I bit into my cake and glanced at the guy who’d just arrived . . . and almost forgot to chew. He had short, dark-blond hair and the body of an athlete: muscular and fit. He wore work boots like everyone else here, a too-tight white tee shirt, and a pink tiered skirt. My first thought was that it was a joke. That someone, somehow, had found out I was gay, and this was a terrible piss-take, a mockery, and I waited for the jokes. For the pointing and the laughing and the insults. But no one looked twice at him, except to say hello. Someone asked him about a drive shaft something or other. He ate
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