Page 48 of Down Bad

His consideration for others that never feels fake.

Then suddenly he stops and parks by the curb.

Oh, we’re already here.

“Give me a sec, I’ll come around with the umbrella,” he says.

“You don’t need to—”

He’s out of the car anyway.

Again, with that incessant courteousness.

I let myself out before he’s all the way around, and in a flash, he’s right in front of me, nearly crashing into my face, umbrella over our heads.

My arm even swept around him and gripped his waist to keep him from falling.

And now we look like romantic lovers under an umbrella.

His eyes locked onto mine.

Me, panting, terrified for a reason I can’t quite pin.

“I could’ve walked,” I tell him.

He squints at me. “Is it really that hard to say ‘thank you’ …?”

I squirm my way through a hundred uncomfortable responses before grunting, “Whatever,” and head off.

And when I’m under the cover of the garage, I look back.

And find Wyatt smiling.

Like he won something.

I frown. “What?” I call back at him, like his smile is an attack.

He shrugs, still smiling, looking cute, then heads back to the car and drives off to his flower shop a few blocks down and around the corner. I watch him go from the edge of the garage, frustrated.

Then cracking a smile. That guy, I swear …

It lasts half a second before I put that shit away.

Joel’s off. Carl’s here today. And in the first three hours, the rain never lets up, and we get exactly one customer, which means I spend most of the day doing meaningless shit that does nothing to take my mind off Wyatt. Except for a moment when suddenly-chatty Carl goes on about planning a trip to the beach to see his stepson Toby after the summer’s over and it’s more affordable, thinking it’d be good for Marly and Lee to get out of town, too—whoever the hell they are. “You good with dogs?” he asks me. “I’d need a dog sitter if we go. You seem like a dog guy.” I give Carl one hard stare, thinking of Mr. Shithead from the flower shop, and say, “The hell you mean by that?” Carl shrugs back and says, “You sure don’t seem like a cat guy.” “I can’t be trusted with a plant,” I bark right back through a boom of thunder.

I don’t remember him saying much else to me after that.

Rain’s still dumping down hard when it’s time to call it a day. I head out. It’s just a few blocks home.

I barely make it halfway down the street when Wyatt pulls up out of nowhere in his car. “Get in!” he shouts from the window.

I don’t fight him this time. It is coming down pretty hard.

“Thanks,” I grunt after shutting the door behind me.

He appears surprised I thanked him. “Of … Of course.”

Then we resume down the measly handful of blocks home.