7. Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

Floyd

Floyd stormed up the porch stairs and threw open the front door, his empty oil lantern swinging wildly in his left hand. Effie hurried across the room, her wide eyes scared and pleading.

"Why're you back without her?"

"I need more kerosene," he said, struggling to keep his voice steady even though with every passing second, fear was swirling harder and harder within him, fast and furious like the wind. "Can't believe it got dark so fast."

"I know. I thought she'd be home by now. I can't hardly believe that she left William's house hours ago. What if she's hurt?"

"She's fine, Effie, you'll see."

"What if she went into the woods? Where else would she be?"

"Josephine's smart. She knows how to navigate them woods better than boys twice her age."

It was an exaggeration. But it was a needed one.

"Maybe I ought to come look, too."

"Naw, you need to stay here. What if she came back and couldn't find nobody?"

"You're right," Effie sighed. "Are Margaret and Leonard still out there looking?"

"Yep. With William and Grace and Carl and all the rest of their kids. Some of the other families are starting to look, too." The worry lines that were etched into Effie's forehead deepened, and Floyd wondered if maybe that comment had been a mistake on his part. "Now, she's only been missing for a few hours. You and me liked to run off into the woods plenty when we were little."

"We came home once it got dark."

Floyd couldn't figure out how to respond to that, because Effie was right, and so, instead of fumbling through empty reassurances, he simply held out his arms and let Effie fall into them. He pulled her close and kissed the top of her head.

"I'll find her," he said with conviction. "You know I will."

There was a small pause, heavy and heartbreaking.

"I know."

Suddenly, the front door flew open. Floyd released Effie and turned to see Josephine bounding into the house, her face a strange mixture of elation and sadness, like she wanted to laugh and cry and scream all at once.

"Oh, my stars, Josephine," Effie said, tears welling up in her eyes in an instant. Josephine barreled into Effie's waiting arms. "Where were you?"

"I'm so sorry, Mama. I tried to find the circus."

Floyd's eyes found Ollie waiting in the doorway with a remorseful-looking half-smile.

"I believe this was my fault," Ollie said. "I shouldn't have blathered on about the circus like that. It was inconsiderate of me."

Effie looked back and forth between Josephine and Ollie.

"What do you mean you tried to find the circus?" she asked Josephine.

Ollie took a tentative step into the house. "Josephine told me that she took a train to Charleston. That's where I found her, incidentally. Near the train station."

"Josephine May," Effie sighed, her face reddening. Floyd could tell she was trying hard not to lose her temper in front of Ollie. "We were so worried."

Floyd knelt down and placed a hand on Josephine's back.

"Jo, you can't run off like that. You nearly put your mother in an early grave." He said this in a harsh tone, the harshest he could muster, hoping it might knock some sense into her, even though he knew she probably felt as sorry as she looked with her puffy pink eyes and trembling bottom lip. "I spent over two hours searching the woods for you. Wasted a whole lot of kerosene."

Which was a cold thing to say. But Floyd couldn't seem to tell her how worried he had been when she hadn't come home, how the sweat soaking his shirt was from the fear he had been feeling, rather than from how physically tired he was. He couldn't find the words to tell her how terrifying it had been when the sun had set and the woods had become black and every little sound suddenly seemed to have come from a monster, one that had taken his little girl.

It was easier to talk about the kerosene.

"I'm sorry, Daddy," Josephine said, choking back a sob. "I'm real, real sorry."

"I know," he said, holding back the comfort he wanted to give.

He needed her to learn her lesson. Even if her sadness made him sad, too.

Floyd looked over his shoulder to thank Ollie but saw that he had already left. He'd have to find Ollie later. It was a right miracle that his friend had found Jo in Charleston. Floyd suddenly remembered that he still needed to tell everyone else that the search was over, and so, he promised Effie that he'd leave in a bit and spread the word so that no one would continue looking through the night. Before leaving though, Floyd spent a little more time with both of his girls, making sure they were good, reassuring himself that they were good, and then refilled his lamp with kerosene.

Once Floyd had made good on his promise to call off the search, he started toward Ollie's house. As he walked, the chaos of the day's events continued to hum beneath his skin, making him anxious. First, Ollie had vanished from the pig roast and then Josephine had missed supper. Floyd had gone from worrying about his friend to plum near losing his mind over his missing baby girl. All in the span of a few hours. He still couldn't understand how Ollie had been the one to find her. Why had he been in Charleston? Why hadn't he talked to Floyd before leaving Frank and Martha's house?

