Archive of Our Own

Fifty six, fifty seven, fifty eight...

Stensland knew there were exactly eighty two lillies on the upholstery of this couch––thirty seven of them were pink, and the rest were more on the purple side. The asymmetry didn’t bother him. Just knowing exactly how many flowers were on this couch was enough to calm him down. They had this exact couch in his own branch of Soft Solutions back in Seattle. Admittedly, it was quite hideous; Stensland was not in the least surprised that they hadn’t sold it for as long as he’d been working there. He had spent many evenings on it after an overwhelming shift, counting the flowers instead of counting breaths, talking his heart rate down from a panic attack.

The presence of this same couch in this Soft Solutions, in the middle of nowhere, West Virginia, was a huge comfort as soon as he’d walked in an hour ago.

Sixty nine, nice, seventy...

He wasn’t even sure what he’d been expecting when he had wandered out of the hotel––away from the rest of the wedding party––in need of a break. He probably could have walked further and found a café or something, but spotting the Soft Solutions instead had been a perfect coincidence.

Seventy three...

Stensland still had no idea why Viola had asked him to be one of her bridesmaids. He was just a replacement for someone who could no longer attend, but the decision was still puzzling. Yes, they’d parted on good terms, they still chatted from time to time, and they did tag each other in memes on Facebook, but Stensland definitely wouldn’t have considered them close friends. He had known she was dating someone, but she had never posted pictures because Jake was some secretive military man or something. The invitation to West Virginia had been a surprise, and the later request to be a bridesmaid even moreso.

But the biggest surprise had been meeting the groom himself.

Also his ex.

Seventy nine, eighty, eight––

“Sir!”

Stensland jumped, half annoyed to lose his count so close to the end but mostly startled. He turned to the person yelling at him: a short, tubby woman with a blonde bob, wearing the striped red tie of the employee uniform. She had her arms on her hips and her brow furrowed at him.

“Yes?” Stensland asked.

“Sir,” she said, her accent thick, “you have been sitting there silently for over an hour. Are you buying that couch or not?”

Stensland shook his head.

“Well, are you buying anything?”

“No.”

“Then I’m afraid I’m gon’ have to ask you to leave. No loitering in my store.”

“Oh, it’s all right,” Stensland said. “I’m a Soft Solutions employee––I do this all the time.”

“You ain’t my employee,” she argued. She was presumably either the manager or at least the only employee working today, because the store was quite empty.

“No, but I am an assistant manager at another branch,” he insisted. “Actually, that’s a fairly new development. They just promoted me a few weeks back. I’ve been working there for three years now, maybe once Steve retires in another three years I’ll be promoted to manager? That’s up in the air right now but they seem to like me enough, and I’m good at my job.”

“Sir––”

“Anyway, I do this a lot at work. In the evenings after close. Steve––that’s my manager, by the way––is totally fine with it. Not like anyone has bought a Model CU745 couch in this colour in years, anyway, since it is fairly hideous.”

“Sir!” the woman yelled over Stensland’s rambling, “I don’t know how they work in whichever branch wherever you’re from, but not in my shop. Please leave before you scare away my customers.”

Stensland glanced around the shop: there was a couple looking at lamps, engrossed in a discussion over which finish on the floor lamp was better (brass, obviously, chrome was too shiny), and another woman waiting patiently for someone to check her out at the counter.

“There’s no one here,” Stensland said. “I promise I won’t be a bother. I’ll just sit quietly on the couch and won’t bother anyone. Really, I just need a quiet place to calm down. See, I’m a bridesmaid in my ex-girlfriend’s wedding. She’s lovely, she’s not a bridezilla at all, but the rest of the wedding party? I’m a bit of an odd one out because they all know each other very well. Well, I do know the groom but––”

“Sir, please.” She huffed. “Unless you will be purchasing something today, I said: please leave.”

“Oh, Sheryl,” the woman waiting at the register called out. “Leave the poor man alone, he ain’t doing no harm. The poor thing looks about ready to have a nervous breakdown. Let him alone, let him have the couch for a little while longer. I think he needs it.”

“This ain’t your store, Mellie!”

“Well it ain’t yours, either, Sheryl!” She turned to Stensland and gestured at the door. “Sweetie, I promise you we’re usually much more hospitable than this here. Why don’t you head on over to my brother’s bar––he’ll take care of you. And Sheryl, leave him alone and just come check me out already? I’ve been waiting to buy this rug for ten minutes.”

Stensland tried his best to smile at the woman, embarrassed by the commotion he was now causing. He stood and made for the entrance. “That’s awfully kind of you, but I quit drinking last year. I’d be a poor customer at any bar. I’ll just head back to––”

“Nonsense!” She waved off his excuse. Her gaze very pointedly wandered down, taking in his sad outfit––Stensland didn’t have a single pair of matching socks in his suitcase, apparently––and glanced back up at him with a pitying look in her eyes. “Oh, you sweet thing. Clyde will take care of you, no worries––no judgement from him at all. Tell him Mellie sent you. Head right along down Route 34 until you reach it, you can’t miss it.”

