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Nothing could come out of his mouth for long seconds. It was all impossible, and then it wasn’t, and then,
“I’ve got to go,” Oliver said in a rush.
His trainers slipped a little on the smooth stones as he raced away into the night.
Well, that was conclusive.
Jack sulked the next morning, aware that he was sulking, fully aware that his sulk wouldn’t change anything and he still had to get up, go into work, and sell toys. Because it was almost Christmas.
If he was going to be honest with himself—and that was something Jack usually avoided at all costs—he wasn’t even really that upset. He’d taken the opportunity to hit on a guy who was probably straight, and it hadn’t worked out. That was the life of a gay man, right? Those sorts of things happened.
He’d thought Oliver was different.
Oh well.
They were now existing in a strange in-between space where Mr. Pugh was definitely going to still expect Jack to host a book signing in his shop alongside the toy donation campaign, and that was going to be maybe the most awkward experience of his entire life, but he’d cope. Oliver was only going to be working across the street for another couple of weeks, then he’d go back to doing whatever it was he did (writing children’s books, a traitorous voice whispered in his ear) and it would be very easy for Jack to go back to hating him.
Too easy, perhaps.
He dressed in black—black jeans, black boots, black jumper—because he wanted to and no one could tell him not to—and put up a black umbrella before leaving the house because the promised icy rain had started to fall.
The whole street looked beautiful, even in the rain, with the greenery strung up between the buildings. Jack had watched the process for the past few years but seeing it now in the daylight was always something special. Later, at dusk, the street would be lit up with the warm glow of Christmas lights too, and then he might find it in himself to get into the festive spirit.
It was Saturday, and right from opening the shop was busy, and Jack didn’t have time to make himself a cup of tea, let alone look out of the window at the book shop across the street. He kept himself busy, too, checking his stock and when deliveries were due in between customers, and when he finally looked up, it was almost lunchtime.
And the book shop was still closed.
Something clenched in Jack’s stomach, because that wasn’t right—Oliver had always opened on time, right at the same time Jack did.
Before he could think too much about it, he picked up his phone and called Mrs. Tanenbaum.
It took some wrangling, and all of Jack’s skills of persuasion, but after ten minutes she was on her way to him with a spare key for the book shop and a murderous expression. Her whole aura reminded Jack of his primary school headteacher and he couldn’t stop himself from cowering.
“This really is very unusual, Mr. Daly,” she said sharply, handing over the key on a keyring with a large paper tag. “We really shouldn’t be doing this.”
“It’s fine,” he said soothingly, gently turning her around and directing her back out onto the street. “I’ve cleared it with Oliver—with Mr. Rowe.”
“With Oliver.” She raised her eyebrows pointedly.
“Yes.”
“Okay then, Mr. Daly. On your head be it.”
The shop was still busy, and this was potentially the most stupid thing Jack had ever done, but he couldn’t even let himself think about it in too much detail or he’d chicken out. And Jack Daly was no chicken.
With customers browsing the shop, and a few people looking pointedly into the dark book shop opposite, Jack rushed outside against the rain, unlocked the front door and threw it wide open. It took him a few minutes to find the light switches and some paper, then he stuck a sign on the door:
Please pay at the Magic Toy Shop!
And rushed back again.
Over the next few hours Jack worked double time, keeping the book shop ticking over, making a note of sales so he could easily transfer the takings at the end of the day, and keeping up a running patter with his own customers.
“Oh, you know how it is. We help each other out around here.”
“Yes, the decorations look wonderful, I agree.”
“You did hear right. Mr. Rowe will hopefully be signing his books here at the toy donation event.”
