Antonio nods, his gaze sweeping over me. The casual perusal activates butterflies in the pit of my stomach. “N-Nice couch,” he stutters. “You picked a good color.”
“It’s limestone,” I confirm. “Not exactly beige or gray but has a warmer undertone. There’s a bifold memory foam mattress. I heard they’re good for pressure relief and spinal alignment.”
I’m rambling.
“That’s good.” He nods again. “I need to run home for a quick shower, but I wanted to drop these off. I stopped by the store.” He squints with an expression that’s hard to decipher.
Did I say too much about my new sleeper sofa?
Oh, he’s holding a reusable grocery bag. Right, his trip to the store.
You’re staring.
Antonio clears his throat. “Fridays were your no-study nights with sushi, wine, andBuffy, if I remember.” He glances at my sweatshirt.
“Yes—right! I figured we’d order in, but this is very thoughtful.” I bite my lip. “Thank you.”
“No problem.”
The night air crackles with the faint scent of firewood in the distance. It mixes with the lingering threads of Antonio’s cologne. The below-freezing temperature frosting the cars parked in the street is no match for the heat that’s painting our breaths.
Marcela cuts through the silence with a bark of laughter. “Let me go.” She reaches for her coat on the hook next to the door and aims a defiant smile at me. “Enjoy dinner with yourfriend.”
Don’t start, I mouth. Her stilettos put her a few inches taller than Antonio, blocking his view.
So finish, she mouths back, faking a shiver. “It’s cold out. Be a good host and invite Antonio in. I’ll text you about Sunday’s brunch.”
He shuffles out the way. “Need help to your car?” He motions to the six-inch contraptions attached to her feet.
“Andhe has manners? I got it. Thanks, though. Bye, you two. Don’t forget to wrap it up!”
I groan at her deep grin, tempted to take her out with my snow boot, which is within reach.
“The food, I mean,” she adds. “In case you want seconds later. Gotta keep it fresh.”
“Get out before I yell that you’re voting to raise taxes. Drive safe.” I stick my tongue out, pull Antonio inside, and slam the door shut. Her chuckle vibrates from the other side.
“I have towels and washcloths here if you want to shower,” I tell him.
Now wait a minute.
His eyes widen below his Buffalo Steel winter hat. The cute kind, with a tiny ball on top. “Nah. I don’t want to put you out.”
“Oh, stop.” I smack the brick that is his chest. “You need to shower, and I have one. We can eat faster this way.”
A brow rises. “Are you sure?”
“Do you not trust my soap?”
“Not if it’s a bar. Those collect pubes. I’m joking!” He lifts his arms with a laugh and thumbs at the front door. “My gear is in my trunk. I always keep a change of clothes with me.”
“Okay,” I say.
“Okay.” He hands me the grocery bag with our dinner and sets off in high-tops to his car.
“This is silly,” I tell myself from the front window. There is no justifiable reason to peek out the blinds. Antonio doesn’t need a lookout or a witness should he bust his tail on a patch of ice.
Simple, box-shaped homes with overhanging eaves and sash windows—like the one I’m pressed against—frame the quiet street, which is painted in quilts of snow.