***

Mellie ended up giving Stensland a ride. West Virginia, like most of nonmetropolitan America, wasn’t very pedestrian friendly––something which Stensland should have considered when agreeing to attend the wedding in the first place. He didn’t even have a driver’s license. Mellie had seen him walking glumly down the road ten minutes after sending him on his way before pulling over and refusing to take no for an answer. When he asked why she wasn’t worried about giving a ride to a stranger, she very casually dropped the fact that she had a loaded handgun in her purse––another American thing that Stensland was still wrapping his head around––and said she could take care of herself.

Stensland just appreciated that she hadn’t done what most people did: look him up and down, laugh, and ask: “afraid of you?”

She hadn’t made much effort to make small talk during the ride, so Stensland had filled the silence with his usual rambling at sixty miles an hour. The one thing Mellie did seem interested in, however, was the mention of Stensland’s past relationships with both the bride and groom.

“So they’re both your exes?” Mellie asked, and Stensland nodded. “And they didn’t know that you knew both of ‘em?”

“Oh, they knew. They just failed to mention it to me. Which is a bit silly, if you think about it. But maybe I should have thought about it. Because, you know, I still chat with Viola often, but I haven’t seen Jake in years. But before I knew he was the groom, I’d thought it was a bit weird to be meeting Viola’s partner for the first time at the wedding itself, but I suppose they didn’t think so because they knew that they both knew me. If that makes sense at all. But some warning for me would have been appreciated!”

Stensland wasn’t sure when they’d come to a stop––somewhere in the middle of his explanation, apparently––but they were parked. Mellie had pulled into a lot in front of a small building with a large sign proclaiming ‘Duck Tape’ on top of it.

“Sorry, I’ve just been talking your ear off, haven’t I?”

Mellie smiled. “My brother will like you.”

Stensland laughed nervously, unsure what she meant.

“Go on, now. Tell him Mellie sent ya here.”

He climbed out of the car and shut the door, bending down to bid her thanks and farewell through the window, but Mellie barely paused for a wave before speeding off again. Stensland turned towards the bar, trying to swallow down the sudden, irrational nervousness he felt––what had Mellie meant?

Why hadn’t that Soft Solutions manager just left him in peace on the couch?

Stensland stepped towards the bar, stepping up onto its front porch. One drink, he thought. One club soda. Or maybe some strawberry milk if they have it. At least one. That’s more time away from the hotel, just like you wanted. It’s this or go back and face them all now, which is why you left in the first place.

Unsurprising given the hour, the bar was fairly empty. A pair of men with white hair in trucker hats––retired, probably––sat in the corner, nursing a pint each. Another pair at the bar, watching a rerun of some football game, arguing over each team’s tactics. And finally, behind the bar, a man with possibly the broadest chest Stensland had ever seen.

Oh no, he’s hot.

Before Stensland could back out the door and away from that panicked realisation, the extremely good-looking bartender noticed him and caught his eye. He nodded at Stensland, his expression neutral.

“What can I get you?”

Even his voice was hot. Deep, melodious, soothing. Even though he had Mellie’s same strong accent, Stensland somehow understood him perfectly. Wanted to hear him speak more.

“Um, I, uh…” Stensland stammered, flustered. He approached the bar so that he wasn’t yelling across the room and drawing attention to himself. “Do you have strawberry milk?”

Most people made a face when he asked for it. This bartender simply shook his head. “Sorry, I don’t. Anything else I can get you?”

“Club soda is fine, then,” Stensland said. He pulled out the stool directly in front of the bartender and sat down. “I quit drinking last year.”

He bit his tongue. He didn’t ask for that information, he chided himself. Why did you say that?

“All right,” the bartender said instead. He got down a tall glass from a shelf, shoveled some ice into it from a cooler, and set it down with a napkin in front of Stensland. When he reached for the hose to dispense the club soda with, Stensland finally noticed the man’s artificial arm.

“Did that hurt?” he asked, unable to stop himself. He cursed his lack of filter.

“What?” the bartender responded. “When I fell from heaven?”

Stensland stared at him for a second before he realised he was joking. He laughed, prompting a small half-smile from the bartender.

Stensland wanted to see him smile fully.

“I barely remember it, if I’m honest,” the bartender said, finally answering his question. He turned on the hose and filled Stensland’s glass with bubbling water. “I blacked out. And I was on some strong stuff afterwards. Of course the wound itself hurt a lot, but the phantom pains were worse.”

