Finders Keepers Page 5

  An unease crept over me. I really should see who I was expecting to pick up Wicket. I mean, Wicket’s reaction to seeing him would be answer enough, but I should have a visual too, right? Not just for my own security, but for Wicket’s too, right?

  Absolutely.

  I scrolled through the photos I’d taken this afternoon and found one of me and Wicket at the park. It was a selfie and it was a half-decent shot of me, so taking a deep breath, I attached the pic and hit Send.

  Now, how to ask for one in return without sounding like a creeper, or a Grindr pick-up line…

  Man, I sucked at this.

  Then my phone beeped with a reply message from Dane. Great photo. Wicket looks so happy. He won’t want to come home with me. He added the cross-eyed emoticon which made the tone of his text more sarcastic-truth than sad-truth.

  He didn’t mention me being in the photo at all in his comment, so he was either straight or not interested because, surely another gay or bi or remotely curious guy would notice the guy holding a dog in a photo.

  Or maybe that was just me…

  My phone pinged with a follow-up message. Just out for dinner with friends. Sonia’s not sure which of you is cuter. Then he added a crying-laughing emoticon, which could mean one of two things: he thought that was hilarious because obviously his dog was cuter than another dude. Or, he was testing the water by kind-of, in a second-hand way, calling me cute. Or maybe there was a third thing by saying a woman found me cute and that was his way of seeing how I reacted. I really had no clue, but one thing was certain. This felt like a test.

  And he’d shown my photo to his friends, and that could possibly mean a dozen different things I wasn’t sure I wanted to analyse right then.

  I thumbed out a reply. Tell Sonia I said thanks… I think. ;)

  Then I realised my reply gave as much away as his texts did, but I didn’t know what to add without sounding lame. I needed to somehow ask for a photo, also without sounding lame.

  This was becoming far too complicated.

  Wicket walked to the door and looked over at me expectantly. I let him outside and followed him down the stairs so he could pee, poop, or sniff, or whatever important work he needed to do. I sat on the second bottom step while he wandered off and I stared at my phone.

  “Don’t look so worried. It might never happen,” Bernice said from her patio table, scaring the crap outta me.

  I put my hand to my heart. “Jesus.”

  “My friends call me Bernice.”

  I barked out a laugh and walked over, taking a seat at her table. “I didn’t see you there.”

  “Just enjoying a cup of tea and a medicinal brownie before bed.” She nodded to the plate where half a hash brownie still sat. “Helps me sleep. Want some?”

  “Nah. I start work tomorrow. Last thing I need is a random drug test to get me fired before I start. Thanks for the offer though.”

  “Is that what you’re worried about?”

  “No, work’s fine.” I sighed. “Wicket’s owner is…” I struggled to finish that sentence and settled on another sigh.

  “He’s what? An asshole? In jail?”

  I snorted. “No, nothing like that. He’s… well, I don’t know what he is.”

  “What do you mean? You’re gonna need to spell it out for me, son. I’m a little blitzed.”

  I studied her more closely, and yeah, her eyes were doing that slow-blinking thing. “I don’t know if he’s… interested.”

  “Ah.” She nodded wisely. “Well, you can do one of two things. You can not ask him and die wondering. Or you can do what grown-ups do and be grown-up about it and ask him outright. Like a grown-up.”

  “It’s not that easy.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “What if he’s not?”

  “Then you’ll know he’s not. End of story.”

  I sighed again because that right there was the problem. I didn’t want it to be the end of this or our story.

  Bernice popped the rest of the brownie in her mouth, chewed, and swallowed it while watching me, waiting for me to reply. When I didn’t, she sighed like she was all out of patience. And out of brownie. “But Griffin, what if he is interested?”

  My stomach clenched. “Well, I—”

  My phone beeped, cutting me off. It was a message from Dane… No, not just a message. It was a photo. It was kinda dark, like there was mood lighting in what looked like a restaurant. There was a guy wearing a dark grey Hurley shirt and sitting at a table alongside the cropped-out-of-view shoulder of a blonde girl. He had short brown hair, blue eyes that reflected the light, and pink lips. He looked like he was smiling shyly, maybe blushing a little. He reminded me oddly of Stephen Amell, in a very, very good way.

