Heart on the Run (9 page)

Craig… Sprocket had heard Xander and Shawna bring that name up a few times, perhaps an ex-boyfriend of one of them? He’d guess Shawna considering… Either way, Sprocket figured he better start playing nice. Damn, there was more than one reason why they didn’t put him on the register. “Nah, you’re good. I’m just a shit.” He took the hand and shook it three times before they both let go. It was a decent handshake. Not one for dominance, which was a good thing considering this brute could’ve put a hurting on Sprocket.

“
But not a small one?” Craig raised his eyebrow.

Sprocket laughed. “You know, you’re not the first man to say that to me.”

“
Okay, before we go for round three, can you tell Shawna that I will eventually find her?” Craig crossed his arms, but Sprocket got the feeling it was out of habit more so than intimidation.

“
Do you mean her bodily harm?”

“
I’d love to redden that perfect backside of hers,” Craig admitted.

“
Wow, we jumped at least three friendship checkpoints with this conversation and landed straight on best buds. So, no…technically no bodily harm. You’d make a great daddy.” Sprocket hit the button to advance the register tape and tore it off, putting it on the counter in front of Craig with a pen.

Craig caught on with what Sprocket wanted and accepted the pen. “That’s what my mom keeps saying, evidently her grandma time clock is going berserk.”

“
Yeah, that’s exactly what I meant.” Sprocket bit the inside of his cheek to keep his lips in a straight line.

Craig handed the paper and pen back, and they said goodbye, with Sprocket promising to give Shawna the note. Craig had to stand sideways at the door as another customer made his way in.

This new customer didn’t have Sprocket grinning like Craig had. This person had trouble written all over him. His dull green eyes were sunken in their sockets, his cheeks looked gaunt, and his arms kept twitching.

Sprocket tried to be fair to everyone—profiling customers was wrong—but this man screamed bad news from the get-go.

“
Hey, man,” he whispered. Sprocket could tell this wasn’t the type of whisper where he didn’t want anyone to hear, this was the type where the man didn’t have the lung capacity to project his voice to a normal level of talking.

“
Hello, how can I help you today?” Sprocket asked, not caring whether he was alone in the store or not, this guy was not going to walk around Craft Time by himself.

“
Spray paint. I need…” The guy narrowed his eyes at Sprocket, studying him for a few before he stepped even closer and lowered his voice even more. “Doing some painting around the house, need spray paint.”

Painting the house, Sprocket’s ass. This guy whiffed from the aerosol cans, and the proof was around his nose and mouth…a faint metallic shine barely noticeable unless you looked. Sprocket wasn’t naive. He held no false thoughts that his small town would be void of tweakers, but honestly, a confrontation like this just didn’t happen normally.

That didn’t mean he was going to put the red carpet out for this guy to get his next high, so he lied. “Sorry, we have acrylic, oil, matte, finger paints, painting sticks…we even stock DecoArt paints—tubes and bottles—but no spray or aerosol cans. The finger paints are completely washable also, no worrying about getting your clothes stained.” He forced a smile as the guy continued to glare at him.

“
I can’t…finger paints won’t do. You used to carry the spray can ones.” The user refused to let it go so simply.

Sprocket mentally noted that, during the next staff meeting, they’d address keeping an eye out for people like these. He explained again, a little more firmly this time, and the shaky man growled at him before storming out of the store, taking a right, and heading down the block in the direction of Prudence’s.

Mrs. Mincer—a regular of the store—came up to the counter with her mini pumpkins and black and silver glitter.

“
Could you give me just a moment, Mrs. Mincer?” he requested.

“
Is this about that unsavory fella who just left?”

Sprocket nodded in confirmation as he grabbed his cell phone and scrolled for Lydia’s number.

“
My Charlie always says, that’s what I call Mr. Mincer”—she winked at Sprocket—“He always says nip it right in the bud. If there is something you can do for that man and don’t, then I say you’re opening yourself up for trouble. You gotta nip it in the bud, now.”

“
Yes,” he managed to mumble before Lydia answered her phone. He asked to talk to Officer Dodgers. When Lydia put him on the phone, he gave the cop a rundown of what just happened. Tod mentioned he’d seen the kid walking by as they spoke and hung up the phone.

Turning back to the smiling Mrs. Mincer, Sprocket rung up her items and quickly forgot about the slightly scary customer.

Chapter Seven

“
Why are you sitting home on your night off, sweetie?”

“
Mom, I—”

“
I thought you’d met someone? Didn’t you have a standing Wednesday night date?”

“
Mom… It’s not that kind of date. I cook, he…they study…and then we watch science fiction shows until I leave. Just friendly stuff.” Friendly stuff that he’d found himself looking so much forward to that it had swiftly become the highlight of his week.

“
Then why aren’t you over there now, doing friendly stuff with your friends.”

It should have been innocent, but his mother managed to make it sound as lurid as the cover of a bodice ripper. “Uh… Because, Mom. It… Midterms are over and I know how their appliances work now. I need to focus on planning the party recipes.”

