The Novelty Maker by Sasha L. Miller Page A

time?"
                    "It will," Harlowe said, reaching past Cole and compressing a switch on the side of the box, out of range of the dancers. The music stopped, but the figurines kept moving. "There's clearance, but right now they run out of power after about an hour. Faster if the music is going."
                    "Winding is too archaic?" Cole asked, amused when Harlowe scowled at that suggestion.
                    "It's ridiculously archaic," Harlowe said. "I wanted to try that new steam compression engine Doctor Micawber invented last year, but I didn't have the parts yet, and I'm not sure of the schematics for it."
                    "Steam, really? I had heard that was too expensive for mainstream application," Cole said, then shook his head. "But what does the box have to do with anything?"
                    "It was always meant for you," Harlowe said, his mouth grimacing oddly. "I told myself that I'd tell you when it was done, since it was going to be months and months before I could finish it."
                    "Tell me what?" Cole asked, watching as Harlowe folded the lid back onto the box. The music chimed a few chords without him compressing the switch, but the lid shut it off again.
                    "That I like you more than I should," Harlowe said, looking up from the box. "It … no one can look past this," Harlowe touched his scarred face, "and I didn't think anyone would, not even you."
                    "I don't care about—"
                    "I know," Harlowe said, the corner of his mouth twitching up. "You never asked, you never gawked or tried to look under the mask. I kept waiting for you to be like everyone else, and you never were. I'm a sideshow—"
                    "You are not," Cole snapped. "Stop—"
                    "Shut up," Harlowe said, much less crossly than he had snapped the words earlier. "I've had patrons before, you know. They thought parading me around was the greatest thing, or that by sponsoring my work they were entitled to look under the mask or worse."
                    "I wouldn't—"
                    "I know," Harlowe said, "Now shut up and let me talk."
                    Cole mimed zipping his mouth shut, making Harlowe smile again.
                    "I've been burned before by sponsors, so I don't want to do that again," Harlowe said, leaning against the desk. "Which is why I wouldn't ask you for help with the shop." Cole opened his mouth to protest that, but Harlowe talked over him. "I know, you'd help and not expect anything back, but that's not right either."
                    Cole shut his mouth, not pleased with the imposed rule that he couldn't talk.
                    "I was sure you were sending the letters, at first," Harlowe said quietly. "You read that first one. It was over-the-top and insincere and obviously not serious."
                    "It seemed serious to me," Cole said, scowling. He still owed Dwight a good punch or two.
                    "If I find out you're lying about this, I'm going to throw you off the cliffs," Harlowe said, watching Cole closely.
                    "I mean it," Cole said, suddenly nervous even though he'd already thrown himself at Harlowe once. "I do."
                    "I believe you," Harlowe said. He stood up, away from the desk, and Cole met him halfway, stepping close and kissing Harlowe soft and sweet, like he'd imagined doing a thousand times. Cole reached up, cupping Harlowe's face—and Harlowe pulled back when Cole touched his scarred cheek, obviously startled.
                    "Sorry, should I not—"
                    "It's fine," Harlowe said at the same time.