  “Holy shit,” I mumbled.

  “What’s that?” Bernice asked.

  “He just sent me a photo.”

  “Of what?”

  “Of himself.”

  She didn’t ask to see the picture, and guessing from how her eyes were now nothing but slits, I wasn’t surprised.

  “Well, there’s your answer,” she said.

  “My answer to what?”

  “Whether he’s interested.”

  I made a face that she could either not see or didn’t care about. Possibly both. “How so?”

  “He didn’t just send a photo,” she said, her words slow. “He put his cards on the table, that’s what he did.”

  “I sent him my photo first.”

  “Then you put your cards on the table first.”

  I wasn’t sure if she was dead wrong or very right.

  “Griffin,” she said, slow blinking. “He’s interested. No one sends their photo to anyone else unless they’re interested. Fact’s a fact.”

  “Maybe.”

  “If he was married with two kids, would he be sending photos to a guy?”

  “Well, yeah, if he was unfaithful. And bi.”

  “And interested. Cause I’m telling ya, if he was a straight guy who wasn’t the least bit interested, he wouldn’t be sending no photo of himself to another guy.”

  Then another message beeped. It was Dane. Sonia said it was only fair you know what I looked like too.

  My heart was hammering. “His friend said it was only fair I know what he looked like as well.”

  “Because he’s interested.”

  I was starting to think he was. I couldn’t stop staring at him…

  “Is he handsome?”

  “He’s fucking beautiful.”

  Bernice laughed. “Then hurry up and reply.”

  Then it occurred to me… “Oh God. I have to reply?”

  She snorted and swayed a little. “Jesus, go upstairs and do it. I’m going to bed while I still got my buzz on. Am I still dog-sitting tomorrow?”

  “Yeah, is that okay?”

  “Sure is.” She stood up and swayed again, but like she was long-used to it, she drifted inside and slid the glass door closed behind her. I heard the lock click into place and made sure Wicket had done his business before we went back upstairs.

  I parked my arse on the sofa, and taking a deep breath, I replied. So, do you do all your own stunt work on your TV show Arrow?

  I hit Send before I could change my mind, and his reply came back almost immediately.

  My what?

  Oh shit. Is that photo really of you, or is it Stephen Amell? Or are you really Stephen Amell?

  I waited for thirty heart-stopping seconds before the reply text bubble appeared. Then disappeared, then reappeared, then disappeared again. Then my phone rang, almost causing my heart to leap out of my chest.

  “I had to google who that was,” he said instead of hello.

  Hoping I sounded calm, I asked, “You’ve never heard of Stephen Amell?”

  He snorted. “I recognised the pictures online when I googled him, but I don’t watch the show.”

  “Has no one ever told you that you look like him?”

  “Ah, no.”

  And Be
rnice’s words came back to me. Just be a grown-up and ask him outright. I let out a breath as steady as what I could make it. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Sure.”

  Aaaaand then I chickened out. Then I panicked. “What do you do on a Thursday night at eight-thirty if you don’t watch Stephen Amell in Arrow on TV?”

  He laughed quietly. “Probably walk the dog or have dinner… No wait, eight-thirty on a Thursday night is The Walking Dead.”

  “Oh, hell no. I watched the first episode of the first season and almost died.”

  He laughed. “It’s good!”

  “It’s horrifying!”

  “Is that really what you were going to ask me?”

  “No,” I answered before my brain could catch up. That was me, honest to a fault. Jesus Christ. “Oh. Um, yeah, it doesn’t really matter…”

  “If you want to know something, then it matters.”

  I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. “How old are you?” Not what I really wanted to know, but it was a start.

  “Twenty-six. How old are you?”

  “Twenty-four.”

  “That wasn’t what you really wanted to know, was it?” he asked, though it wasn’t really a question.