When Ollie had acted so funny right after the two of them had kind of held hands in a really strange way, Floyd had convinced himself that their friendship was over. But then Ollie had shown up at church and, well, Floyd had been so happy about that. He hadn't even minded Ollie's humor about religion. Or the fact that somehow, the man hadn't known what a hymn was. All that had mattered was that they were spending time together.

But then, Ollie had left Frank and Mary's so suddenly...

Was Ollie still feeling strange about them holding hands? Floyd wondered if maybe telling Ollie the truth about his marriage would help. But, well, probably not. Ollie was probably thinking that two men being together was wrong, and with how that sort of thing was seen by plum near everyone else in the world, Floyd supposed he couldn't really fault him if he really was feeling bad.

When Floyd arrived at Ollie's house, Ollie was already outside. He was sitting on his porch, not on a chair, but on the floor of the porch itself with his back resting against the house, probably because he hadn't bought any kind of chair for it yet.

"Hey, Ollie."

Oliver skipped right over the salutation and said, "God, Floyd, I can't imagine what that was like for you today."

"Yeah, well, she wouldn't be home if not for you," Floyd said, walking up the porch stairs. He sat beside Ollie without even confirming that he wanted the company. He figured they were beyond simple pleasantries like that now. He hoped so, anyway. "Thank you for bringing her back."

"Of course," Ollie said. "I'm surprised, you know, that she knew to take the train. I mean, I think I only mentioned it once."

Floyd nodded. "Jo's a smart one. But, well, I figure she kind of knew about the trains to Charleston before. Some other families here take one on occasion to shop in the city. We're lucky in that way. Plenty of trains because of the coal."

"It's a miracle that I spotted her."

"I know. Poor Jo. She seemed to think the circus would be there waiting for her."

"Like once the train stopped in Charleston, she'd see the circus from the station?"

"More like she thought Charleston was the circus." Floyd shook his head. Josephine's mind sure was interesting. "We ain't never been there before. As a family."

"Oh, I see," Ollie said. "Well, she wasn't entirely wrong about Charleston. It's a little like a circus. All cities are."

Floyd could tell by now when Oliver was fixing to say something funny.

"How's that?" he asked, happy to indulge his friend.

"They're run by clowns," Oliver said with a silly smile. "Or wait, circuses aren't run by clowns, are they? Sorry, I hadn't really thought this through."

"I like it."

"So, for Logan County, is Don Chafin a clown, then?"

Floyd tried not to let on how funny he thought this was. He pursed his lips to keep himself from chortling.

"I reckon so."

"You've never met him?"

"No," Floyd said. "I met a couple of them people he has working for him, though. I had two over for supper once. Not intentionally. We had a bunch of train delays. I saw the men milling around the company store and knew they probably hadn't eaten a proper meal since breakfast."

"So you invited them, these horrible men, into your home and served them supper."

Floyd shrugged. Oliver had a way of twisting things. No wonder he liked them pretzels.

"They weren't that bad, considering."

Oliver sighed. "You're too nice, Floyd."

Floyd wasn't sure how to respond to that.

"Why were you in Charleston?" he asked instead.

"I went to see my Aunt Betty."

"How was it?"

"It was fine. I can't tell whether she likes me or not."

Floyd snorted. "I ain't sure how anyone couldn't like you, Ollie."

Ollie smiled wider, but only for a moment. Quick as the wind, he started to have a sadness about him, his smile falling away and shoulders slumping forward. Maybe Floyd had said something he ought not have.

Minutes passed. Floyd waited for Ollie to respond, but Ollie only sat there, silently staring off into the night. Normally, Floyd liked silence. But this silence was hard. It made him understand why Ollie often liked to fill up the air with conversation.

During this time, Floyd thought about how much he liked Ollie. And how much that liking had taken him by surprise. Before Ollie had come to town, Floyd had promised himself that he'd never again let himself like someone in this way. He had spent years cultivating a big barrier between that part of himself—the part that found men attractive—and the rest of him. But, funnily enough, Ollie had mowed into Floyd's life like that sulky-type plow they'd had back at the farm, the one made by the Oliver Company, and he had cleared away each stalk of Floyd's defenses. Now, thanks to Ollie, new seeds of affection had been able to sprout, and even though it was probably foolish, Floyd wanted those saplings to thrive. He wanted the two of them to be something, even if them being something meant that the stupid copperhead would keep writhing around in his stomach, making him feel sick sometimes.