Stensland nodded. “Thank you. And, um, sorry for asking. Didn’t mean to be rude. I’ve just never seen a mechanical arm like that.”

“S’okay. Most people just stare. Or pretend they haven’t seen it at all. And almost no one asks about it.” He paused. “Some people make fun of it. I just appreciate your honesty.”

“Well, some people tell me I’m too honest. And I admit, sometimes I do run my mouth a bit. Someone once told me I had foot-in-mouth disease, but what they really meant to say was that I tend to have my foot in my mouth. Metaphorically. Though I am flexible enough to do it literally, too.” Stensland took a sip from his soda to stop himself from going on. “Sorry. See? I’m doing it again.”

The bartender raised an eyebrow at him, but seemed to be amused rather than bothered. “You ain’t from around here. What brings you to Boone County?”

“I’m here for a wedding,” Stensland said. “My exes are getting married. To each other. Though I had no idea Viola was dating Jake in the first place. That was an unexpected discovery. Oh, and I’m a bridesmaid, too––another fun little detail to add to the mess.” Stensland wanted to kick himself––he was ranting again, nervous, and probably because he was so flustered by this bartender. Who must be… “Hold on, are you Clyde?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Ah, I ran into your sister at Soft Solutions. I work in a Seattle branch so I was going there to...calm down? To remove myself from the awkward situation with the wedding party. And Mellie was there, she said I should come here instead. So…here I am.”

Clyde nodded. “You’re more than welcome to hide out here as long as you need. What’s your name?”

“I’m Stensland.”

“Nice to meet you, Stensland.” Clyde flashed him another half-smile.

Stensland really wanted to coax a full smile out of him. Even if it took all night.

**

Clyde was a good listener. And easy to talk to: he would respond with the right comment, ask good questions to get the conversation moving, and never seemed to tire of talking with Stensland (or rather, Stensland talking to him). When he needed to refill another customer’s glass he’d hold up a hand to Stensland, as if saying “hold that thought,” do what he had to do behind the bar, and jump right back into the conversation. He was especially patient and sympathetic as Stensland explained his predicament at the wedding.

“I think aside from Viola and Jake themselves, no one knows that I’m their ex.”

“So what’s the problem, then?” Clyde asked. “Why do you feel awkward with the wedding party?” He had a kitchen towel in his good hand and was wiping the glass in his other hand very carefully. He set the glass down with as much care, next to the rest that he was drying off.

“Well, I’m someone’s replacement on the bridal party,” Stensland explained. “I was a guest, first. Viola didn’t ask me to be on the bridal party until three weeks ago. Which is fine, I don’t mind being a second choice. I’m happy to help an old friend get married.”

“What’s the problem?” Clyde repeated as he reached for another glass from the sink.

“I just feel a bit unwanted,” Stensland admitted. “They all know each other already. I’m sort of the odd one out. No one except the bride and groom know me.” A realisation hit Stensland and he slapped the bar. “Oh, no! You know what? The maid of honour does know me!” The follow-up realisation made Stensland pause.

“Stensland?” Clyde asked. “You’ve gone white. Are you okay?”

“Jen does know me,” Stensland continued. “The maid of honour? She’s the groom’s sister. We didn’t exactly meet, because well, she sort of walked in on Jake and I when he was balls deep––”

Clyde snorted.

“Sorry?” Stensland asked. “Was that too crass?

“Not at all,” Clyde said. “I told you, I appreciate your honesty. Not many people around here would talk about their sex lives like that to some bartender they just met. Anyway, sorry––I interrupted.”

Stensland blushed––maybe he was being too crass. He should tone it down a little.

“Please, continue,” Clyde prompted when he’d been quiet a little too long. He set down the glass he’d been drying and picked up another.

“So,” Stensland continued, “now that I think about it, she definitely recognised me when I arrived at the hotel. When I was meeting the rest of the bridal party, she didn’t introduce herself but did shake hands with me––I bet she remembers me! Oh god…”

“Why is that a bad thing?”

Stensland looked up at Clyde in horror. “She probably thinks I’m here to ruin the wedding! Oh god, what if she tells the rest of the bridal party? Then they’ll all think I’m trying to ruin the wedding, too!”

“Well...are you here to ruin the wedding?” Clyde asked.

“Of course not!” Stensland rushed to say. “I would never! I think Viola and Jake are a lovely couple!”

“So then you have nothing to worry about,” Clyde said, reassuringly.

Stensland nodded, but didn’t want to leave it there––for whatever reason, he didn’t want Clyde to think that he might have any lingering feelings towards his exes. “I’ve got absolutely no feelings for either of them,” he explained, “I think they’re much better together. I’m just here to support them! And because they asked me to be here. I am over both of them and totally single.” He bit his tongue. He wasn’t entirely sure why he included that last part.

