Pip had tried so hard to forget.
Tweedle’s About.
The header flashed on the screen, heather purple lettering on a tweed-style background. Hundreds of unread comments graced the once familiar pages and, with only a moment’s hesitation, Pip started to read.
THE SOUND of Colby jogging down the stairs pulled Pip’s attention from the laptop. He glanced at the clock in the corner of the screen. Had he really been reading for an hour?
The rattle of hangers told him that Colby was in the next room, preparing more of his garments for transportation.
“Hey.” Colby’s head appeared in the doorway. “Is it okay if I make myself a coffee?”
Pip minimized the page as casually as he could muster, even though his heart hammered as if he’d been caught doing something illicit. “Sure. Knock yourself out.”
“Do you want one?”
“Nope.”
“Not even if I say sorry first?”
“I’m not mad.”
Colby scoffed.
“Honestly, I overreacted. And I’m not thirsty.” Pip looked up from the screen for the first time since Colby had appeared at the door. “Why don’t you have a cookie?”
Colby graced Pip with that open, easy smile again. “Okay. If you’re sure.”
“I’m sure, but thanks for the offer.”
He waited until he heard Colby overhead again and then reopened the Internet page. He continued reading until he’d finished every unread comment on his abandoned blog, but he couldn’t bring himself to reply to any. Not yet.
Instead he decided to accept Colby’s olive branch, even if he had to make his own coffee, and he made his way slowly up the stairs to his bedroom.
“SERIOUSLY? ARE you colorblind?” Checks, spots, and stripes in a myriad of clashing colors had been combined in various garments on the tailor’s dummy. “That—that’s an abomination.”
“Really?” Colby cocked his head and studied the display. “I thought it looked quirky.”
“Quirk—” Pip glanced at the neat piles on his bedspread. All color-coded and sorted by era. “You’re doing this on purpose.”
“Am I?” Colby shrugged. “Maybe I’m just crap at what I do?”
“Nope. I’ve seen the photographs of the shop front. The window displays are….”
“You’ve been to the shop?”
Damn. He’d said too much.
“Found it on Google Maps.”
“We weren’t there the last time they updated.” Colby tapped a few times on the screen of his phone. “See.”
The display clearly showed a boarded-up shop.
Busted.
“Okay. I googled you.”
“Me or the shop?” Colby asked, far too quickly. A sudden tension Pip had never noticed before became visible in the set of Colby’s shoulders.
“The shop.” Pip watched closely, noticing the way Colby visibly relaxed before his eyes. “Why? What would I find if I googled you?”
“Nothing exciting.” Colby turned his attention back to the clothes on the dummy. “So, you don’t like it?”
Hmm. Intriguing. Maybe he should google Colby. Although it would be more interesting to discover the layers that made up Colby for himself.
Stupid. He was acting as if he would see Colby again after today. Which he wouldn’t. Once Colby had finished packing up the stuff, he would leave and never come back. Nothing but disruption could come from piquing his curiosity for the rugged man kneeling on his bedroom floor. And that was somewhere else Pip shouldn’t let his thoughts stray.
“Are you sure you won’t change your mind?”
“Eh?” Pip squeaked, Colby’s unexpected question distracting him from fantasies of a supplicant Colby, his large hands cupping Pip’s less than fleshy hips, his thumbs pressing bruises into Pip’s pale skin.
“The clothes. Despite what I’ve done to them here”—Colby waved a hand at the outfit that wouldn’t be out of place in a circus ring—“they are beautiful and expensive.”
Colby’s eyes cut away from him, and Pip followed his gaze to the box of photo albums that he hadn’t gotten around to putting
Tweedle’s About.
The header flashed on the screen, heather purple lettering on a tweed-style background. Hundreds of unread comments graced the once familiar pages and, with only a moment’s hesitation, Pip started to read.
THE SOUND of Colby jogging down the stairs pulled Pip’s attention from the laptop. He glanced at the clock in the corner of the screen. Had he really been reading for an hour?
The rattle of hangers told him that Colby was in the next room, preparing more of his garments for transportation.
“Hey.” Colby’s head appeared in the doorway. “Is it okay if I make myself a coffee?”
Pip minimized the page as casually as he could muster, even though his heart hammered as if he’d been caught doing something illicit. “Sure. Knock yourself out.”
“Do you want one?”
“Nope.”
“Not even if I say sorry first?”
“I’m not mad.”
Colby scoffed.
“Honestly, I overreacted. And I’m not thirsty.” Pip looked up from the screen for the first time since Colby had appeared at the door. “Why don’t you have a cookie?”
Colby graced Pip with that open, easy smile again. “Okay. If you’re sure.”
“I’m sure, but thanks for the offer.”
He waited until he heard Colby overhead again and then reopened the Internet page. He continued reading until he’d finished every unread comment on his abandoned blog, but he couldn’t bring himself to reply to any. Not yet.
Instead he decided to accept Colby’s olive branch, even if he had to make his own coffee, and he made his way slowly up the stairs to his bedroom.
“SERIOUSLY? ARE you colorblind?” Checks, spots, and stripes in a myriad of clashing colors had been combined in various garments on the tailor’s dummy. “That—that’s an abomination.”
“Really?” Colby cocked his head and studied the display. “I thought it looked quirky.”
“Quirk—” Pip glanced at the neat piles on his bedspread. All color-coded and sorted by era. “You’re doing this on purpose.”
“Am I?” Colby shrugged. “Maybe I’m just crap at what I do?”
“Nope. I’ve seen the photographs of the shop front. The window displays are….”
“You’ve been to the shop?”
Damn. He’d said too much.
“Found it on Google Maps.”
“We weren’t there the last time they updated.” Colby tapped a few times on the screen of his phone. “See.”
The display clearly showed a boarded-up shop.
Busted.
“Okay. I googled you.”
“Me or the shop?” Colby asked, far too quickly. A sudden tension Pip had never noticed before became visible in the set of Colby’s shoulders.
“The shop.” Pip watched closely, noticing the way Colby visibly relaxed before his eyes. “Why? What would I find if I googled you?”
“Nothing exciting.” Colby turned his attention back to the clothes on the dummy. “So, you don’t like it?”
Hmm. Intriguing. Maybe he should google Colby. Although it would be more interesting to discover the layers that made up Colby for himself.
Stupid. He was acting as if he would see Colby again after today. Which he wouldn’t. Once Colby had finished packing up the stuff, he would leave and never come back. Nothing but disruption could come from piquing his curiosity for the rugged man kneeling on his bedroom floor. And that was somewhere else Pip shouldn’t let his thoughts stray.
“Are you sure you won’t change your mind?”
“Eh?” Pip squeaked, Colby’s unexpected question distracting him from fantasies of a supplicant Colby, his large hands cupping Pip’s less than fleshy hips, his thumbs pressing bruises into Pip’s pale skin.
“The clothes. Despite what I’ve done to them here”—Colby waved a hand at the outfit that wouldn’t be out of place in a circus ring—“they are beautiful and expensive.”
Colby’s eyes cut away from him, and Pip followed his gaze to the box of photo albums that he hadn’t gotten around to putting
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