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“You manage Oregon Hill Fine Foods? Over on Pine Street?” I asked, and a grin spread in the middle of Max’s thick, dark beard.

“Yeah, it’s the only job I’ve ever had. I started as a stock clerk right after Dad died, and now I’m the manager. In fact, the owner wants to sell it to me. Hey, have you come into the store before?” Max asked. We were in the lobby, and I realized we’d completely forgotten the party on the second floor. Max opened the door for me, and we stepped out onto the sidewalk. A chilly mist covered us.

“Yes, a couple of times to pick up something for lunch.” I shivered, then Max held his hand out, and at first I didn’t know what for. He bit his lower lip, waiting for me to take it. My fingers slid into his, and I noticed his palms were hot, and slightly damp.

“Just think, we could’ve met before this stupid party.” Max muttered. “Hey, let’s go to Third Street Diner. It’s only a few blocks from here. Do you want to walk, or should I call an Uber?”

“I don’t melt. Let’s walk.” I decided, mostly because I didn’t want to let go of him. No man had ever held my hand like this, outside of mass, when priests were always holding hands and hugging parishioners.

“In Guadalajara, I have a cousin who teaches science. He used to be a priest, but he met a woman who…” Max stopped walking and turned toward me. “Did I say something to upset you?”

“No, why?”

“Because you just about squeezed my hand off.” Max resumed walking, pulling me along behind him. “High School was fun, and I was a pretty decent student. I’d already been accepted to VCU, but Dad died right before graduation, so I had to go to work to support my brothers and sisters. Jeez, it’s unreal to think that was twenty years ago. Damn, I’m getting old.”

Max kept up his end of the conversation as we walked past darkened and empty storefronts, then he made a right onto Foushee Street while I struggled to think of anything to say. I wasn’t used to making conversation with someone I’d just met, but there was something about him that made me feel secure, like he actually wanted to be with me. Then we walked past a packed bar with a rainbow flag in the window.

“...and my brother Juan said—”

“What’s that place?” I interrupted, and pointed toward the bar.

Max scowled. “That’s a gay bar called Barcode. If you want to go in, we can, but I’m warning you, most of the guys you’ll see would easily fit in at the party we just left.”

“Oh, no, um, let’s go to the diner.” I said, and Max stopped in his tracks and smiled, and for a moment I was blinded by the unabashed warmth radiating from him.

“I like you, Jude. And I’m not just saying that to—”

I squeezed his hand. “I know.”