But Clyde didn’t seem to mind. He just nodded and continued wiping down glasses, totally calm. “Right. You are not in the wrong here. The others are. So you’re just gonna have to prove ‘em wrong.”

“I’m a condor…” Stensland whispered to himself.

“What now?”

“Nothing,” Stensland dismissed. “It’s just this...this silly thing I used to tell myself. I had this motivational speech up in my bathroom, this mantra, and I used to recite it to myself in the mirror. It’s stupid, I know…”

Clyde shook his head. “Don’t sound stupid to me. I could use one of them mantras.”

Stensland laughed. The shy smile he got from Clyde in return was worth the embarrassment of admitting his silly old habit––not that Clyde judged him for it, anyway.

“I’ll write one up on a napkin for you and you can start reciting it tomorrow morning,” Stensland quipped.

“Why’d you stop?” Clyde asked.

“What?”

“Why’d you stop reciting it to yourself?”

Stensland shrugged. “I moved. And it just…it felt strange to put it up in the new place. Like I had to break all my old habits in order to be a better person. That’s when I quit drinking, too.”

“Don’t seem like that particular habit was hurting no one,” Clyde said. “Don’t see why you had to quit that one.”

“I don’t think I much liked the person I was when I used to tell myself that,” Stensland confessed. Where had that come from? With this much self-awareness, maybe he didn’t need to go to therapy like Steve kept recommending. “I think it was just easier to quit and completely forget about all that instead of working on it. But it was a nice little habit. I do miss that wall.”

“I don’t have no degree or nothing, but it seems to me that if something ain’t hurting you or no one else, and if it makes you happy. I see no reason to quit.”

Stensland smiled at him and took a sip from his club soda. “Thanks.”

**

He ended up closing out the bar.

Stensland had barely even registered the time when Clyde called out “last call” and people had begun closing out their tabs. He hadn’t even finished his second club soda, but it had gone flat and warm by then and wasn’t worth finishing anyway. Stensland tried to leave some cash underneath his glass with the intention of slinking away silently, sad at having to return to reality after his lovely break from it here in Clyde’s company, but before he could get off the barstool Clyde reappeared in front of him and pushed the cash back across to him.

“Keep it,” Clyde insisted. “On the house.”

“Please, take it! I’ve monopolised your time all night. I’ve talked your ear off. Let me at least cover the drinks.”

“Club soda barely costs me anything,” Clyde said. “And I enjoyed listening to you.”

Stensland was not blushing. He was not. It was just warm in here.

“I appreciate that, Clyde,” he managed to say.

Clyde smiled at him, and Stensland wanted to smack himself.

Of course he would develop feelings for someone who lived on the opposite side of the continent.

Flustered, Stensland stood hurriedly and pocketed the cash on the bar. “Thank you, Clyde,” he said.

“Don’t you need a ride?” Clyde asked. “You said you don’t drive––how were you gonna get back to your hotel?”

“I can walk.”

Another customer handed her credit card to Clyde to close out her tab. He accepted the card wordlessly before turning back to Stensland. “If you don’t mind waiting another half hour, I can give you a ride.”

Stensland was too slow to stop his subconscious from making an innuendo to himself. Fortunately, he had enough self control to not say anything out loud.

“Are you sure?” he asked, not wanting to appear too desperate. But he desperately wanted to spend more time with Clyde.

“Of course,” Clyde responded. He held his hand up in a gesture to wait, turned to the cash register behind him, and rang up the customer’s tab.

Stensland tried, and failed, not to stare too hard at Clyde’s thick arms and shoulders.

Clyde turned back around, handing the customer a pen and a receipt. “It’s not a problem for me at all. Your hotel is on my way home, anyway.”

“Thanks,” Stensland said, smiling at him. Spending more time with Clyde and not having to walk all the way to his hotel in the dark? It was a win-win situation. “I really appreciate it.”

Clyde flashed him a half-smile––more of a quirk of his lips, really––and turned his attention to the remaining customers trying to close their tabs for the night.

As more people left, Stensland noticed the amount of glasses being left behind on tables and other various surfaces around the bar. In an effort to feel helpful, Stensland got up from his barstool and started collecting glasses, depositing them on the part of the bar closest to the sink. He hummed along to the radio as he did so, not really sure what song was playing but trying to learn the melody anyway; it felt good to stretch his legs after sitting on the barstool for so long, chatting away at Clyde.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Clyde said, appearing in front of Stensland as he was making his way to the last table.

Stensland blinked, startled. Clyde had come around the bar, and so they were finally standing in front of each other without a wall of wood between them––Stensland could finally see Clyde in his full glory. He was just slightly taller than Stensland, but twice as wide. Stensland had to look up slightly to meet Clyde’s gaze. They’d been eye-level at the bar; he hadn’t realised there was a slight height difference between them.

Stensland swallowed. How was it possible to be even more attracted to this man?