He'd tolerate the sick feeling for Ollie.

After another few moments, Ollie spoke.

"Do you think we could forget about what I said yesterday? About me liking you?"

It took Floyd a moment to accept what Ollie had said. It seemed to Floyd that maybe he had been right about Ollie feeling ashamed on account of them both being men.

"Yeah," Floyd forced himself to say. "We could."

But how could he ever forget something so special?

Heartache rose inside of him, stronger than the rain shower, or even a summer thunderstorm, and Floyd knew, then, that if he stayed, he'd probably start to cry. And he hadn't cried for a long, long time.

"I need to head back," Floyd said, standing quickly. "See you tomorrow, Ollie."

"Bright and early."

Floyd kept walking, unable to even look back.

***

By the time Floyd was back home, Josephine had already fallen asleep. Effie was sitting on the couch knitting, probably still too rattled to sleep herself. Floyd sat next to her.

"Did you thank Oliver?" she asked.

He nodded.

"I still can't believe he found her."

Floyd nodded again. This time, Effie looked over at him.

"What's wrong?"

Floyd had to concentrate on keeping his voice even.

"Ollie asked me to forget what he said."

"What do you mean?"

Floyd swallowed thickly. "What he told me. Last night. About liking me."

"Oh, Floyd. I'm sorry." Effie placed a hand on his knee. "I thought you told me that you held pinkies or something sweet like that."

"Yeah, well, it must not have meant that much to him."

"Are you alright?"

Floyd shook his head. "Not right now, no."

Effie looked at him thoughtfully—her eyes kind and her brow furrowed. Floyd could tell that she was trying to figure out what to say or how to help. That was very Effie. For her to be content, she had to know that she was taking care of the people around her.

"Here," she said, handing over the knitting needles. "I'm teaching you how to knit."

Floyd blew out a breath. "Why?"

"Because you need something else to focus on right now."

"Can't we play checkers?" he asked. "Or chess?"

"Nuh-uh, you ain't pitiful enough for me to teach you how to play chess."

"Worth a try."

"Now, here, I'll show you how to make the basic stitch," she said, placing her hands on top of his and adjusting his fingers. "But first, I need you to hold them needles right."

And so, Effie and Floyd spent the next hour knitting together. It wasn't easy to learn. For Floyd, the whole thing felt frustrating and pointless and mind-achingly boring. During their lesson, there were a few times when Floyd's thoughts flitted back to Ollie. Whenever it happened, Effie must have noticed a change in him because she'd work to take his mind off him somehow.

When the two of them were finally ready to head to the backroom, Floyd was too busy being mad at them stupid knitting needles for never working right to think too much about Ollie.

He was so stinkin' thankful for it.

***

By eleven o'clock the next workday, Floyd was exhausted. Practically every time he looked at Ollie, he felt like his heart was cracking in two, and once that happened, he had to concentrate on repairing it, even while trying to wield the pickaxe or shovel mounds of coal. Floyd tried reminding himself that he had spent all them years walling himself off for a reason. He ought not to have been trying to be with Ollie in the first place. Because of Matt. Floyd still loved Matt. Ever since Ollie had put a stop to the romance, the copperhead in Floyd's stomach hadn't been fussing. Guilt wouldn't be a problem no more, and Floyd could carry on in life like he always had.

But then, every time Floyd was finished reminding himself of these things, Ollie would smile sweetly or say something funny or even act a little flirtatious, and Floyd couldn't figure out how he was supposed to feel. All this back and forth was confusing. Worse, it was making him mad.

When lunchtime came around, Floyd's muscles were tense, hot irritation simmering beneath his skin. While he and Ollie were eating together under the maple tree, he had to focus on not snapping like a twig.

"So, Floyd," Ollie said through a mouthful of food, which was a habit that had been strangely endearing before but was on its way to becoming annoying. "How about the two of us visit Charleston sometime? Could be fun."

"Maybe."

It was all Floyd could muster.

"I know you said you've never been there as a family, but have you ever taken Effie?"

"Mm-hmm. Long time ago."

"Aw, that's sweet. What'd you two do in the city?"

"Saw a picture."

