“I, uh, like the leg and wing the best.”
“Perfect,” I say, slicing through the chicken easily, then placing them on his plate. “I’m going to also give you some chicken breast since this is a smaller bird tonight.”
“Thank you, Dr. Barlowe.”
Ant snorts. “Dr. Barlowe? Nah, we call him Bram. Or asshole.”
I point the knife at Ant. “I wasn’t the one who drank all the chocolate milk.”
He holds up his hands. “Okay.Note to self: don’t drink all the chocolate milk.”
“Or,” Levy says, perfectly reasonable, “we buy more so there is enough chocolate milk for the week.”
“Or we do that,” I say, taking the thigh and the rest of the chicken breast.
We dive into the food, and I’m relieved the conversation flows easily. I should have known Nacho would fit in perfectly and that all my stress about making this good for him was for nothing.
It wasn’t even that hard to think of him as Nacho. He is a gracious and handsome guest, and when we finish at the table, he helps put away the food and the dishes.
When he retrieves Biyu’s plate, she flinches at the unexpected closeness. The three of us freeze, having seen Biyu have a strong emotional reaction to triggering events. Nacho, however, smoothly bows his head and steps back. His immediate respect for her space neutralizes her fear, and she thanks him with a slight bow of her own.
Biyu returns to her room with Smokey, and we retire to the den for a game of cards and more conversation. Finally, Ant yawns and goes down the hallway leading to our three bedrooms.
Nacho gets up, heading toward the front door. “I’m just gonna use the bathroom real quick before I take off.”
“No problem,” I say, gathering the rest of the cups while Levy puts away the cards.
Levy angles off to his room, and I wait for Nacho outside the guest bathroom. Not expecting me, Nacho runs straight into my chest as he exits.
“Shit. Sorry, Dr. Barlowe.”
I do love it when he calls me that.
“No need to apologize. You weren’t expecting me.”
He shifts uncomfortably. “Thanks again for inviting me. This was just what I needed, and I’m looking forward to next Friday.”
“Excellent. Did you wash your hands?”
He looks back to the bathroom, confused. “Uh, yeah?”
“Good,” I say, fastening the buttons on his vest he’d undone after dinner. “Hygiene is important.”
His chest rises and falls beneath my fingers.
“Yes, Dr. Barlowe. The cons sometimes made fun of me, but good hygiene prevented me from getting sick in jail.”
Straightening his primly buttoned collar, I nod. “You take such excellent care of yourself, Ignacio. Tell me, what is your supplement regimen?”
Before he can answer, I interrupt him, reaching for his shoulder. “Here, stand up straight.”
He faithfully follows the direction of my hands.
“Thank you, Dr. Barlowe.”
“You’re welcome, Ignacio. Proper posture is so important for spinal health. Though, I apologize. You were about to tell me what supplements you take.”
“I—I don’t take supplements.”
