Page 34 of Scrap Metal & Love Reforged

I frowned and rubbed the back of my neck. “Well, I…I guess, kind of. It’s so bad that you can’t even clean it up for company, and maintenance sucks.”

I stowed my phone in my pocket. It had been a few hours sinceDiscordrang, and I’d vented out my worries over finding a new place. I knew what Godofdiscordwould say—get a new place, even if he had to send me the down payment online. And I didn’t want that. But still, sometimes, it was nice just to vent everything and share it with someone who cared and wouldn’t be in my face about it, mother-hen me like my sister.

“That’s a tough situation,” Seth said. “I’m sorry.”

I nodded. “I’ll bet you’ve never had a maintenance problem in your life,” I said dryly. “Huh?”

Seth chuckled. “No,” he replied. “I’ve just paid people to take care of those sorts of things for me…or delegated. I mean, it’s just money for me. It’s not going to make that much of a difference. Not like it does for you.”

I wondered if most rich guys even noticed the difference. Two-hundred dollars for Seth was nothing. For me, it was three-quarters of a week’s pay. I madejustenough to make ends, which really seemed unfair, considering all the work I’d put into learning about cars and mechanical stuff. If effort translated directly to money, I’d be a billionaire by now.

“Did you see any apartments you liked?” Seth asked. “I’ll admit that I’ve not really followed real estate in Bluehaven in a long time.”

“No desire to own half the town, then?”

Seth laughed. “Not really. It doesn’t fit the eccentric, wealthy uncle aesthetic I have going on.”

We came to a crosswalk and stopped, waiting for traffic. This was really nice, actually. Just casually walking around town with Seth. Even if I hadn’t dared tell anyone what we were yet, it was nice.

He deserved better. Logically, I figured it was hard coming out. If it were easy, I'd have done it already. But every time I thought that, guilt hit—maybeI wasn’t being fair to Seth, who’d already taken the plunge. He couldn’t be more obvious about his sexuality if he dyed his hair to match the LGBTQ flag.

“I didn’t know you were an uncle,” I said.

The light changed, and we crossed the street.

“Well, I’m not, but it’s theprinciple.” Seth paused. “I’m like a sexier Scrooge McDuck.”

The answer was so unexpected that I snorted. “Why is Scrooge McDuck your go-to point of comparison?”

Seth’s face brightened. “So, you know I’m into acting, right?”

I feigned a stunned gasp. “You are?”

Seth bumped his shoulder against mine, and I shot him a grin. That had been a good comeback, whether Seth wanted to admit it or not. “I may have also done a stint with animation,” Seth added, looking quite proud, “And I learned that during World War II, the character Donald Duck was given a naval rank. War propaganda, you know. So, Donald went to war, which is why Scrooge ends up raising his nephews.”

“You’re serious!”

He grinned broadly. “As a heart attack.”

“I don’t even think I’ve actuallyseen…” I trailed off, trying to dredge up memories from my childhood. There weresomeDisney films in there, sure, but I didn’t think I’d ever actually seen something “starring” Donald Duck.

When we reached the restaurant, Seth opened the door and bowed enthusiastically. “After you.”

I shook my head and entered. The restaurant, which was French and not anything I was even going totryto pronounce, was fancier than anything I ever would’ve gone to myself. The high, vaulted ceiling held enamel floral paintings between the gilded supports. I whistled between my teeth.

“Nice, huh?” Seth asked cheerily.

“It is,” I admitted.

I had no idea what I would possibly eat in a place like this, but if Seth liked it, I wouldn’t protest. He walked up to the waiter, who quickly took us to a table covered in red linen. I glanced around, relieved that noteveryonehere was wearing a suit and tie. I’d worried that I’d be seriously underdressed.

And sure, Seth was wearing jeans, which was pretty casual. But I was fairly sure that casual clothes ceased being casual once they achieved a certain number of zeroes to the left of the decimal on the price tags.

“This place has the best pistachio cake you’ll ever eat in your life,” Seth said, taking his seat.

What the hell was pistachio cake—nutty and green?

I sat across from him, eyeing the menu. “I’ve never really been one for sweets.”