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David scowls at the lip balms, focusing all his energy on straightening them, and straightening them, and straightening them again. He definitely is not paying attention to the woman placing her hand on his business partner’s bicep and peering in unnecessarily close as he talks her through their range of scented candles.
Not that he blames her. Patrick is, objectively, a nice-looking guy. And she looks nice, too. They’re made for each other.
She makes a comment which is too soft to hear, and David watches as Patrick rubs the back of his neck, ducking his head. Whatever he says back to her, it makes her laugh. Of course it does. Patrick makes everyone laugh.
David bites the inside of his cheek. Is she even going to buy anything? They’re a store, not a fucking social club.
“I actually heard someone leased this place a few weeks ago. I would’ve checked it out sooner if I’d known who it was.”
A surprised laugh from Patrick. “Well, actually, this was all my business partner’s idea. I’m just the numbers.”
“Brains, too.” She tosses a sheet of dark hair over her shoulder. Her smile is sunny and confident. It’s the polar opposite to David’s. “I guess I’d be disappointed if I asked if you were single?”
David bites down harder. There’s a pause. He risks a look, and Patrick’s got a charming smile sort of frozen on his face, like he doesn’t know what to do with it. Patrick’s eyes dart towards him and David quickly clears his throat and turns away.
“Yeah, that’s - I’m not. Single.”
Oh.
“I’m sorry, you’re very - that’s really flattering, though. Thank you.”
Well. That’s not surprising. It shouldn’t be surprising. Patrick’s given him no indication to think otherwise; just because he’s nice to him, and brings him the right coffee, and teases him so mercilessly that David’s never quite sure how stable the ground he’s standing on is.
“Ah, I knew it. It was worth a shot, though.” She takes it easily and backs off into safer conversation territory; Patrick actually does sell her on three of the candles, and David rings her up very, very professionally.
He wonders who it is. Whether it’s a woman, or a man, or someone else. Patrick’s the most picket-fence guy he’s ever met - he’s probably got a fucking high school sweetheart who he danced with at prom and went to college with and played a stupid sport while they cheered him from the bleachers.
After she leaves, he glances over to Patrick, whose back is facing him as he liberally sprays the produce. “I didn’t know you were seeing someone,” David says conversationally, wandering out from behind the counter to rearrange the candles the customer had left in complete disarray. Incorrect. Incorrect.
“Oh, I’m not.” His tone implies that it’s obvious, somehow. Out of the corner of his eye, he turns to look at him, hands resting on his hips. David wills his heart not to burst out of his chest.
“Okay, you said you were, though.”
“Well, David, sometimes, people say things that aren’t entirely true.”
Patrick laughs at him in a fond, easy way. It’s a convenient place to leave it. David should definitely drop it now. But he can’t help himself, grimacing even as the words spill out: “I’m kind of surprised. She was extremely cute. Very girl-next-door, small-town aesthetic. I would’ve thought that’d be your cup of tea, if you will.”
Patrick’s lips quirk. “Not exactly.”
David wanders closer, nudging various products around without having the faintest reason to. When he steels himself to look up, Patrick’s leaning one hip against the middle table and just watching him close the distance, like he expects it. Like he’s waiting. David’s tongue suddenly feels too big for his mouth.
“To be honest,” Patrick says, “I didn’t really know how to answer. I’m not dating anyone. But I’m not… I don’t feel like I’m single.”
When David speaks, it’s a breathy whisper that he absolutely hates. “Well, that’s cryptic.”
Patrick shrugs, and he’s still fucking looking at him. “Maybe there’s someone I’m focusing on. That’s all.”
He pushes off from the table and brushes past David, far closer than he could have managed, clapping his hand on his shoulder as he does it. In the moment where he passes him, it’s like time’s dragging itself through treacle; David catalogues the warmth of Patrick’s palm through his sweater, the firmness of his body slipping along David’s side, the way those handsome eyes linger on David’s, then drop down to his lips, and then finally to the floor. There’s a ridiculous, tiny lump of hope lodged in David’s throat.
“Oh, did you call the essential oils guy?” Patrick calls over his shoulder as he heads into the back, and suddenly the air is breathable again.
They’re business partners.
That’s fine. That’s good. David bats back an excellent reason why Patrick should, in fact, be the one to call the essential oils guy, and Patrick asks him sincerely if he knows how to use a phone because he doesn’t think he’s made a single business call since they opened. The easy banter and the teasing smiles make it almost possible to ignore the tingling excitement beneath his skin, and the nagging I wonder, I wonder, I wonder playing on a loop in his head.