiable emotions to flood into me, so I’m almost grateful when my doorbell rings and distracts me from them.
Taking a breath, I stare at my emails and my email chat for three more silent seconds, then I head out of my office to meet whoever’s at my front door.
The moment I eliminate the barrier between me and the outside world, heat whacks me, fogging my glasses—a testament that summer is in full swing as the early days of July overtake us. Promptly following the heat and the fog, I find myself blinded by a man who has absolutely no reason at all to be on my doorstep four days after he started living with my brother.
Afternoon sun hits Dominic’s head, casting rays around him in a way that suggests Catholics painted him. Pristine and glowing like he is, I wonder if I’m peering at a man or a stained glass window in a cathedral.
Eyes squinted, I murmur, “Mother Mary, is that you?”
Before he can answer, thedarkness—also known as my brother—eclipses him. “Bad news,” Wynnter grumbles, lookinglivid. He shoves himself past me, into my home, and starts muttering swears. Arms crossed, he peers around, then glares back at me. “Where is it?”
“Where is…what?” Decorum? Uncertain.
It’s not unusual for my brother to barge into my home, just as it is not unusual for me to barge into his, but usually he’s a lot less…demandingwhen he does it to me.
Hostly, I welcome Dominic in and out of the sun, so I’ll be able to see again. As soon as my vision clears, I find…a broken man.
Shoulders slumped, Dominic whispers, “I’m…sorry about this. Your brother is…” He sags, further. “Insistent.”
Yep. He sure is that. And he also sure is stomping around my house in his big leather motorcycle boots like an irate badger.
“Wynn,” I state, “whatare you looking for?”
“The coffin!” He throws an arm in the air.
My interest piques.
Dominic cups his hand over his eyes, like a tortured leading man in an anime.
Linking my arms behind my back, I say, “Mycasketis scheduled to be delivered later today. Why do you need it?”
Gruff, Wynn flings his hand at Dominic. “His bed caught on fire.”
Come…again?
My head tilts. I glance at Dominic. He’s big. Tall. Elegant. Andseeminglycapable. What in the world is he doing catchingbeds on fire? I murmur, “I know you’re hot, but…surely catching your own bed on fire via pure physical attractiveness goes outside the laws of physics.”
Flameseruptin Dominic’s face, turning his skin beet red, and I stare, promptly corrected. I would actually not put it past that skin of his where it concerns setting something alight.
Before I get the chance to begin taking mental notes on how scarlet his ears have become, Wynnter grabs me by the shoulders, teeth gritted. “August, stop torturing the poor guy. He’s been through enough.”
