“I’m on my way.” He hangs up the phone before I object.
My jaw drops as I hold the phone in my hand, still puzzled. I click his contact again, and he sends me to voicemail. I scoff. Why did he hear,I need your help?I never said that, quite the opposite actually, but it would be nice not to have to get a plumber here. Before I can put clothes on, there’s a knock at the door. He must have been passing my street when I called for him to get here so fast.
Once I get to the door, I swing it open. “I didn’t ask for your help.”
“Noted.” His eyes scan me, lingering on my towel-covered body.
“Do you mind?” I fidget with the towel, making sure it’s still secure.
He clears his throat. “You have soap in your hair.”
I deadpan. “Thank you, Captain Obvious. I was in the middle of my shower when the water shut off.”
He nods and walks past me, heading toward my garage.
I hobble after him. “I already checked the breaker.” Living on a well, you learn quickly that if you don’t have water, then the pump might have an electrical problem. He doesn’t respond, acting like I didn’t say anything at all. I watch him open the breaker panel after I turn on the garage light. He looks at a few, then flips them off, then back on. I immediately hear the water start running in the bathroom. My jaw slackens. How was I supposed to know that it just needed to be reset?
He turns to me, closes the panel, and walks back inside. “Have any coffee?”
I turn around. “What?”
“I was on my way to get coffee when you called, so nowI don’t have time to get it at my normal place.” His eyes stay glued to my face like he’s forcing himself not to look at the rest of me.
“Yeah. In the kitchen.” I start toward the bathroom again, but when he doesn’t move, I say over my shoulder, “Help yourself.”
After I finish washing the soap from my hair and get dressed, I blow dry my hair and apply my makeup. Taking one last look in the mirror, I’m happy with the way my hair hangs down my back over my purple off-the-shoulder shirt. I’ve paired it with a pair of my nicer and longer jean shorts, and I pull on a pair of black tennis shoes before grabbing my bag.
Once finished, I head into the kitchen to grab a protein bar to eat on the go, but as I get close, the sizzling bacon draws my attention to the stove, and my stomach growls. On the counter sit two plates, and I’m hit with the delicious aroma of a full-on breakfast. My eyes scan the plates, seeing scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast with strawberry jelly smeared on top. Clayton clicks the burner off and uses a fork to divide the bacon between the plates. Reaching for a mug with steaming liquid, he hands me the coffee. I lean my crutches against the counter before sitting on the bar stool. I take the fresh cup from his hand, pressing it to my mouth, and inhale the caramelized and almost nutty aroma.
“Thank you,” I mumble.
He shrugs. “It’s your food.” He places a plate in front of me.
“Yeah, you took my ‘Help yourself’ seriously.” I laugh. Before I take a bite, I glance at his face, and he looks panicked. “I was just kidding. I appreciate this.” I motion toward the food. “More than you know.”
His shoulders visibly relax, and he stabs at his eggs and takes a bite.
Once we finish in silence, I finally muster the courage to ask him a question, unsure if it’s a triggering subject or not. I watchhim grab our plates and take them to the sink before grabbing the pans he used. He begins washing and placing them in my empty dishwasher. I’m grateful for him even more because not only did I get a good breakfast, but now I don’t have to do the dishes later and grit my teeth through the aches of standing so long. This small act of kindness means a lot to me, and I get a fleeting feeling that the guy I know and care for has to still be in there. Right?
I finish my coffee, and he swipes my mug to wash it. “Uh. I have a question.” My eyes lower as I refold the paper towel in my lap to avoid eye contact.
“Okay?” His voice sounds a little uncertain about what’s coming.
“The, uh, accident where you fell off the balcony.”
He shuts off the water and faces me, and I glance at him. “Yeah?”
“Is that where you got the scar over your eyebrow?”
“Yeah,” he says, but doesn’t say anything more.
I raise my eyebrows, waiting for him to continue, but he doesn’t. He dries his hands and grabs his keys from the counter. “See you at work.”
I watch him leave, and not knowing events in his life only proves that this isn’t the same person I once knew. Or maybe this is who he was the entire time, and I was in denial from the beginning. Either way, it’s confusing. He was kind enough to make me breakfast, but then immediately put his guard up when I brought up the accident. It makes me remember that I can’t trust him, and I just need to get through this time working with him and move on.
18
CLAYTON: NOW