“Stensland?”

“It’s all right!” he blurted out, the first thing that came to his mind. “I wanted to help. Sorry if you didn’t want me to touch anything.”

Clyde took the last glasses from Stensland’s hands, his fingers––both flesh and metal––brushing against Stensland’s.

Stensland tried not to shudder.

“That’s awfully nice of you. You really didn’t have to.”

“Well, you did give me free drinks. And you’re giving me a ride back to my hotel.”

Clyde chuckled and set the glasses down on the bar, next to the rest that Stensland had cleared. “I gave you club soda. Not quite a pricey drink. Just...bubbly water.”

“But still! It’s the least I can do!” Stensland noticed that everyone else had cleared out––it was just the two of them.

“Really, Stensland. You don’t owe me anything.”

Stensland tried not to shiver at the sound of Clyde’s accent and soothing baritone saying his name.

“Give me another minute to lock up,” Clyde said.

“You don’t need a hand washing up?” Stensland bit his tongue at his choice of words. “God, sorry, I mean help. Do you want some help washing the glassware.”

Clyde just shrugged, chuckling through his nose a few times. “It’s all right. I’ve got this college kid who comes in the mornings to help clean and set up for the day. Don’t worry about it.”

“Okay,” Stensland said, lamely. He sat on the chair closest to the door, trying to preoccupy himself with feeling the texture of the wooden paneling on the wall instead of staring at Clyde. He mostly failed.

He was really in trouble; he really liked Clyde.

“All done,” Clyde said after a few minutes. He turned off the lights, plunging the bar into darkness, but enough light from the streetlamps filtered in through the blinds for Stensland to make out Clyde’s shadow moving towards him.

Clyde lead the way to his truck, the lone vehicle left on the lot. It looked new and somehow felt uncharacteristically fancy inside––heated leather seats, bluetooth stereo, rearview camera, all the works––for Clyde’s taste.

“This is a really nice car, er, truck,” Stensland commented.

“Thanks. It’s new.”

“Oh?”

Duck Tape didn’t seem much more than a local dive bar, and the crowd tonight had been fairly thin. Maybe he’d come on a slow night, because how else would Clyde have been able to buy a nice new truck like this?

“I…” Clyde hesitated a moment as they both climbed into the truck. “I came into some money, last year. Decided to spend some of it.”

Stensland didn’t have time to comment because Clyde twisted the keys, spurring the engine to life. The lights of the truck came on automatically, as did the radio. A familiar voice started to drift from it…

“So open up your morning light, and say a little prayer for I…”

Clyde immediately reached over and turned the volume dial down to zero.

Stensland turned to him, eyebrows raised. “Is that...is that Paula Cole? The theme song of Dawson’s Creek?”

“Maybe.”

Stensland grinned. “I love that song. And I love Dawson’s Creek.” He reached over and turned the volume back up. “I hated it when they changed the theme song. They should have just coughed up the money to secure the rights again!”

“I don’t want to wait for our lives to be over, I want to know right now what will it be…”

Stensland hummed along to the rest of the chorus before realising he should have checked with Clyde before taking over his car’s stereo. He looked up at the man only to realise Clyde was smiling––or more like grinning––at him.

“Oh no,” Stensland said, immediately embarrassed. “This isn’t your music, is it? It’s just a radio station?”

Clyde chuckled. “No, it is my music. It’s a playlist I made for myself. I’m just glad you like this song, too.”

“Well, then let’s blast it!”

Stensland turned up the volume as Clyde put his truck in drive and sped off down Route 34. The drive was far too short for Stensland’s liking––they’d only just started discussing season three of Dawson’s Creek by the time Clyde pulled into the hotel parking lot.

“Good luck at the wedding tomorrow,” he said. “Don’t forget to prove them all wrong.”

“Thank you,” Stensland said. He smiled, hoping it came off warm and not sad. Not like he felt. “I really appreciate you letting me take a little break from the wedding madness with you.”

“Not a problem at all, Stensland,” Clyde assured him. “I enjoyed it.”

That did warm up Stensland’s smile.

“When are you heading home?” Clyde asked. He’d begun tapping the steering wheel with his good hand, almost as if nervous. “If you had some time after the wedding, you’re more than welcome to swing by Duck Tape again.”

Stensland frowned. “Unfortunately, we have a wedding party brunch the day after the wedding––we’re to see Viola and Jake off on their honeymoon. Trekking through the Appalachian mountains. It’s why they’re having the wedding here in the first place. And I fly back to Seattle that evening.”

“Oh,” Clyde said. “That’s unfortunate.”

“Yes. Yes, it is.”

Though Stensland wasn’t sure if Clyde thought it was unfortunate for the same reasons he did. Would it...would it be crazy for Stensland to get his hopes up?