  “Well… no.”

  “Do you want to know if I’m seeing someone?”

  “Maybe.”

  It sounded like he was smiling. “I’m not. Seeing anyone, that is.”

  Okay, so that was one hurdle down. “And if you were looking—” I cringed at how ridiculous this was. “—and used dating apps, would you use Tinder? Or maybe Grindr?” I buried my face into the sofa cushion and rolled my eyes and wanted to die.

  He barked out a laugh. “Are you asking me if I’m gay?”

  “Yes.”

  “What was that?”

  I lifted my face from the cushion and tried speaking again. “Yes.”

  “I am.”

  My heart went from pounding out a mortified death march to doing some techno rapid-fire staccato. “Yay! Well, I mean, that’s good.” I just said yay. Fuck my life. I cleared my throat and tried again. “And I mean, good, if you like that kind of thing…”

  “Do you?” he asked, sounding amused. “Like that kind of thing?”

  “Yes.”

  “I thought so.”

  That sobered me. Did he assume? Did he think I sounded gay? Did he stereotype people before he even met them? Because that kind of pissed me off. “What do you mean you thought so?”

  “Your bracelet.”

  “Oh.” I almost laughed. “I forgot about that.”

  “So you did show it in the photo deliberately?”

  “Maybe.”

  He chuckled. “So… are you on Grindr?”

  “No. It’s not my thing. You?”

  “Nah. My friends tried to get me into it but it’s not my thing either. Call me boring, but I like meeting guys the good old-fashioned way.”

  “The old-fashioned way? Like having your dog run away and hoping some random guy finds him?”

  Dane laughed again, a deep throaty sound. “Can’t say I planned it, no. But I’m interested to see where it goes.”

  Holy shit.

  I tried to breathe. “Yeah, me too.”

  “So, you start your new job tomorrow?”

  “I do.”

  “Nervous?”

  “A little bit, but I’m sure it’ll be fine. Once I get there and meet everyone.”

  “So you moved up here from Brisbane for this job? A promotion, right?”

  “Yeah, kind of. A definite step up anyway.”

  “Well, that’s great. And let’s face it, living on the Sunshine Coast isn’t exactly terrible.”

  I snorted. “No, it’s not.”

  “So, this Friday? When I get home, will you be working?”

  How could I have forgotten that? “Oh crap. Yes. Until five, anyway. Is that too late? If you want to pick Wicket up earlier, I can organise—”

  “No, it’s fine. I won’t get home till three-ish, so that works out well actually. By the time I get home, start laundry, and maybe pick up a few groceries—you know how that is—I’ll need an hour or so before I drive up to get him. Five sounds good.”

  “So, no lunch then?”

  “Dinner could work.”

  “It could.”

  “So, where am I meeting you?”

  I remembered my online-safety inner monologue from earlier. I did trust him, and I was excited that we’d cleared the air and admitted an interest. But I still needed to be smart about this. “How about we meet at the beach?” I suggested. “That way Wicket gets to have a run, and the surf club has alfresco tables and we can order dinner…” The ‘and it’s a public place’ went unsaid.

  “Sounds good.”

  “It does.”

  “Okay, I better let you go. You’ve got a big day tomorrow.”

  “Yeah.”

  “For what it’s worth, I’m glad we cleared the air tonight.”

  “Me too.”

  “I’ll give you a call tomorrow night to see how your first day went.”

  My smile became a grin. “Okay.”

  “Tell Wicket I said goodnight.”

  “He’s already sound asleep. Curled up beside me on the couch.”

  Dane made a deep sigh sound that could have been a moan. It made me shiver.

  “Goodnight, Griffin.”

  “Night, Dane.”

  The line went dead, and I sat there for a good five minutes trying to calm my heart and trying not to get ahead of myself. Something was budding between us, but there was no guarantee it would take hold, let alone grow and bloom.

