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“Have you talked to him?”
Dmitri blinked up at Wilder, then let out the laugh he was holding back. “No. God. I printed this out on the website, and I’ve been trying to talk myself into going down there and dropping it off.”
Wilder’s face dropped into a smile, and he laid his hand on Dmitri’s arm. “Go. Take the afternoon off and go.”
Dmitri bit his lower lip and raised his hands again. ‘What if he…’
“Whatever you’re afraid of,” Wilder said, cutting him off, “it’s not going to happen. At worst, he’ll tell you no.”
And Dmitri wanted to think that being told no would gut him, but he’d heard a lot worse than that in his life. And Wilder was right—Roman wasn’t the kind of man who’d humiliate him. Hell, he’d probably offer to help Dmitri find something else if he couldn’t offer him the job, and that set fire to a ball of panic resting in his gut because he didn’t want that kind of attention.
“Do you want to wait until the shop closes? I can go out there with you for support.”
Dmitri closed his eyes and shook his head, because Wilder was supposed to be insulted and put out that his longest employee was looking for work simply because he needed a change. He lifted his hands. ‘I got it.’
‘Then go. Here,’ Wilder signed, then went into the kitchen and came out with a small pink box taped on the sides, pressing into Dmitri’s hands. ‘These are for Aksel, and this’ll give you an opener.’
Dmitri’s fingers pressed so hard against the box, it began to bow at the bottom, and he forced himself to relax. “I don’t know if I can do it. He’s going to ask me why I want the job, and I don’t have an answer for him.”
Wilder’s brows furrowed again. “Can you repeat that last part? He’s going to ask you what?”
Dmitri wanted to tell him never mind, but he knew how much that hurt Wilder when people denied him words he wouldn’t have missed if he wasn’t hard of hearing. “Why I want the job,” he said, measuring his speed just a touch. “And I can’t answer that because I don’t know.”
“You just want something different,” Wilder said. “He’ll get that, believe me.”
And maybe he would, but Roman was a creature of habit. He was already an angry hermit when Dmitri had come to Savannah as a baby, and nothing much had changed except that he hung out in Fitz’s knitting booth more at the market, and he hung out with Aksel and held hands in public. But Roman had been the ranger out there for most of his adult life, and the time he’d spent with Dmitri, he’d told him every good and bad thing that ever happened to him happened out by that lake.
It meant something to him in ways it didn’t for Dmitri. His desire to just shake things up felt disrespectful.
But he also felt like he was dying inside.
“I really do need those dropped off, so go out there. If you find the courage, do it. If not, come back, and you and I can talk more.”
Dmitri nodded, then turned on his heel and left before Wilder said anything else that would make him feel worse. He carefully set the box down on the passenger seat, then took a breath and laid his forehead against the steering wheel. The application sat in his periphery, crumpled to hell with a smudge of frosting on the corner. It was a sad representation of who he was as a person—a little bashed up but not broken—and yet no matter how much he unfolded, he’d never be perfect.
Breathing through his frustration, he turned the key and quickly left the parking lot. The drive to the lake wasn’t long, though it felt like stepping into a different world as the town disappeared behind winding corners, and the road to the lake opened up through a thick grove of trees.
Roman’s truck was parked where it usually was, and a second one next to it he recognized as Aksel’s. His stomach twisted uncomfortably because he liked Aksel, but the man had a way of making awkward situations even worse. Dmitri had never been able to hold up under his style of humor, and he was feeling a little too fragile to put himself out there.
The application sat on the seat as he snatched up the box and headed up the creaking wooden steps to the door. He could hear voices just beyond, and he tapped out a short knock before stepping in, and froze at the sight of the room almost entirely dark except for a single spotlight on the far wall. In front of that was a shape, that looked like it might have come from a hand, but it was very distinctly phallic. Dmitri glanced away, clearing his throat, not sure if he was interrupting something private.
“Well,well. Roman, did you invite people to my show?”
In the dark corner of the room, Dmitri heard a soft sigh, and then the desk light clicked on. “It’s easier to humor him some days,” Roman said. He was sitting back in a thick leather chair, and he looked the same as always, though maybe a little more tired these days than when Dmitri had seen him last.
Aksel was scowling across the room, seated next to a desk lamp with a swiveling neck, holding his prosthetic arm in his hand. “I’m never going to get good at this if you don’t let me practice.”
“Um,” Dmitri said, and Roman beckoned him over.
“He’s decided he wants to master shadow puppets, please ignore him,” Roman said as Dmitri hurried across the room and sat before Aksel could zone in on him. “Is everything okay?”
Dmitri cleared his throat, then nodded. “Yes. I just came to drop this off. It’s from Wilder.” He set the box on the desk, and Aksel jumped up, trying to snatch it away, but Roman smacked him on the hand.
“I love you, but you’re not getting a sugar high right now. Go do something else,” Roman ordered, and Aksel fixed him with a furious glower before storming out, slamming the door as he left.
“I hope I’m not interrupting,” Dmitri said quietly after the echo of the door dissipated. “I mean, besides the shadow puppet thing.”
Roman snorted a quiet laugh and shook his head. Dmitri loved how fond they were of each other—how anyone just had to look or listen to them to know that officially together or not, they were madly in love and probably always had been. Dmitri had never really known one without the other.
