Page 43 of Backward Motion

Sam put the beer down and took Connor’s hand in his. “It’s like a muscle. It gets easier the more you use it.”

Connor exhaled through his lips and folded Sam into a hug.

“Seeing each other?” Sam said into his shoulder. “What is this, a nineties sitcom?”

“Should I have said courting?”

“I think we just skipped a few steps in the courting department.” Sam smirked, pulling away. “You could’ve said we were hooking up. Friends with benefits.”

Connor blinked. “Is that what you think this is?”

Sam stared into those soft blue eyes, and his chest tightened. He shook his head. “No.”

Connor’s smile returned. “Good.”

The doorbell rang again, making them both jump.

“That’d better be the fucking pizza,” Connor muttered.

Chapter Twenty

Sam usually picked up the mail from the box outside the office, but that morning, Connor was running early for a job and decided to check on his way to the workshop. He liked thinking of ways to make Sam’s day a little better—mostly because he liked thinking of Sam—so saving the man a chore or two had the bonus of making Connor’s day a little better as well.

It had been two days since the events at Connor’s apartment, and his skin still tingled when he thought of how good Sam looked splayed out naked on his sheets. After Sam had gone home that evening, they’d stayed up late texting back and forth, neither of them wanting to be the first to say good night. When Sam had shown up for work the following morning, Connor found it hard to wrench himself away. Out on jobs, it was difficult to focus. Yesterday, he’d forgotten to change the setting on his multimeter and blew the internal fuse. He hadn’t made a rookie mistake like that since his apprentice days.

Connor opened the mailbox and fished out the stack of mail. Among the bills and circulars was an envelope addressed to him, with the Oakdale town logo printed on the bottom corner. Connor stepped into the office and dropped the rest of the mail onto the front desk. Then he thumbed open the tab on the envelope and pulled out a single-page letter with his name at the top. As he began to read, his heart sank.

The door jingled, and Sam walked in, holding a brown paper bag. He often stopped at the bakery on his way to work and picked up treats for them to share. “Good, you’re here. They had the apple turnovers again.”

“What’s this?” Connor held out the letter.

Sam put the bag of pastries down on the desk and took the piece of paper from Connor, his eyes scanning the contents. “Holy shit.” He looked up with a grin. “You’re a finalist in the Oakdale business awards!”

Connor had to work to keep his voice even. “Sam, I thought I made it clear that I didn’t want to do this.”

Sam folded the letter and turned it over in his hands. “Okay, yes, you did say that.”

“And I meant it. Look, I have no interest in being in the limelight. I don’t need the extra attention.”

“Why not?” Sam asked. “You could always do with more attention. That’s how you grow the business.”

Connor sighed and paced the threadbare carpet in the middle of the room. He wasn’t sure he was having such a visceral reaction to this because Sam had nominated him without his knowledge or because the prospect of standing in front of the town and pretending he was some model citizen made his toes curl.

“Is this about you thinking you’re not good enough?” Sam prodded gently. “Because if you weren’t deserving, they wouldn’t have picked you.”

Connor opened his mouth to retort but couldn’t argue with Sam’s logic.

“I want to show you something.” Sam moved behind the desk and pulled open the bottom drawer. He took out several photocopied sheets from a folder and handed them to Connor. “I made copies as evidence in case I had to plead forgiveness. Well, except Mrs. Thatcher’s. That was a grab-and-go situation.”

Connor shuffled through the pages and saw they were handwritten testimonials from his clients.

A business that goes above and beyond the call of duty. Connor came out after hours to help me get the power back and didn’t charge extra.

I’m on a fixed income, and he offered a payment plan I could afford.

This is what small-town service should look like.

“I didn’t have to do much, really. Your work spoke for itself. Even the judges saw that,” Sam continued. “And I’m sorry I went behind your back, but I felt like you needed to hear it from someone else. Your dad’s opinion isn’t the only one that counts.”