They sat there in silence, lamely staring at each other for a minute before Stensland realised that should have been his cue to leave.

“Sorry!” he said, scrambling to open the door and climb down from the truck. “Thank you for tonight, Clyde.”

“Good night, Stensland,” Clyde called out to him. “Sweet dreams.”

***

All things considered, the wedding was a great success.

Not too much had been expected of Stensland, anyway, but he managed to pull off his duties without incident. Aside from a threat from Jen about ruining the wedding while the bridal party got ready, there was practically no drama out of the ordinary for a wedding.

That is until the photos after the ceremony.

When it was time to take his picture with the newly weds, Viola had let slip that Stensland was both of their exes. Just a small, seemingly harmless joke was all it took––the looks he’d gotten from the rest of the wedding party were...not so kind. He’d kept to himself for the remainder of the photoshoot and had decided to make a beeline for the bar, or some other quiet corner, to avoid everyone at the reception, leaving as early as politeness allowed.

Stensland thanked his lucky stars that dinner was buffet-style, and there were no set seating arrangements aside from the couple and their families. And it’s not like he was hungry, anyway––he’d eaten more than enough hors d’oeuvres at the cocktail hour. At least no one would notice him missing from a dinner table or the tension between him and the rest of the wedding party.

He took a deep breath. The song that Jen had chosen for their entrance could be heard just beyond the doors to the reception hall, nothing more than a bassline and a beat.

“Here we go!” Jen stage-whispered before throwing open the doors and leading their line-up out into the hall.

As soon as Jake and Viola walked in, and all attention shifted to them, most of the wedding party dispersed to find their significant others, friends, or families among the crowd. Stensland slipped past everyone quietly, only pausing to nod and smile at the occasional guest who greeted him, and headed for the bar. If safe haven couldn’t be found there, then he’d try the table furthest from the food.

When he finally caught sight of the bar through the crowd, Stensland did a double-take.

Clyde was standing behind it, wearing a tuxedo, looking like he was ready to sweep someone off their feet.

(Stensland wished that could be him.)

“Stensland!” Clyde greeted as he approached. He smiled warmly at Stensland, and Stensland felt his heart stutter. “I had hoped that this was the wedding you were going to.”

“What are you doing here?” Stensland asked, unable to think of a more polite way to phrase the question.

“Working,” Clyde responded. “Obviously.” As if to help prove his point, Clyde poured a few brightly coloured liquids into a glass and stirred it. “I was supposed to work a wedding tonight. Just wasn’t one hundred percent sure it was the same one you were talking about.”

“How serendipitous.” Stensland chewed on his bottom lip for a moment, mulling it over. Clyde actually seemed as happy to see him as Stensland felt to see Clyde; Stensland decided that yes, this was a serendipitous encounter––the night was looking up. He pulled out a chair for himself at the end of the bar and sat down, ready to claim the seat as his for the night.

“I suppose it is,” Clyde said. He garnished the drink he’d just made with a cherry, placed the glass on a napkin, and slid it towards Stensland. “This is for you.”

Stensland frowned. “I don’t drink, remember?” Maybe Clyde hadn’t been paying attention to him last night. Had Stensland imagined interest where there was none?

Clyde nodded. “I remember. It’s a Shirley Temple. Alcohol free. Made it just for you.”

Stensland tried not to jump over the bar and climb this man like a tree immediately.

“Thank you,” he managed to say instead. “I’ve always wanted to try one of these. But I never have. I stopped going to bars after I quit drinking. And, before that, I obviously was not getting non-alcoholic drinks when I went out.”

“I hope you like it,” Clyde said. “Cheers.”

Stensland raised his glass towards Clyde before taking a sip. The drink was sweet and bubbly, and exactly the kind of flavours Stensland loved.

“This is delicious!” he told Clyde. “I can’t believe I’ve never tried one of these before!”

“I thought you might have a sweet tooth,” Clyde said. (Was that fondness in his voice or was Stensland imagining things?) “I’m glad you like it. I’m happy to keep ‘em coming all night.”

The idea of being able to sit by Clyde all night––and Clyde seeming interested in him hanging around, too––made Stensland smile.

“You look nice,” Clyde said, nodding at Stensland’s body.

Stensland was in a powder blue suit and pink shirt to match the rest of the wedding party. He thought the pale colours made him look pasty, but it wasn’t his day––he did his job as a bridesmaid and wore the colours given to him without complaint. He’d managed to find a matching pink sock in his suitcase but its partner was missing. Thankfully, one could only tell if they were looking for it.

“Thank you,” Stensland said. “I’m not a big fan of the blue. I don’t think it does much for my complexion, but. Oh well. Not my place to complain, am I right?”

“I like your pocket square.”

