Page 32 of Familiar Things New

Heat spread through Andrew’s chest, the warmth unfurling like a flower’s petals in bloom. Now smiling madly, Andrew fixed his eyes on the snow in front of them. He was much too affected by Edwin’s comment to even consider meeting the man’s eyes for a while.

Over the five or so minutes, neither of them spoke. It was very quiet outside. All of Albany seemed silent, the storm likely having confined most people to their homes. Thanks to Edwin—the lovely compliment he’d given Andrew as well as his overall wonderful presence—Andrew stayed plenty warm, even as the white powder coated his pants, soaking the fabric and wetting his socks when it melted.

In the back of Andrew’s mind, painful memories of having lost his most cherished friend still lingered, but the newness of this thing with Edwin, whatever it was, seemed to be thrilling enough and enormous enough for him to keep those memories somewhat buried as they faced the storm.

Not wanting to let those thoughts of previous heartache break free, Andrew considered potential subjects of conversation. Regardless of how foolish it probably was to let himself like Edwin so much, he wanted to relish their brief time together more than he wanted to be careful not to repeat the follies of his past.

“You, uhm, you seemed to like helping me with that photograph in the conservatory,” Andrew settled on. He squinted when he looked up at Edwin and snow pelted him in the face.

“I did,” Edwin confirmed, his voice somewhat tight, possibly from keeping his muscles tense as they fought the blizzard home. “I hope the photographs came out nicely.”

“I’ll have to wait before I find out. I’m a little worried since I can’t develop either of them for at least a couple of days. I’ve never used that particular kind of plate before, so I’m not feeling very confident.”

“Did you say earlier that the plates were precoated?” Edwin asked, and Andrew nodded. “Does that mean they work differently than the standard ones?”

“In a way. They’re supposed to be more stable. And they can be dry when the photograph is taken. Sorry, that’s probably obvious, since I didn’t have to coat them this morning before I loaded them into the wooden plateholder.”

Edwin hummed and nodded.

“I’ll show you how the prints came out once I have them in hand,” Andrew promised.

“Well, if it turns out that waiting somehow ruined them, then I’m sure you can take some more photographs—similar ones—the next time it snows. I mean, we’re in Albany. This city sees plenty of snowstorms every year.”

Andrew laughed softly. “Yes, that’s true, though hopefully none will be as bad as this one.”

“Yes, this is something else,” Edwin agreed. “Thank you for coming to walk with me through it.”

“I’m enjoying myself,” Andrew said with a smile. “Despite the, uhm, the circumstances.”

Edwin returned Andrew’s smile with a beautiful one of his own. “I am, too.”

Once again, they were quiet for a small stretch of time.

“Would you . . . be interested in learning more about the photography process by any chance?” Andrew eventually asked. “I can show you how the wet plates work. And the darkroom is a whole experience in itself.” He paused to swallow, nervousness coiling in his stomach. Asking Edwin to spend more time together was . . . probably not the smartest idea. But their walk would be coming to an end soon, and he couldn’t stand the thought that his time with Edwin would be coming to an end as well. “Mrs. Meyer keeps the boarding house plenty warm. So, well, even if the snow continues, we should be fine up in the, uhm, the studio.”

Averting his eyes, Edwin pursed his lips, seemingly thinking over Andrew’s suggestion. Or perhaps only considering what might be the kindest way to reject it.

Andrew’s heart pounded nervously as he waited for Edwin’s response, though he knew what the man’s answer would most likely be. He’d been too forward, too presumptuous. Multiple times. And Edwin was clearly a smart man, one who probably wouldn’t be so foolish as to leap into something romantic with someone as clumsy as him, even if he did miraculously reciprocate these burgeoning romantic feelings.

After a moment more, Edwin cleared his throat.

“I am interested,” Edwin finally said. Andrew’s heart ballooned with hope. “But . . .” And then that balloon swiftly sank when Edwin paused, the man’s expression becoming pained. “Dammit, I really should return home. I’m worried about my mother. Her pain is worse when it’s particularly cold out.” Edwin looked up at Andrew with big, beautiful, sorrowful eyes. “Rheumatic gout.”

Andrew’s hand flew to his chest. “Oh, Edwin, I’m so sorry to hear that.”

Edwin only shrugged. He looked back down at the snow.

“Let me know if there’s ever anything I can do,” Andrew offered.

“I will. Thank you.”

One more minute passed. Edwin’s cross street was only just up ahead.

Disappointment settled heavy in Andrew’s chest, and he held in a sigh. Hopefully he’d see Edwin again. Because it really did seem like there was something between them. Didn’t it? Oh, he hoped so.

Andrew was still lost in his thoughts when his foot suddenly collided with something hard buried in the snow—most likely a low-lying hitching post. He fell and let out a small oof as he crashed onto the ground. Luckily, there was enough powder to cushion his fall.

“Jesus, Andrew, are you all right?” Edwin asked.