Page 47 of The Arrangement

One of the installers stepped back, dusting his hands, and I glimpsed a rainbow wristband. Maybe Fairhope wasn’t as bigoted as I feared. Andy hadn’t seemed to encounter any issues while he was here. Then there was little Rumi and her family. Perhaps an open life here was more possible than I initially gave it credit. Sure, not everyone would be decent as we’d already experienced, but as Andy liked to say, “Not even pizza could make everyone happy.”

“That should do ya,” the other installer said, as he finished picking up the last of the packaging from the floor. “Fine shop you’ve got here. My boy would get a kick outta these funny lizards.” He leaned over and plucked at the springy tail of one of the metal critters that looked like it was crawling out from behind the refrigerator, causing it to bounce dramatically.

“Take it. We got way too many of them.” The side-eye Marc shot me said he hadnotmissed my helpful relocation of his disturbing orgy-murder of lizards.

The man waved his hands in front of him. “Nah, I couldn’. But I’d love to bring the missus by some time. She and her gal friends are always looking for new places to use for their volunteer organization events.”

Marc’s eyes brightened, and my heart swelled to see the joy in him. This was his dream, his passion. And he positively glowed with it. “Sure, I’d love to work with local volunteer groups. I haven’t had cards made yet, but I can give you my direct info so she can get in touch.” He scrambled over to the counter where he kept his lists and jotted down the info.

The installer with the rainbow band looked around while they waited, his gaze perpetually drawn back to Marc. I might have felt some kind of way about it if it wasn’t also clear that he’d clocked the Pride sticker in the window and every time his gaze went to Marc, it inevitably slipped to me. “So… I noticed the shop doesn’t have a sign out front. This used to be Petunia’s Petals, right?”

“Yep. I’m her great-nephew,” Marc replied, tearing free the paper and giving it to the other installer.

“You planning to keep the name or change it?”

Marc’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. I could see the lowkey anxiety darkening his eyes from here and sighed internally. “I, um, I hadn’t really thought about it. Keep it, I guess.”

“Nothing for nothing, and don’t get me wrong, I’m all for nostalgia,” he glanced at the small Pride flag then back at Marc, “but I think you should change it. You know, make it your own.”

“Huh, I’ll, uh, have to think about that.” He cleared his throat and shoved his hands into his back pockets as if he were shovingdown his sudden discomfort. “Thanks again for coming out on a Saturday. I know that’s not your norm.”

“Pshh,” the first installer said, waving him off. “It was either this or get roped into helping my brother-in-law empty out his shed. Last time I was there, he made me try his homemade moonshine that had me regretting every life decision since the Rebirth.” Marc barked a laugh, and the rainbow installer shook his head. Likely this was not the first time he’d heard this tale. “Needless to say, it was an easy decision. It was Frankie over here that needed the convincing.”

I glanced at rainbow installer—aka Frankie—who shrugged. “Can’t say as I regret it. You guys are good people.” It seemed that was the end of it as they gathered their tools and made their way out the back, but while Marc was bidding the other installer goodbye—again—Frankie stepped up to me. “Y’all make a cute couple. I really hope you stick around. This place could stand a little more color.” He gave me the faintest smile, dipped his head, and walked over to the delivery truck to hop into the passenger seat.

“What was that about?” Marc asked, stepping up beside me, sliding his hand into my back pocket as he looped an arm around my waist.

I wrapped an arm around him as well and tugged him close so I could kiss the side of his head. “Nothing, baby boy. He was just expressing how excited he is about the shop being here.”

His face screwed up with obvious skepticism. “Really? Excitement isn’t really a word I’d associate with the guy.”

“Eh, you might be surprised. Now, come on, I’m starved.”

He snorted. “You’re always starved. You’re a freaking giant. It’s a wonder you’ve managed to last this long. But I suppose Ihavebeen promising you McSharry’s.”

“Darn tootin’” I replied with a toothy grin.

“Ew. No. Just,” he shuddered, removing his hand from my back pocket, “no.”

McSharry’s was exactly as advertised: local, packed, and Irish down to its bedrock. It was also “hot as blue blazes” as Marc put it, and no way in hell were we sitting outside in this muggy-ass heat and getting, as he colorfully put it, “swamp balls”. I didn’t know whether to laugh or kiss him. These days, I trended more and more towards the “why choose” option.

“What’ll it be, boys?” the waitress asked. It was refreshing to see that she was wearing nothing more elaborate than a simple black tee with the pub’s logo on it and worn jeans. Guess that was another perk of smaller towns. Restaurants treated women like actual people instead of objects to be ogled.

I glanced down at the plastic menu we’d been given upon being seated and bit my lip. Clearly reading my indecision, she tapped her pen on her notepad, then tucked it into her half-apron.

“How ‘bout I grab those Guinness first? I’ll be back in a jiff.” She spun away to retrieve the beers from the bar, and I could not have been more grateful for Southern politeness. Or I could have, if Marc hadn’t snickered so loud I could hear it over the steady noise of the place.

“What?” I asked, slapping the plastic menu against the table.

“Me, what?You, what? Why are you so…?” He gestured with his hands to vaguely encompass my general person. “It’s a pub, not, I don’t know, the Mansion of Calgary or something.”

I laughed so hard, I swear to God I almost fell out of my chair. Wiping at my eyes, I struggled to pull myself together. Seriously, the things that came out of his mouth. There was no predicting any of it. I could read his face like a book, sense how he wasfeeling from across a room, but for as long as I lived, I’d never be able to tell what would come out of Marc’s mouth next. “That’s… that’s,” I pushed down another burst of laughter, “not a thing. Likeat all.”

“It is too,” he huffed indignantly.

I shook my head, still failing miserably at tamping down my humor. “No, baby boy. It’s Calgary Castle, and it’s in Scotland.”

He scowled and grumbled, “Don’t see how that’s any freaking different, but whatever,” then asked louder, “Okay, so what? My point still stands. What’s got you all twisted?”