The day dragged on. Liam had his eyes on the clock more than on his work. All he could think of was Ezra. During breaks between clients he looked at the fifty-one photos on his smart phone, smiling as he thought about how lucky he was to have someone like Ezra in his life.
“Liam, a word.” It was Mr. Atkins.
“Right away,” said Liam, shoving his phone into his trouser pocket as he hurried to catch up to his boss.
They entered Mr Atkins’s drab office, which hadn’t been decorated since the mid-’70s. The orange and brown wallpaper was curling at the corners, and the faded print of a couple in ‘70s garb, backlit by the sun, was bending its way out of the plain wooden frame.
“Shut the door,” said Mr Atkins, “and have a seat.”
Liam felt suddenly tense. “Have a seat” either meant he was going