"Oh yeah, I love the pictures. I went all the time when I was living in New York. By myself, typically, but I still had fun. One time, I tried to take Colonel Whiskers with me, though. I thought that might have been nice. I even bought a cage for him. Well, it was a birdcage, so it hadn't been a perfect fit. I figured it would hold him well enough, though. Do they make cages for cats, you think? I haven't ever seen one. Anyway, when I tried to buy a ticket—"

"Hey, uhm, Ollie, would you mind closing that mouth of yours?" Floyd asked, even though saying that made him feel sick. He really did want to hear the end of that story. He liked Ollie's stories. He liked near everything Ollie had to say. But he was still feeling upset about Ollie's rejection, especially since Ollie was being so lovable, telling such a funny story that was making Floyd like him even more. "I ain't feeling too good right now."

"Yeah, of course. I'm sorry."

"Not your fault."

Ollie managed to keep quiet for the rest of lunch. Floyd's chest hurt a bit—sadness tugging at his heart—because he knew Ollie was probably itching to talk to him. And Floyd was itching to listen.

By the time they started for the elevator, Floyd couldn't stand how much he was missing Ollie's voice, and so, Floyd let him know that he could talk again. For the rest of the afternoon, listening to Ollie was kind of bittersweet, like sucking on a lemon while eating a spoonful of sugar. Ollie was still sending Floyd mixed up messages. Trying to figure out whether Ollie still liked him or not was like trying to make sense of the foreign languages Floyd heard some miners speaking from time to time.

One time, when they were shoveling coal, Ollie turned to Floyd and said, "Jeez, lunkhead, you're so strong," in this playful sort of way that made Floyd think about how fun it would be to lift Ollie up and carry him off somewhere. But then he thought that maybe Ollie had only said it because they were shoveling, and Floyd was lifting a whole lot more than he was. Like maybe Ollie had only been making an observation. But no one else Floyd knew ever made comments like that. No one else ever said those kinds of things in fun, playful voices. So, then Floyd was left wondering whether or not Ollie was thinking about his strength in a romantic kind of way, too.

When the workday was finally over, Floyd felt a huge rush of relief. As soon as the two of them entered the elevator, it seemed like the tension Floyd had been feeling left his entire body in one, fast whooosh . Once Ollie and him reached the surface, the company weigh boss—a curt but even-tempered man named Stuart—weighed their car and stamped each of their pay envelopes with the tonnage. Since it was only Monday, neither of them could collect their pay until the end of the week, and so they each put the envelopes back in their pockets. After uttering a fast "see you, Ollie," Floyd started toward home. He needed a nap.

"Do you want to come by later?" Ollie asked, catching up with him moments later. "I need to wash my clothes. I thought maybe you'd have fun watching me struggle with the washboard."

"I reckon I'll eat with my family."

"Well, yeah, of course, but maybe you could stop by later?"

Struggling to resist the offer, Floyd bit his tongue. Dang, he really wanted to spend time with Ollie.

"I'm sorry if you noticed my smelly clothes, by the way," Ollie said. "I should have washed some last night. I'm over here being smelly and you, well, you always smell nice."

Enough was enough.

Letting out a breath, Floyd stopped walking.

Lowering his voice to a whisper, he said, "Ollie, I can't do this no more. Do you like me or not?"

Ollie started rubbing his forehead, like Floyd's question was making his brain hurt. "Can you come over so that we can talk in private?"

"Yeah, that's fine."

They walked the entire way in silence. Floyd thought this probably meant that Ollie was fixing to smash his heart again, only he was busy working out how to do it.

Once they were inside, Ollie made his way over to the couch—a ratty old one with faded black upholstery, probably been left behind by the previous tenant—and sat down. Floyd wasn't sure whether or not he was supposed to sit, too. Yesterday, he wouldn't have hesitated. But so much had changed since then.

"I feel like I'm about to receive a lecture," Ollie said.

"What?"

"You towering over me like that," Ollie said with the flick of a wrist. "Can you sit? You're making me nervous."

"Oh." Floyd shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "Where?"

"What do you mean ‘where'? On the couch, lunkhead." But Floyd still hesitated. Finally, Ollie stood, took Floyd by the sleeve, and yanked him onto the couch. "There. Christ."

There was another stretch of silence, itchy and uncomfortable like a new woolen scarf, and Floyd couldn't manage to keep himself from fidgeting. Neither could Ollie. They sat there like that—silent and awkward, shifting this way and that—before Ollie finally let out a small, frustrated scream.

