Love Him Free (On the Market #1) - E.M. Lindsey Page 0,46
inappropriate cakes, that’s Levi’s business.”
Birdie shook his head, even though he smiled at the mention. “No. I’m not here to buy anything.”
Of course he wasn’t. Simon followed where Birdie’s eyes kept tracking—a row of almond crescent cookies—so he grabbed one and handed it over. “They’re actually not bad,” he insisted when Birdie hesitated.
He was quiet as Birdie took the offering, then smiled a little when the blacksmith let out a groan. “Those are amazing.”
“They’re my grandmother’s recipe. Bubbe was go big or go home with flavor,” Simon told him with a shrug. He leaned on the counter. “Is there something you wanted? If Fitz sent you about the market booth…”
At that, Birdie’s face fell, and he shook his head. “No that’s not…” He stopped and let out a heavy breath. “I’m here to say sorry for being such a colossal dick last night at the market.”
Simon blinked at him for a moment. He’d expected a lot of things—most of them involving some sort of favor or baking order, but an apology? “What are you talking about?”
“I upset you. What I said—I’m not sure why. I mean, I think I get it. Fitz mentioned how you came back after your grandma died. I figured that’s why you had to come home, and I didn’t mean to make a joke out of it.”
Simon felt a fresh wave of grief in his belly—a low simmer, nothing like the overwhelming pain he felt when her death was fresh. But it was still a lot. He cleared his throat, then shrugged. “It’s fine.”
“It was so not fine. I know you never really liked me, but…”
Simon’s head snapped up. “What are you talking about?”
Birdie laughed, rubbing the back of his neck again. “I know that I annoy the hell out of you when I do the bagel run. I tried to be your friend, but I mean…I’m loud and obnoxious, and I get why you’d hate me…”
Simon held up his hand. “That’s not…I don’t hate you. Everyone hates me.”
Birdie shy smile dropped into a frown. “No one thinks that, Simon. Ronan and Fitz talk about you sometimes—I think they worry,” he trailed off with a sigh, shrugging. “I know they gave you a hard time when you were kids.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Simon answered him softly.
Birdie laid a hand on the counter. His fingers were thick—not as big as Rocco’s, but close. His skin was marred with scars, like someone had taken molten metal at the end of a brush and flicked it over him. But it fit—it suited him in a way Simon couldn’t explain. “It obviously mattered when you came back to town and locked yourself in your apartment. I just thought you were…I don’t know…unsocial.”
Simon couldn’t help his laugh. “I am. I’m a socially anxious mess.”
Trying for a half-smile, Birdie shrugged. “Whose fault is that?”
“My parents,” Simon said, and he couldn’t help the hint of bitterness in his voice. “My dad for dying, my mom for dragging me here and dumping all her grief on me, and then also dying. My bubbe for not trying harder to help me fit in when I needed to.” He shrugged. “And it’s my own fault, for not getting help when I was older and locking myself away instead of dealing with my problems. None of you made me like this.”
Birdie eyes were soft, sympathetic and maybe a little pitying, but Simon felt like maybe he deserved that. He was pathetic, after all. “I’d like to be friends.”
Simon bit his lip, then nodded and extended his hand. “Friends is…good. I think I can do that. Just don’t get your hopes up for me being any good at it.”
For the work he did with his hands, Birdie’s palm was surprisingly soft and cool. “Just be you, man.”
Simon withdrew and dragged a hand through his hair. “I accept your apology. I also need to get back to work since I close at four today.”
“For a date?” Birdie pressed.
Simon felt his entire body go hot. “No.” Which wasn’t entirely the truth. He would be keeping the Shabbat, but he wouldn’t be doing it alone tonight. He just wasn’t ready to share that with anyone—even a new, self-professed friend. “Not a date. But um…thanks for signing with Rocco. He says it’s fine when people don’t, but I know having someone use ASL helps.”
Birdie shrugged. “My skills aren’t what they should be, but I’m happy to practice. Maybe we can all get together for drinks or something.”