“Oh, that.” Stensland rushed to stuff the handkerchief down into his breast pocket, out of view. It was pink and, fortunately, matched the shirt, but it had a cartoon strawberry pattern printed onto it. “I, uh, actually don’t own any pocket squares. This was the only handkerchief I had. And it matched. I figured you wouldn’t be able to see the pattern from far enough away.”

“I think it’s cute.” Clyde reached over, hesitating with his good hand over the bar. “May I?”

Stensland nodded.

Clyde reached into his breast pocket and pulled the handkerchief back into view. “There. I think it suits you.”

Stensland, for once in his life, was left speechless.

“How’d the wedding go?” Clyde asked, oblivious to the effect he had on Stensland. He pulled his hand away and reached for a glass as another wedding guest approached the bar.

Stensland waited for Clyde to pour the man’s whiskey before answering the question. “Fine,” he said, still feeling rather tongue-tied.

“Only fine?”

“Well. I suppose pretty good, actually. Aside from Jen––the maid of honour––threatening to ship pieces of me back to London with her in her suitcase if I so much as even considered ruining the wedding. But I partly expected that threat already.”

“Good,” Clyde said. He smiled and Stensland’s stomach flipped. “I’m glad it went well. You proved ‘em all wrong.”

Clyde walked away for a moment to service some other wedding guests, leaving Stensland alone to process his thoughts. Of course Stensland would be helplessly crushing on some kind bartender so soon after meeting him––no matter how much he tried to grow up, he never learned, did he? He didn’t even know if Clyde liked men, or if he was just being particularly friendly. And yet here Stensland was, heart on his sleeve as usual, practically ready to head back up to the altar on the lawn outside and drag Clyde there with him.

Stensland was supposed to fly back to Seattle tomorrow afternoon. He was not insane enough to start thinking about rebooking his flight. He was not.

(Or was he?)

He mulled it over, sucking on the cherry from his half-empty Shirley Temple, when Clyde returned to his corner of the bar.

“Want another?” he asked.

“I’m all right for now, thank you,” Stensland said.

Clyde shrugged one shoulder. “You just tell me when you want another.”

Stensland nodded, having just bit down onto the cherry. He pulled the plump fruit off its stem and ate it, holding onto the stem with one hand and considering it.

“Can you do that thing?” Clyde asked. “With the stem?”

“What thing?”

“The knot thing,” Clyde elaborated. “Some people can tie the stem in a knot.”

“Oh, like with my tongue?”

Clyde nodded.

Stensland hoped he wasn’t blushing; a lot of the times when he’s told people he can do that, it came under a very different context.

“I can, actually,” he said. He placed the stem in his mouth and twisted it around, tucking one end neatly through the twist to secure the knot before pulling out the whole thing and holding it up. “I learned when I was younger. I thought it was cool. I used to practice a lot when I was a teenager because I thought it would make me look cool at my first parties. Turns out not many people thought so. It was more a euphemism for other skills––no one actually wanted to tie cherry stems into knots with their tongues.”

“I think it’s cool.”

Stensland was definitely blushing now.

“I’m sorry that anyone made you feel like it wasn’t.”

Clyde had to know what he was doing. He was definitely flirting with him, right? Right?

Oblivious to Stensland’s internal panic, Clyde moved the topic along––the band had started inviting people to the dancefloor. “No dancing for you tonight?”

Stensland shook his head and shrugged, as if physical movement would help disperse his panic. “No dancing for me. I’m horrid. Besides, no one here wants to dance with me. I’m not going to dance alone.”

“If I could,” Clyde said, “I’d dance with you.”

“Really?”

“I mean it. If I weren't stuck back here, I’d go out on that dance floor with you. And I’ve got two left feet.”

It took all of Stensland’s willpower to not launch himself over the bar right that second.

***

Stensland was vaguely aware of the time passing. He was aware of some speeches going on behind him, the band handing off the stage to a DJ, and the announcement of the special dances. He turned around, once, to watch and applaud as Jake and Viola cut their cake.

Aside from that, he had eyes only for Clyde.

Just like last night, Clyde was an excellent listener. He would serve other guests and quickly return to Stensland’s corner of the bar, and somehow didn’t miss a beat of conversation despite the loud party around them. He was kind, attentive, sweet, attractive: he was pretty much exactly Stensland’s ideal partner. If only he didn’t live so far away.

If tonight was all the time Stensland had with Clyde, he would spend as much time with him as humanly possible. Or, as much time as Clyde allowed him to––though so far, he didn’t seem to want to get rid of Stensland. Yet.

Stensland hadn’t realised just how much time had passed; he was so unaware of the goings-on around them, laser-focused on the man he was probably falling in love with despite his best efforts to not move so fast with his feelings. He didn’t even realise the reception was over until the lights in the hall started to go off.

