CATALYST

TRAVIS

I SAW HIM.

Through the glass, I saw him.

I'd been looking at the roses, seeing what needed to be done, and I realized I'd need gloves to even get started. As I walked toward the house, I saw David through the large glass door off the patio and decided to knock on it. Then I got closer and saw him holding the sweatshirt I'd worn. His face was buried in it.

At first I thought it was a trick of the light on the glass, my mind bending a reflection into a fantasy. But I blinked several times, and he was still there.

My pulse quickened. Why would a man smell another man's shirt that way, unless he was trying to smell the man? My stomach flipped over.

But rather than stand there and risk being caught, I decided to look away as I knocked. Make him think I hadn't seen anything. The alternative would've been way too awkward for both of us.

Luckily, I was a good actor. I asked him about the gloves without a tremor in my voice and kept my face expressionless. In contrast, his cheeks were deep red, and he refused to make eye contact. It was the most flustered I'd ever seen him. He came outside and hurried into the garage without even glancing my way.

But by the time he found the gloves and handed them over, he'd appeared composed again, his usual self. He told me what he wanted done in the yard overall, what the priorities were today, and where all the tools were. I listened and asked questions and assured him I could handle everything he wanted done, but in my head all I could see was his face buried in that shirt.

"I obsessed over it all afternoon, adding up all the significant details—the lack of a girlfriend or wife. The odd moment in the kitchen, where I'd had the crazy thought he might kiss me. The way he'd looked at me last night in my bedroom.

Maybe I wasn't crazy.

Was it possible I had felt some chemistry between us? Was it possible the attraction was mutual? Was it possible he'd smelled that shirt for the same reason I'd asked to borrow his clothes in the first place—to experience the illusion of intimacy without actual physical touch?

This morning, I'd have said it wasn't.

Now I was starting to wonder.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When David returned from the store, he took bags of groceries straight into the house with barely a glance in my direction. He spent the entire afternoon cooking and preparing for dinner without saying anything to me, although at one point he came out and set a plate with a sandwich and some chips on it on the patio table—a long wooden table with two benches on either side. Next to it, he set a tall glass of ice water. "Lunch," he called to me before going right back inside.

Grateful, I took a short break to eat and cool off, and when I was done, I left the plate and glass on the table, figuring I'd bring it inside when I was done. But a little later, I looked over and discovered he'd taken them in already.

At that point, I was ready to conclude I'd been totally off about him before. He wasn't acting like someone who was into me at all. In fact, if I didn't know better, I might have thought he was irritated with me for some reason.

Eventually, he did come outside to talk to me. I was in the middle of mowing the lawn, and he wandered over, hands in his pockets. It had been a warm afternoon, so I'd taken off my T-shirt earlier, and even though he wore sunglasses I could see the way he stared at my upper body. The sun was hot on my back, but his eyes on my chest were hotter.