Love is Always Write Anthology Volume 2

halfway up the stairs and I hurried to follow him. We never had finished the tour the day before, and so once we reached the top of the stairs, the house was all new to me.
    Marcus pointed with his free hand as we went, "This is the guest bathroom," he kicked the door open with one foot and I winced, "It needs a lot of work. I think everything needs to be pulled out. The tile is a travesty."
    I agreed with his assessment but didn't comment. My first task would be to go through their proposal—pages torn from decorating magazines and all—and then draw up my own project plan for them to approve. Some of the things they'd said they wanted just weren't feasible for the space, and others were doable but quite possibly more expensive than they realized. Aside from my own salary, we hadn't talked budget yet and I was still waiting for them to balk when they saw my estimates. They'd both seemed reasonable up until now, but people sometimes got funny about money and I was used to clients backing out of projects, or cutting them by half, once they'd seen what their dream project would cost. There's a reason people say that home repairs take twice as long and cost twice as much as you first expect.
    Marcus finally reached a room with a door that stood ajar, and he backed into the room, still juggling my box of books and other heavy items. Once he was in, he held the door open with one foot and I hurried to follow—I didn't trust his balance to hold out in that position.
    As soon as I was through the door my prediction came true and Marcus stumbled while trying to kick the door closed and set the box down on the small desk on the side of the room at the same time. I was really going to need to break him of that door kicking habit. But first things first—I hurriedly dropped my duffle and reached out with my free hand to grab Marcus' arm and steady him. But all I really managed to do was change the trajectory of his fall, pulling him towards me and causing him to knock me down, too. I fell back onto the bed, my elbows back for support, and Marcus tumbled onto the bed beside me, narrowly avoiding landing in my lap.
    There was a moment of silence before Marcus broke into a deep, belly-rumbling laugh and I couldn't help but laugh with him. This was, of course, the moment that Bryan came into the room juggling his own precarious load—three cups of fresh coffee.
    This situation could have looked bad, but Bryan took one look at us sprawled on the bed, the flap of cardboard still in Marcus' hand, and the spill of books across the floor and joined us in laughing. He set the mugs carefully down on the desk and knelt to start gathering up the books, stacking them in neat piles. I quickly knelt on the floor to join him and when he looked up at me and smiled, I was momentarily taken aback by how close we were. The room was small to begin with, add the narrow bed, desk, and dresser and there was very little open space. This put Bryan and I almost nose to nose but before it could get awkward Bryan smiled and held up the book in his hands. "This is one of my absolute favorites, I thought no one liked her mysteries but me."
    This wasn't the reaction I was expecting. Normally people were surprised to find out I read at all. It doesn't really fit with the construction worker stereotype. Of course, few people got to know me well enough to realize that.
    Bryan's eyes were dancing with delight at discovering my collection. "You are the right man for this job. Marcus, I approve of him."
    Marcus, still lounging on the bed as though he'd meant to fall in the first place, gave a smile and a nod. "I approve of you approving."
    It was too cute. How fucking perfect could a couple be? I felt simultaneously like cooing and gagging.
    In lieu of doing either, I grinned and took the book from his hands. "Now you know my weakness. Use that power for good."
    Marcus snorted. I became aware that he was lounging on the bed that I was supposed to sleep on. Was that going to become a normal occurrence? It was their home, yes, but would they be on display throughout my space, whenever they wanted? For the first time, I felt real discomfort, and I fell silent, moving away with the box and starting to arrange my books on the windowsill.
    "Marcus," Bryan hissed behind my back, and made some wordless gesture I couldn't perceive. A moment later Marcus rose—I could hear the bedsprings creak and saw the movement in the dim reflection of the sun-drenched