  Don’t get ahead of yourself. Don’t read too much into this. Don’t have expectations…

  I was still holding my phone, so I opened it to Dane’s photo and my heart tripped over. The look on his face was a shy smile, like he was looking right at me. He was really very good-looking: defined cheekbones, strong jaw, and kind blue eyes. But more than that, he was a nice guy. And he was gay, and he was interested in seeing where this thing between us went…

  I could still hear the echo of his warm laugh in my ear, and I wondered if he was tall or not, if he had tattoos. I wondered what his favourite food was, what he couldn’t stand. Which colour was his favourite, what he smelled like, what his hands felt like.

  Don’t get ahead of yourself.

  Yeah right. Good luck with that.

  I arrived for my first day at work twenty minutes early. I hadn’t slept all too well, too excited and nervous to sleep, so after making sure Bernice had everything for Wicket’s first day with her, I found myself making introductions to my new boss.

  Her name was Neda Husak. She was a middle-aged woman, thin, with a straight back and a certain poise that said she was approachable but had no time for bullshit. And whether she was pleased with my being early or expected nothing less, I wasn’t sure. I’d met her during the interview process, and she came across then as an astute businesswoman who expected nothing less than the best at all times. I was pretty sure we were going to get along just fine.

  She clapped her hands together and said, “Excellent. Follow me.”

  And then I didn’t have time to be excited or nervous. Her method of induction was clearly the tell me, show me, let me method, followed by the sink or swim method.

  I was fine with both.

  It helped that the computer system was the same I’d used at my last job, so at least I could hit the ground running. I was the newest of the hotel’s three reception managers and I met a good portion of the front-of-house staff. Some I would answer to; some would answer to me.

  And outside of work, taking a dog for a run on the beach, I could be a twenty-four-year-old guy without a care in the world. But at work, in uniform, I was the utmost professional. Clean shaven, hair styled perfectly, and ever-smiling, I greeted each and every person like I was their personal attendant.

  As far as first days went, it was smooth, and I
hoped I made a good impression. I’d barely made it out of the drive of the resort when my phone rang. It was my mum. The call went straight to Bluetooth. “Hi, love. How was it?” she asked.

  “Good, I think. My boss likes me, which probably means most of the people I work with don’t.”

  Mum snorted. “That’s never stopped you.”

  “I know. But they were all nice so far.”

  “Did you make the right decision moving up there?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  “That’s my boy. No hesitation, no regrets.”

  I rolled my eyes. “If only personal relationships were as easy as professional ones.”

  “Oh?” She never missed a thing. “Have you met someone already?”

  I could picture her having to put her cup of tea down. “Maybe. It’s early days. Like really early days, but maybe.”

  “And what’s his name?”

  I considered not telling her. Citing it would jinx it all for sure. But it was my mum and I always told her. “His name is Dane. But that’s all I’m saying right now.”

  She made a happy sound. “Okay, okay. I won’t ask you anything else. You just be yourself and the right boy will come along, just you watch.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Yes, Mum.”

  We said our goodbyes just as I pulled up at home. I got out of my car and quickly made my way to the gate at the backyard. I was dying to see how Wicket and Bernice had gotten on all day. I didn’t want to admit I was worried Wicket might have got himself into trouble or escaped because, God, what would I tell Dane then? But I needn’t have worried.

  I stuck my head around the back of the house, and there was Bernice sitting at her patio table with her bare foot rubbing Wicket’s belly. He lay on his back, clearly enjoying the sun and the attention. “Am I interrupting something?” I asked.

  Bernice looked up at me and gave me a slow smile. I was pretty sure she was high. It was hard to tell; she was so laid back about everything, I wasn’t sure if she was toked up or just chill.

  Wicket still hadn’t moved. I peered closer. “Is he…?”

  “Dead?” Bernice said. “Dead dogs don’t snore.”

  “Is he baked?”

  She snorted. “You think I would waste my stash on a dog?”

  I laughed and Wicket shot up. Bernice pulled her foot away, and he shook his little body awake. “Hey buddy,” I said and was rewarded with a jumpy, happy lick. I gave him a good pat. “How about I go get changed and we go to the park?”