Chapter 4

CHAPTER FOUR

CLAY

What a bullshit day. What a terrible start to my time in this city.

I trudge back upstairs, exhausted, and try to make sense of what just happened.

The flower man is the florist. Fine. After this morning, I could tell that he was a little guarded with me. But when customers came in, he brightened like a damn bulb.

And I stood there, awkward as fuck, while he talked about sex toys. Which is clearly unusual conversation for a flower shop, or anywhere public. Unusual enough that it made my skin hot, and I caught myself staring at Nicholas while he talked, watching his mouth.

I didn't get any answers about the building, just more questions and one giant problem. Because I don't have to be a realtor to understand that I could get the most money selling to a developer, someone who would kick out the flower shop and tear down the structure.

I don't want to mess up anyone's life. I've dealt with enough bad landlords. But I have to sell the building, and I need every dollar I can get to set up a new crew back in Missouri. It will take cash to get a space, buy equipment, hire professionals.

Frustrated, I walk to the rear windows. There's a rather large yard out back, and a short fence separates it from the yard of the neighboring house. I notice there's a wide double-gate in the middle of the fence, allowing the two properties to open into each other.

Could that be where Sue and Nance live? No. It's a whole different building. I'd know if I inherited two buildings. That one's newer and damn well built, too, by the looks of it.

I blink a few times. There's more to do, but even my bones are tired.

Neither of the beds have sheets, but I don't care. I select the one that seems like the guest room and sprawl. As soon as I close my eyes, I zonk out for hours.

Dance music wakes me, and as I groan and sit up, I hear a car driving down the street, the song fading. It looks like evening outside.

I'm tired enough to fall back asleep, but my stomach demands food. After splashing water on my face, I head down to the street to feed myself.

The flower shop is closed. "Good," I grumble. Otherwise, Nicholas might try to talk to me, and I definitely don't need to have another conversation right now.

He looked happy in his shop. Hard work to keep a small business open. Someday soon, I'll know myself.

As I wander down the street, I make a mental list of where I'm at. I've got about five grand in the bank, a combination of my savings and money that came with the estate. I'll use that to cover expenses while I'm here. I'll probably need a good chunk of it to hire a lawyer or realtor. I've got no clue how any of that works, but I'm sure it's expensive.

I'll start by unloading my truck tonight. It will suck to haul my crap up the stairs and then back down again in a week when I leave, but that's better than having someone steal my tools. Tomorrow, I'll have one more go of understanding this damn paperwork, and I'll track down Sue and Nance.

Two women are arguing on the corner, and I tilt my eyes down as I walk by. I hate getting in other people's business. I follow the rainbow-painted pavement across the street, surprised to see how many people are out, although I guess it is Friday night.

Then my eyes land on what I'm looking for, a burger joint.

I shouldn't spend money eating out, but I can't get my shit together enough to shop for groceries right now. Something heavy and filling sounds just right, and this place, Top Burger, has perfect vibes. It looks like an old diner, and there's a thick burger painted on the window.

When I walk in, there's a group of bearded men with leather jackets occupying a table. They look like a biker gang, so I know this is going to be a good burger.

I order the Bossy Top Burger, which comes loaded with grilled mushrooms, onions, and peppers. With fries and a soda, I sink into a booth, and the world disappears as I devour.

The guy working behind the counter was gay, and so were the other people in line with me, I noticed. Same as the people in the flower shop, and Nicholas, I assume. He's got a softness to him I can't explain, but I'm pretty sure he's not straight.

As I chew salty fries, I wonder if there could be so many gay people because of coincidence. I know that big cities tend to have more gay people, but this is Buffalo. It's not San Francisco.

Not that it really matters. I don't care what other people do with themselves.

Personally, I'm not looking for a relationship. I sometimes have meaningless sex with women around my own age who I meet at bars, and I'm clear from the start that I'm not interested in more. The last thing I need is to upend my life for someone who ultimately won't stick around anyway. And dating is painful. Way too much small talk.

Easier to keep to myself.

I look around the restaurant. One of the bearded men leans over and kisses one of the other bearded men.

I eat my last french fry.

Okay, cool. It's probably a gay part of town or something. Good for them, I guess.

Us?

I don't think someone like me counts, though. Just because I've been curious sometimes, that doesn't mean I'm actually bi. Maybe, if I had ever followed through and done something about it, like that one time I had a chance the summer after high school, I would have hated it.

Probably, I'm only even thinking about that as I walk out of the burger joint because I didn't try it, so it's just stuck around in my head as something that I theoretically could like. Something that I jerk off to every now and then, when I can't find anything else to get me off, and I need something that feels different.

I shove my hands in my pockets as I wait at the stoplight, grumbling to myself.

Who the hell has time for this shit?

I head to my truck, walking through the middle of what I'm now sure is a gay neighborhood. My system of locks and tarps has held, my stuff just as I left it, and after a short drive, I'm lucky to find a spot right in front of the building.

My building.

The big brick building in the middle of a gay neighborhood, where a very nice person has a flower shop filled with happy people, and now I might ruin their lives like a total asshole.

I unhook everything and take the first heavy box out of the truck, hauling it up the stairs.

The store is just sitting there, waiting for me to decide what happens to it.

You can even smell the flowers in the hallway.

This would all be so much easier if I had reason to hate Nicholas.

I drop off a box, and my eye catches on a manila envelope that's on the kitchen table. It's part of the packet from the bank, but I must have missed it earlier. Not wanting to forget, I rip it open and shake out the contents.

There are three small white envelopes. One addressed to me, one addressed to Nicholas, and one to Sue and Nance.

A surprising jolt of emotion goes through me. The sloppy handwriting on the envelope I recognize from my grandpa's signature, which means he wrote my name. It's a weird thing to get hung up on. He must have written it a few times for the bank documents, but it catches me off guard.

I sit in the single kitchen chair. Carefully, I pull the envelope open. The card has a watercolor rooster on the front, and the inside is blank, except for the note from my grandpa.

Sorry we never got to meet. Your dad's a prick, but I thought you deserved to get something from this family.

Enjoy the building.

Your Grandpa Randy

P.S. If you fuck my friends over, I'll curse you from beyond the grave.

I blink at the words before I cough out a rough laugh.

"Thanks, Randy," I mutter. "I hope I don't fuck them over, too."