"Will you stop moving like that?" Ollie nearly shouted. "Are your clothes filled with ants?"

Floyd sputtered, "Ain't like you're keeping still neither."

"Because of you! You're making me crazy, moving like that!" Ollie exclaimed. "And, yes, I know this couch is pathetic, but it's not that bad, is it?"

"It's kind of lumpy."

"Well, where else are we supposed to sit? On my bed ?" Floyd's face immediately turned hot. He must have been redder than an overly ripened strawberry. Ollie probably noticed because he buried his head in his hands and said, "Don't think too hard about that."

"I wasn't," Floyd lied.

Ollie huffed a laugh, one that made him sound tired, rather than happy, and then he came out from hiding behind his hands. "Oh, fuck, Floyd, what's wrong with me? I can't stop liking you."

Floyd's stomach pulsed and squeezed and fluttered, but he wasn't too bothered by the sensation, not enough to keep his own feelings to himself. On the night when he and Ollie had held pinkies, Floyd had promised himself that he'd tolerate his stomach feeling sick if it meant that the two of them could be together. And, so, he said, "I like you, too, Ollie."

"You like me, too," Ollie repeated under his breath. "Great, Floyd, that's perfect."

"We won't tell no one," Floyd said cautiously, thinking maybe that would help.

"Don't you understand how horrible that is?" Ollie asked, and Floyd stayed quiet.

It was horrible not to tell people? Floyd had to wonder what kind of life people like him were living up in New York.

Ollie fell backward to rest against the cushion and sighed. "Floyd, you're married."

Floyd's eyes went wide. "Oh!"

It suddenly occurred to Floyd that Ollie wasn't aware of the peculiar nature of his marriage. Somehow, in letting Ollie into his life, Floyd had forgotten that Ollie only knew what everybody else in town knew. He only saw what everybody else saw. Gosh, he had been fixing to tell Ollie about his marriage, but then when Ollie had rejected him, Floyd had plum forgotten. He'd been busy thinking that Ollie had rejected him on account of them both being men!

"Oh, my God. Did you forget that you have a wife?!"

"No," Floyd said quickly. "My marriage ain't like that, is all."

"Your marriage isn't like what?"

"Me and Effie are friends."

Ollie stared for a few seconds, his brow creasing like he was thinking this over.

"Are you trying to tell me that you and Effie aren't really married?"

"Well, no, we are. We were married in the courthouse."

"But it's not a real marriage, then?"

Floyd wasn't too happy with the way Ollie was making it out to be black and white. But it seemed real important for him to hear Floyd answer in a specific way.

He cringed and said, "No, it's not."

"What's that look for?" Ollie asked.

"Ollie, my marriage to Effie is real. It ain't romantic, but I love her. I care about her. She's my best friend."

"I know you care about her, Floyd," Ollie said, his voice much softer. "I'm sorry for upsetting you." He let out a breath and continued on, "So, you love Effie. Were you ever in love with her? I mean, why are you two married?"

Floyd stayed quiet for a few moments while he thought it over. It felt wrong to tell Ollie the reason without first checking with Effie. It was a shared secret. Not his secret alone.

"I can't say more without talking to her."

"But, alright, what we're trying to establish here is that you like me. And that it's not a problem for you to like me. Yes?"

"Yeah, I suppose."

"Does Effie know you like me?"

"Effie knew before me, even."

"Well, that sounds very Effie. I barely know her, and yet you saying that is not the least bit surprising to me."

Ollie moved his hand toward Floyd's, stopping when his fingers were a couple of inches away. Floyd supposed it was up to him to close the space between them. Studying Ollie's hand—his smooth skin, long-since healed from the cuts he had received from the slate—Floyd readied himself for that snake nip at him, for it to make him feel even worse than it had on the night the two of them had held pinkies, but nothing happened. Even though Floyd was still thinking 'bout Matt, even though his insides were still a tiny bit knotted together, he still wanted to hold Ollie's hand. Pushing past the mild nausea, Floyd took Ollie's hand in his.

"Holy Moses, Floyd," Ollie said as their fingers laced together and his reaction was so stinkin' sweet it somehow calmed every bit of Floyd's remaining unease. "Sorry. I've never held anyone's hand before."

Once again, Ollie had surprised him by being so innocent.

"Do you want to stop?" Floyd asked.

Ollie squeezed his hand. "Never."

Floyd couldn't resist a tease. "Well, I will need to see my family at some point."

