“No,” I admitted. “He wouldn’t.”
“No,” Carter agreed. “He definitely wouldn’t. Even I know that.”
“But that doesn’t mean he wants it to keep happening. Or that, deep down, he’s not upset that I took advantage of him and it made things weird between us. Or that things would be all sunshine and rainbows if he did come out as bisexual. You know it’s no picnic, Carter. Being queer might be easier in an accepting town like Licking Thicket than in most places around, but that doesn’t mean it’s easy. I’ve volunteered with enough kids to know that. Heck, my own parents were enough to teach me that.” They hadn’t disowned me or anything dramatic, but they hadn’t exactly joined Cindy Ann’s PFLAG chapter either. In an attempt to change the subject, I pointed at the plate. “What’s that?”
“Oh, this?” Carter nudged the plate. “This here is a chicken salad sandwich. After you disappeared, Dunn told me, and I quote, ‘Tucker’s down there eating cookies, and he’ll make himself sick and shaky. He needs protein and water. Give him this sandwich. And if he won’t open the door, use the key above the jamb once I’m gone.’ And FYI, that was before he threatened me with his Magnum-sized Squarebill.”
“Oh.” I stared at the sandwich, and tears filled my eyes. It was from Thelma’s Sandwich Shack, the only place in town that made their chicken salad without covering it in mayo, just the way I liked it.
“To state the obvious,” Carter continued, “snaking your drain and buying you a sandwich to save you from imminent hypoglycemia are not the actions of a man who’s pissed off because your unbridled lust ruined your friendship… nor, indeed, the actions of a man who feels like your friendship’s been ruined at all.”
“I guess not,” I whispered.
“So what exactly did he say about your com-frot, then, that got you so doom and gloom?”
“He didn’t,” I admitted. “He, um… fell asleep. Smiling. And then this morning he said the thing about talking.”
“Ah. Truly, he sounds enraged.” Carter nodded sagely. “I can see how you came to this logical conclusion about Little Johnson.”
I unwrapped the sandwich and picked up half. “Don’t call him that. It’s unkind and very, very untrue.” I licked some chicken off my thumb and pushed half the sandwich and the plate back toward Carter. “Look, I have to talk to him. Clearly. I already knew that. But…”
“But?”
I chewed a bite of sandwich, swallowed, and placed it down on the paper wrapping.
“But I’m scared,” I admitted softly. “Last fall, I got this silly idea in my head that Dunn had romantic feelings for me, and he didn’t. At all. In fact, the reason he’d been acting all squirrelly and weird back then was because he was going to offer to set me up with someone else so he could be free to keep doing whatever half-assed dating thing he’s been doing with Jenn. It… it killed me.”
Even now, my stomach felt weirdly hollow and achy in a way that had nothing to do with the sugar I’d eaten.
“Right. So you’d rather sabotage your friendship yourself now by avoiding him than take a chance you might get hurt again. And you’re justifying this decision by convincing yourself that, first, you know what Dunn’s thinking without talking to him and, second, you know what’s best for Dunn better than Dunn himself does.” Carter took a big bite of sandwich. “Makes total sense.”
“Hey!” I gaped at this unflattering interpretation of events. “No. That is not what’s happening here, okay? I’m being careful. I’m being… cautious. For both our sakes.”
“You’re being ridiculous.”
“Am I? Whereas you only do thoughtful, reasonable things? Then explain that little move back at the coffee shop earlier. We’re dating now?”
Carter grinned as he chewed. “I mean, at the time I hadn’t realized that things were changing with you and your little Dunn-bun. I thought I might get to simultaneously rescue myself from her matchmaking and make Dunn jealous if he heard about it. In that sense, it worked delightfully well. Ten out of ten, really.”
“You’re a menace.” I picked up my sandwich again.
“Moi? And to think, I was planning to call you today to fill you in on a job offer before you stumbled upon me at the cafe. That’s ingratitude, Wright.”
I snorted. “I already have a job, thank you.”
“Mmm, not like this one. Remember Dr. Petersmith?”
“Uh, yeah. Obviously. He’s head of the division of internal medicine and a living legend. What about him?”
“He’s got a research position open. Genetic epidemiology.”
Genetic epidemiology research? At Vanderbilt?
Chicken salad fell out of my sandwich to splatter on the wrapper as I stared at Carter, who smiled smugly.
“He was at my parents’ house for cocktails a week ago, and we chatted about it,” Carter said breezily. “I mentioned your name, and how I’d reconnected with you, and I reminded him of that research paper you wrote—”