Page 19 of Backward Motion

It took a moment for his brain to unfreeze. “Ah, no, nothing like that. These are for a friend.”

“That’s nice of you.” She examined him with a wide smile. “I’ll admit, I was a bit surprised when Sam told us he was working at Finnegan’s. How long have you been running the business on your own?”

Connor was still waiting for his pulse to return to normal. “Just over a year now.”

“It’s amazing what you and Maureen are doing to support your dad. It must be so hard on you both.”

Connor eyed the line in front of them as it inched forward. “He doesn’t let us go easy on him, that’s for sure.”

“Well, we’ve heard only good things from Sam, which is something because he doesn’t say a lot these days.” Mrs. Bryant gave a little laugh. “I don’t know if he told you about what happened, but I’m so glad he’s out of Austin. What a disaster.”

Her eyes welled up, and she blinked quickly. Connor frowned. Sam hadn’t mentioned anything about a disaster. Come to think of it, he’d been rather evasive about his reasons for returning.

“Anyway, he was in a bad spot for a while, but he’s doing much better,” she continued. “The job has helped enormously. It’s such a relief to see him up and out the door every morning. I’m sure spending time with an old school friend doesn’t hurt either.”

“I wouldn’t say we were friends at school, Mrs. Bryant,” Connor admitted. “Which was probably a good thing. He was wise to steer clear.”

Sam’s mom began to stack her groceries on the conveyor belt—bread, milk, and a box of snack-sized packs of Goldfish crackers. Connor held back a laugh. At the office, Sam had pulled one of the orange-and-white packets from his satchel with a puzzled look. Then he’d stuffed it back into his bag and grumbled, “Her kid moves home, and she regresses to packing lunches.” Connor thought it was sweet.

“Oh, who hasn’t had a spell of youthful defiance?” Mrs. Bryant said, patting his arm reassuringly. “And look how well you turned out, taking over the family business. Your dad must be so proud.”

Connor forced a smile. It was a familiar enough refrain to have become grating. “I’m glad to hear Sam’s enjoying himself. He’s brought a lot of new ideas to the table. I’m lucky to have him on board.”

“Sam’s like that—always needing to throw himself into things.” She stopped loading her groceries and stared down at her basket. “But it can be hard on him too. He’s more sensitive than he lets on. I only wish he’d take a moment to look up and see the bigger picture.” She clapped a hand over her mouth. “Oh my goodness! If he caught me talking about him, he’d be mortified. He already thinks I’m too involved.”

Mrs. Bryant turned to greet the cashier, but her admission lingered in Connor’s mind. Maybe he wasn’t the only one keeping secrets.

Chapter Ten

Connor pulled the van up outside the office Monday lunchtime and saw Sam through the window, balanced precariously on the top rung of a stepladder. He was reaching above his head to fix a string of orange lights to the window frame, and Connor found his eyes drawn to the smooth strip of exposed stomach where his sweater had ridden up. Connor got out of the van and headed into the office, arriving just in time to rush forward and steady Sam at the waist as his wobble turned into a topple.

“You’re going to get me in trouble with OSHA,” he teased, acutely aware of Sam’s warm skin beneath his fingers.

“Shit, sorry.” Sam held onto Connor’s shoulder as he helped him down the ladder. When Sam reached solid ground, he turned so they were facing, close enough that the toes of their shoes touched.

After their conversation on Friday, Sam had slotted right back into their usual friendly rapport. It was Connor who was having a hard time acting normal. He moved to retrieve the dangling end of the lights to put some space between them. “We’re redecorating?”

“Mary Merkle came by this morning while you were out.”

Connor groaned. Mary Merkle was the head of the town beautification committee and was always trying to rope him into participating in one event or another.

“They’re encouraging businesses to dress up their windows for the fall festival, and she suggested we get involved too. So I went out and picked up a few things from the store.” Sam gestured at the pileof decorations he’d gathered, which included not one but three giant pumpkins.

“We don’t usually do anything,” Connor admitted. “We’re not the kind of business that brings in foot traffic.”

“Oh.” Sam’s face fell. “I thought it couldn’t hurt to get into the festivities. Show we’re part of the community.”

Connor knew what his old man would have said. He’d witnessed his dad’s tirades at Mary Merkle when she’d come by the office in the past, asking about a committee vote or requesting donations to refurbish the town gazebo.

“You’re right. No harm in showing a little fall spirit.” Connor raised his arm to hook the string of lights to the nail Sam had hammered into the window frame, and both lights and nail promptly fell to the floor.

Sam grimaced. “Why am I not surprised?”

“Try hammering at an angle instead of straight in.” Connor took the hammer from Sam’s hand and showed him how to hold the nail pointing downward. He was tall enough not to need the stepladder.

Sam stood back, observing him. “You’ve got to admit, it’s pretty hot—objectively speaking,” he hurried to add, sounding embarrassed. “Most guys I know can’t even assemble IKEA furniture.”

“Worth including in my Grindr profile?” Connor joked, trying to put the man at ease. “Six-one, blue eyes—”