Oliver wasn't too fond of that comment, though.

"I can't believe you have a family," he said. "Actually, I can't believe any of this. I'm holding hands with a man. With a married man. With a married man who still loves his family. And that's fine, somehow. Completely normal. Nothing to worry about."

"Have you ever liked a man before?"

"Floyd, I've never liked anyone before. I'm still trying to accept that I'm capable of it."

That was an interesting thing, one that made Floyd feel special. He hadn't never met someone like that before.

"I haven't liked anyone in a long time," Floyd said, wanting Ollie to feel special, too. "Since before Josephine."

"Wow, that is a long time," Ollie said. "So, uhm, what now?"

"Whatever you want," Floyd said with a shrug.

"Whatever I want? God, Floyd, don't put that on me! I told you, I have no idea what we're supposed to be doing. It's not even like I can try to think back on whatever the hell I learned about courtship all those years ago because, like I said, you're a man. And you're married!" Ollie raked his free hand through that nice hair of his. Floyd sort of wanted to reach up and touch it. Before he could, Ollie was talking again. "How are you so calm, Floyd? Unless that means you must have... well... none of this is new to you, is it?"

"No," Floyd said. "Not to say that I'm some kind of expert, though."

"So, you've been with, what, more than zero men, but less than fifty? Fifty would make someone an expert, I'd think."

Floyd supposed he had to be honest, even if he wasn't too keen on talking about Matt much yet. He couldn't have Ollie thinking he'd somehow held hands with forty-nine other men.

"One."

"You've been with one man?" Ollie asked, and Floyd nodded. "Did you kiss him, fuck him, what?"

Floyd winced. Why'd Ollie have to be so colorful about it?

"Don't make it sound so . . ."

"Crass?"

"Yeah."

"Sorry." Ollie's cheeks reddened. "So, can you tell me more?"

Floyd could see how badly Ollie wanted to know. But he had barely ever talked about his love for Matt before. Not even with Effie. Effie only knew everything because she had been right there when Floyd and Matt had started seeing each other. Talking about Matt was still too painful. Floyd had yet to make it more than a week without a nightmare about what had happened to Matt, one that hurt so badly it'd rouse him awake and leave him with the feeling that there was something heavy sitting on his chest. How could he ever even begin to talk about the man he had lost?

"Me and him only ever kissed," he said, purposefully leaving it vague.

"I can live with that."

"But you couldn't have lived with it if it had been more?" Floyd asked, trying to lighten the mood with some playfulness.

"No, of course I could have." Ollie sighed, sounding exasperated. Obviously, Floyd hadn't yet managed to figure out how to tease Ollie correctly when he was in one of these nervous, insecure moods. "But I wasn't sure what else I was supposed to say. I'm trying my best."

Floyd rubbed the back of Ollie's hand with his thumb.

"I know. I was trying to be funny."

"Oh. Well, that's where you went wrong. I'm the only one allowed to be funny."

"Yeah, Ollie, whatever you say."

"Don't mock me."

Floyd playfully nudged Ollie with his elbow.

"I got to head home soon."

"I know. And I have to struggle with washing clothes." Ollie squeezed Floyd's hand harder, making Floyd's stomach flip-flop. "Can we hold hands again tomorrow?"

"I can come here after work."

"I'd like that. I'd love it. But I have to be honest. I'm still not sure how to be right now. Like I said, I've never liked anyone before and I still feel a bit funny about it."

"Because I'm a man?"

"Yes, and no. I mean, yes, a little, but it's... Floyd, I'm scared out of my head right now. You could break my heart into a million little pieces."

"I won't."

"Sure, you say that now , but—"

"I won't," Floyd repeated, trying to make his voice as warm as possible to reassure him. He knew Ollie still wasn't too confident sometimes. After squeezing Ollie's hand once more, Floyd let go. "Except to leave for supper. I told you what'll happen to my ears if I'm late."

"Yes, yes, I remember," Ollie said. "But you're right, my heart is a smidge broken right now."

"I'll come back," Floyd said. "We'll see each other at work tomorrow. As soon as it breaks daylight."

"Breaks daylight," Ollie repeated. "I will never not love every single adorable thing that comes out of that handsome mouth of yours."

Floyd's cheeks turned hot. He wasn't used to these sorts of compliments.

"Take care, Ollie."

"You, too, Floyd."

All the way home, Floyd kept looking at his still-warm hand.