Jem shot a defiant glare at his hubby. “No, it’s not. Some guys really struggle with this stuff.” Nick made an if-you-say-so face, and Jem went on. “A lot of it comes down to their family. Just imagine all the pressures and expectations and disappointing the people who mean the most in your life. Did he mention anything about his parents?”
Olly thought back. “I think he said his parents divorced. And he and Sandy don’t have the same last name. Nothing else I recall. Why are you taking his side all of a sudden?”
“I’ve been thinking.” Lines between Jem’s brows illustrated his point. “Remember what Mme. Layla said?” he asked, oblivious to Nick’s eye roll.
Olly did. “It’s a bad sign when a wild parrot shits on you.” He absently pulled the charm from under his shirt and started playing with it.
Jem shook his head. “No, I mean when she said someone will need your help. And you thought it was Sandy Baker with her house renovation, but what if you were wrong? What if it’s Rich who needs you?”
Nick sighed. “You’re such an idealist.” He put a hand on the nape of Jem’s neck.
Jem leaned into the touch. “So I am. I happen to believe a person can make a difference in the life of another.”
“And you want to throw Olly at this idiot.”
Jem stared at Nick with indignation. “You make it sound like I was sending him into a lion cage. All I’m saying is, Olly could give Rich another chance, see if he can coax the guy out of the closet.” He turned to Olly. “Assuming you like the guy. Because if you don’t…”
Olly thought of Rich kneeling in front of him, eyes full of need and vulnerability. A corresponding pang in his chest was the answer. “Yeah, I do,” he admitted with a sigh.
Jem gave an evil grin. “You and an older man. Oh, the irony.”
“How old is this guy?” Nick asked with renewed mistrust.
Jem’s eyes glinted with mischief. “He’s Sandy Baker’s big brother, so has to be at least thirty.”
“How’s that old? I’m thirty-five!” Nick protested.
“Almost thirty-six,” Jem corrected.
Olly nodded. “Practically geriatric.”
Nick shook his head. “Keep this up, and I’ll send you both to bed without supper.”
Jem lifted his empty plate. “Too late.”
It was a lazy, sunny afternoon. The heat and the buzz of insects made them sleepy, at least till Jem dragged out an inflatable swimming pool. It was barely big enough for him and Olly to fit into at the same time. Fortunately, Nick preferred his lounge chair under the shade of the orange tree. Olly stayed till dark, driving home in a much better frame of mind than he’d been after leaving Rich. Jem’s words stuck with him—maybe Rich deserved a second chance. However, he wanted to sleep on it first.
There was one thing, though, he didn’t want to put off. A quick web search on the address of the paparazzo stalking Sandy resulted in a name: Chester Kane. He plugged the name into a fresh search but found nothing particularly useful. On a whim, he decided to look up Richard Willson. A common name, so it took him a while to sort it all out, but he managed to dig up a few interesting things.
Rich wasn’t exactly who he pretended to be. Olly wanted to have a word with him about this discrepancy.
Normally, Olly had Tuesdays off—along with Mondays and Wednesdays—but since he’d switched shifts with Barbara, this Tuesday he had a nine-to-six. He didn’t mind it, though. The work was lighter than on weekends. He got a text message right after his lunch break. It said: Sry, was a dick. Dick.
He chuckled, and an unexpected warmth spread over him. Sandy gave u my nmbr? he texted back.
Yes. Come by? came the reply.
Olly paused with thumbs over the screen. Should I? Rich was making an effort, reaching out. Olly could at least hear him out.
After work, Olly typed quickly and got back to stacking dairy. It was a never-ending job, especially when you wanted to be somewhere else.
Olly arrived at the house in Silver Lake a little before seven. The lights were on, but only Rich’s bike stood in the driveway. Sandy must not have returned from Santa Barbara yet. For once, he didn’t mind. He hoped for a little time alone with Rich, a chance to sort out where they stood, how he felt, and if Jem had been right.
Rich opened the door, and the two of them stood there awkwardly. “Come in,” Rich said.
Stepping inside, Olly got immediately distracted. “Oh my God! The floor!” he squealed. With the disgusting carpet gone, the whole place became bigger and brighter. “You’ve been busy.”
Rich had a sheepish expression, like he did every time Olly paid him a compliment. “Still needs a finish, but I thought I’d wait for Sandy to get home first. It’ll be faster with more hands on board.”