Surprised, Stensland pulled out his phone to look at the time. There was a text there, from Viola: ‘good luck,’ with the eyes emoji. Attached was a haphazardly snapped image of Stensland animatedly talking to Clyde across the bar from him. Stensland tried not to feel embarrassed at having been spotted: he responded with a short and succinct: ‘see u tomorrow.’

(But he did save the picture.)

A man approached the bar and stood next to Stensland, sliding an envelope across the bar towards Clyde. “Thanks for coming in to help, tonight, Clyde. Don’t worry about cleaning up, my boys’ll take care of it.”

“No worries, Earl,” Clyde said. “Happy to help.”

The man reached out to shake Clyde’s hand; Clyde shook it firmly. “Sorry it was so last minute. Poor Cynthia thought she’d be better in time for the event tonight but she’s still in bed with the flu.”

“You tell her to get well soon.”

“Will do,” the man said. Then he turned to Stensland. “Sir, the event is over. We’re closing up the hall, now. If you are unable to drive, we can arrange a taxi for you.”

Stensland bristled. He was not still here because he was too drunk to leave––what an audacious assumption. This man was probably the owner or manager of this venue, probably had some legal obligation to ensure people leaving his property didn’t hurt themselves or others, but Stensland couldn’t help but feel offended that the manager assumed the worst of him.

“He’s with me,” Clyde cut in before Stensland could say anything. “We’re heading out. See you ‘round, Earl.”

“Right.” The man nodded at Stensland, then at Clyde, and started towards the other end of the hall. “‘Night, Clyde.”

“Need a ride again?” Clyde asked. He unlatched the gate blocking anyone else from coming behind the bar and came to stand next to Stensland.

For the first time, Stensland noticed he was wearing jeans with his tuxedo top.

Stensland couldn’t help but chuckle.

“What?” Clyde glanced down, noticing his jeans. “Oh. It’s more comfortable with the jeans than the formal pants. Besides, no one noticed because I was behind the bar––you only just saw them!”

“I like it,” Stensland said. “It’s valid. It was just. Unexpected.”

“Well. I’m full of surprises.”

Stensland laughed even harder. He was so fucked––this man was perfect, and his time with him was coming to an end. Stensland could feel his heartbreaking already, resorting to laughter instead of tears.

“Stensland?”

“You are full of surprises,” Stensland managed to say through his laughter. “I just wish I had the time to learn more of them.”

Clyde started laughing too, a low, slow chuckle that sounded more sad than full of mirth. Exactly how Stensland felt.

“I wish that, too.”

Before he could elaborate, the last light in the hall went off and they were plunged into darkness.

“Come on,” Clyde said. Stensland felt Clyde’s good hand on his wrist and tried not to faint immediately. “Let’s get out of here.”

Clyde apparently had really good vision in the dark, because he led them out of the hall with ease and without bumping into anything. Once they were out of the venue and on the path out to the parking lot, the full moon the only source of light on their way, Clyde dropped Stensland’s wrist. Stensland hesitated a moment before reaching over to grasp Clyde’s hand, a bold move that he almost chickened out of. But what was the worst that could happen? It was his last chance, after all.

Though he stiffened for a second, surprised at the contact, Clyde seemed to relax and grasped Stensland’s hand in return. After another moment, he intertwined their fingers.

Stensland swore he was flying.

He was uncharacteristically silent the rest of the walk, savouring the moment. By the time they reached the parking lot, Clyde’s truck the only car left, Stensland was practically bouncing with every step.

“Wait a second,” Clyde said, dropping Stensland’s hand. He walked over to his truck and unlocked it, but instead of climbing in he reached over and turned the key in the ignition. The lights came on, illuminating the parking lot, and some faint, familiar notes began drifting out of the stereo…

Clyde turned up the volume before returning to Stensland.

“We get it almost every night, when that moon is big and bright…”

He held out his mechanical hand to Stensland. “Would you like to dance?”

Stensland couldn’t help the grin that lit up his face. “I would love to.”

He took Clyde’s hand and set his other hand on Clyde’s shoulder while Clyde gripped his waist with his good hand, pulling Stensland close. They started to move in time with the music as best they could, yet they were still slightly offbeat––they were both not the best dancers, evidently. Even so, Stensland beamed up at Clyde, his smile so wide that his cheeks were starting to ache. Better yet: Clyde was grinning back at him, and the expression on his face filled Stensland with a warm, fuzzy feeling.

“Dancing in the moonlight, everybody’s feeling warm and bright…”

There was no place Stensland would rather be than this current moment, in this random parking lot in West Virginia, in the arms of this perfect man.

“I’m so glad I met you,” Stensland said out loud before he could stop himself.

“Me too,” Clyde said.

He smiled again, shyly this time, before taking a deep breath and leaning in. Stensland met him halfway.

“It’s such a fine and natural sight; everybody’s dancing in the moonlight…”