Sagittarius Saves Libra (Signs of Love)

Jason gazed down Owen’s well-built length. The gym made sense—

Suddenly he was being turned around by the shoulders and escorted outside. “Better idea, change at the shop. You’ll get wet dashing there anyway.”

He let him go and Jason jogged across the road with the duffel, glancing back to see Owen planted under the awning, pointing him in the right direction—around a slight bend and across the road to Earnest Point Convenience Store.

Carl’s corner store was like most corner stores. A refrigerated drinks and diary section, bread and cereal aisle, junk food, bathroom and kitchen products, and three wide aisles of petware, everything from litter to shampoo to dog houses.

It was a bright space, crammed with colour, and Jason—cuddled into Owen’s large hoodie behind the easy-to-manage till—was confident the job would be breezy.

Oh, shit. The pies. He was supposed to heat them up.

And that freshly-baked-goods delivery should have already arrived. What did he have to do if it didn’t come? Bake himself? The staffroom barely had a functional kettle.

The storm raged outside. Customers anytime soon seemed unlikely, so he called Carl, who picked up with an upbeat “Howdy.”

Practical concerns fled from Jason’s mind. “You didn’t tell me everything about Owen.”

“Mostly everything.”

“You said you barely saw one another.”

“We barely do. Just the occasional ticket.”

“I got the feeling you’re rather infamous at the station.”

“Well I might have been the subject of a tweet or two . . .”

A tweet or two . . . Jason made a mental note to look into that little gem later. “Expand on ‘mostly everything’. What didn’t you tell me?”

A pause. Jason imagined Carl shrugging. “I mean, we’re neighbours. And we . . . went out on a date once?”

A startled zap had him doubling his grip on the phone. “You . . . He’s . . . You’re saying he doesn’t have a pregnant wife and two dogs at home?”

“Huh?”

Sergeant Owen Stirling Sir was attracted to . . . “Then he has a husband and two dogs.”

Unless he was attracted to men and women. Maybe there was a pregnant wife at home after all?

“What are you on about?”

This was all about general understanding, clearly. “Just crafting a mental picture of him.” After a pause, he felt the need to add, “As I’ve done for everyone close to you in town.”

“We’re hardly close.” Carl harrumphed. “Fine. Owen lives alone. Think he had a tough breakup about a year ago, when the boyfriend was about to move in. And, honestly, I don’t know. I reckon I’ve seen him reading?”

Reading. That was an image right there. Owen rooted to a chair in a sunroom, eager fingers flipping the pages of a novel. Mary lying over his socked feet.

He nodded and nodded, and . . . “When did you, ah, hook up with him?”

“Hook up? God no. Haven’t even kissed. It was just one date. Years ago. Before Pete.”

“One date?”

“Our personalities didn’t mesh. We both knew it. Since then, we’ve sort of avoided one another. He seems as annoyed as I am that I always land tickets. Or bike fines. Or get caught with a beer in a public place—you know. I might have a problem with rules.”

“Rules, and preparing me for this mammoth favour I’m currently doing for you.”

“Hey, don’t deny part of you wanted this too.”

The image of Cora in red, waving from the road, robbed his breath. “Be that as it may, it would’ve helped to know more about Owen.”

“How so?”

“Maybe understanding how he ticks would’ve helped me keep this secret from him?”

The line crackled. “Owen knows?”

“I couldn’t lie to a cop.” Jason corrected, “I couldn’t keep lying to a cop. He’d clearly figured it all out.”

Carl swore. “How?”

Jason checked out the ceiling, wincing. “Not sure.”

Carl’s voice broke, “That’s it, then? This is all over?”

Sickly disappointment wormed in Jason’s middle. He cuddled deeper into Owen’s spare hoodie, given to him—along with a spare T-shirt and shorts he had to scrunch up at the waist—so he wasn’t stuck in wet clothes all day.

Was this all over? He hadn’t realised just how important it was until he’d felt the impact of his mother’s wave at Owen, the smile she’d tossed him. Who was this person who owned half of his face? Smiled like he did? He’d only just got here. He hadn’t had a chance . . .

He stared determinedly out of the rain-drizzled windows toward the crossing, and then the station at the foot of a beech-studded hill. A curious energy rose within. “This is not over yet.”

Mundane shop-related questions followed this pronouncement, along with a reminder to open the door behind the counter regularly to keep the nook from getting mouldy. Just as Carl hung up, the baked goods delivery arrived using said back door, so . . . two birds with one stone. At least something was going right.