“
You need to have fun.” The woman on the computer screen pushed a silver blonde ringlet over her shoulder and adjusted the strand of glittering gold at her neck. The movement drew Chaz’s attention to the gold locket on the chain, and his resolve firmed.

“
I need to open my own restaurant and share my food with the world.”

“
Chaz…”

“
Mom, I may not have much time, you know that.” Martha should know better than most, having lost her husband and father to an early grave.

“
What I know, is that life isn’t worth living if you don’t enjoy it.” Her pouty lips firmed into a disapproving line. “Chaz, have you been to a doctor?”

“
No, of course not.”

“
Then you have no reason to expect that—”

“
Mom! Dad died of a heart attack on his fortieth birthday. Your father died at forty-two. His father likewise. It’s in my genes. I don’t need a diagnosis to realize that family history increases the odds.” And he hadn’t watched the devastation his father’s death wreaked on this woman without learning a valuable lesson. When Chaz died, he wanted to leave something behind—something of himself in the form of a restaurant where food was good, sustainably sourced, and both product and people were respected. What he didn’t want to leave was a bunch of people sobbing over a coffin, unable to function through the hurt.

“
Chaz… You can’t live your life trying to prevent the impossible. We all die, sweetie.”

“
I know that.” He set his lips and stared at his mother.

Finally, she sighed. “I’m sorry you feel this way, Chaz. I can’t help feeling that it’s my fault. I fell apart when your father passed on… But look at me. I don’t restrict myself to work. All work and no play—”

“
I play, Mom.” Was he blushing?

“
Then why are you skipping your play date and sitting at home?”

“
I…I’m a little too interested in Sprocket.” He admitted to himself for the first time the reason he sat at home moping.

“
Sprocket? What an adorable name.”

“
He is.” Chaz smiled before he realized what he’d said. “But honestly, Mom, we’re just friends.”

“
Then go to your friend’s house, Chaz, make dinner and watch geeky science fiction shows. Have fun. Oh…and I recommend that you all look into
Torchwood
. I saw it on Netflix last year, and all I can say is…Captain Jack.”

***

“
We gave up on you an hour ago and ordered takeout.” Mason sneered, casting a disparaging glance over Chaz that made him feel lower than a worm.

Instantly defensive, he threw his mother under the bus, knowing she’d forgive him. “Sorry. Mom called from Florida and she can be a little long-winded.” He raised his shopping bags. “Did you really order takeout?”

“
Takeout?” Sprocket appeared behind Mason who grunted, scowled, and stalked off. “We didn’t order food. But if you’re tired of cooking, we can call for a pizza?”

“
Oh, I’m not tired of cooking. I love cooking for you…guys. Both of you, I mean.” Chaz stammered a little. “I guess Mason was kidding. He jokes around a lot.” But he’d certainly sounded serious, and Chaz couldn’t help but wonder at the motivation behind the barbed comment.

“
Yeah, kidding.” Sprocket waved away his best friend’s actions. “So, how’s your mom? Is she still dating that indie film guy?” He stepped back to allow Chaz into the foyer, then closed the door behind him.

“
No. That was about three guys ago. She only ever dates anyone for a few weeks. They tend to get serious, and she just wants to have fun, have someone to eat meals with, watch movies, play golf.” They headed for the kitchen. Chaz fell back half a step so he could savor Sprocket’s presence.

“
I totally get that. I think your mom and I might just share a lot, philosophically speaking.”

Mason wasn’t in the kitchen. There weren’t any books on the table. Instead, there was a large pile of what looked to be socks. A few pairs had been matched and rolled into balls.

“
No studying?”

“
Aced the midterms. Taking a night off and celebrating by doing laundry.” Sprocket slid onto a backward turned chair and immediately dug into the socks.

Chaz carried his bags to the counter and unloaded them. “Sprocket—”

“
Chaz—”

Once again they spoke at once. Chaz gestured for Sprocket to go on, but he shook his head and rolled together two black socks with neon green check marks on them. “You go ahead.”

“
It’s just… I really enjoy being friends with you,” Chaz muttered, feeling his cheeks burn. “Thank you for letting me do this.”

“
Uh…no problem.” Sprocket tossed the socks on the table and scrubbed his hands through his hair. “Chaz…we never talked about what happened before…but I wanted you to know, well. I value your friendship, and that just won’t happen again.”

In that moment, when the wave of disappointment outweighed his embarrassment, Chaz heard himself say something he’d never thought he’d ever hear. “It won’t? Why not?”

“
Because I want to be your friend. I like…us. Talking, laughing, drinking coffee. Like this.” Sprocket bit his lip and stared intently at the pile of socks.

“
Oh. Okay.” Chaz ducked his head and concentrated on shelling peas for a few minutes. It served him right to realize he wanted more of those mind melting, body shaking orgasms after Sprocket had moved on. He’d acted like an idiot. There was more than one lesson he should have learned from his mother. “Hey… Do you know about Captain Jack?”

“
Is that a rum?”

“
Torchwood
. My mom recommended it. It’s on Netflix.”

***

“
You’re an ass,” Sprocket declared to his best friend as they walked through the store.