The townhouse was three small stories. The kitchen, dining room, and small living room took up the first floor. The middle floor was an office, which doubled as a home gym, and the master bedroom and bathroom were on the top floor.
“It’s just like you to pick a place where you have to travel two floors from your bedroom to the refrigerator,” I noted, as I looked around his room.
“That’s just a happy accident. I like to move my body as much as possible, but don’t fool yourself. I never starve myself. Food is fuel. I demand a lot from my body, so I have to give it the proper amount of energy in the right forms so that it performs for me.”
I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. He was the most disciplined man I had ever met. I always found discipline to be uncomfortable, and I didn’t want to live an entire life in discomfort.
Turning around, my knees creaked. “Oh,” I said, and they creaked again. “That was uncomfortable,” I noted, and was hit by a wave of irony. I hoped that Hudson couldn’t read my mind because I was suddenly thinking hard about my life philosophy to delay discomfort now and get hit by it later when my body started to fall apart. Probably not the smartest life philosophy.
Perhaps I could be a disciplined egg white-eating Marine on a part-time basis. Maybe that would keep my joints intact while still enjoying a cookie now and then.
We left Hudson’s room and returned to the bottom floor. The entire townhouse was immaculate, just like his Camaro and garage. It was all put together perfectly, too. Fully furnished and matched to perfection.
“You know what this place looks like?” I asked him. “It looks like a model home. You know, the perfectly furnished places they have to get people to buy in housing developments. I'm very impressed, Hudson. You've done an amazing job here. Everything is in place. You remembered every little touch. You even have vases and lamps on the end tables. You must have gone shopping forever to get everything just so. Or did you hire a designer to do it all?”
“Nope. No designer, Eliza.”
“Wow, I’m really impressed.” And a little weirded out. The home was nothing like I expected. Sure, I had a suspicion that it would be neat and tidy, but I thought he would own one spoon, one glass, and one towel. Not much else. Now, I had to alter my entire perception of who Hudson was. Now, I had to believe that knickknack placement was very important to him. Now, I had to believe he took pride in loveseats. I mean, he had an UGG throw slung over the back of his couch, for goodness’ sake.
Hudson started to laugh. He doubled over with the force of his laughter and even slapped his knee.
“What is it?” I asked. He continued to laugh and didn’t answer me. “What is it? Is it me? Do I have something in my nose?”
I wiped at my nose, and he laughed harder. Finally, he calmed down.
“It’s a model home,” he said, still chuckling.
“It’s what?”
“A model home. I came to sign the papers for a new townhouse and asked for this one, and they gave it to me with everything already inside. I didn’t do a thing to it except bring in two gun safes, my clothes, and fifteen meal prep containers.”
I slapped his chest. “You tricked me. You can’t imagine what I was thinking just now.”
“I could see your brain moving. You were picturing me wandering through Macy’s looking at end table lamps.”
“I was doubting my judgment about you. I thought I had completely read you wrong, which is impossible, but if you were a book, you would be one page long.”
Hudson sobered up, finally. “Look, I'm a Marine. I don't have time to buy lamps or end tables. All I need is a sleeping bag and a hard piece of ground to sleep on.”
“And gun safes,” I added.
“And gun safes,” he agreed.
“Well, I’ll give you this: It was smart to purchase the model home. You’re all set. When you bring a girl here, they’ll be impressed.”
There was a deafening silence. My words landed with a thud, but I didn’t know why.
“I’ll get your things,” Hudson said, finally. “I’m going to leave the television in the garage, though. I have two in the house.”
When he came back, he put my two chairs around his dining room table and carried the rest of my belongings to his bedroom. I followed him upstairs and watched as he put my suitcase and photo albums in his walk-in closet.
“You don’t need to mess up your closet for me,” I told him. “I can put my stuff in the coat closet downstairs by the living room.”
“That doesn’t make sense. You’ll have to go down two flights to get dressed.”
I looked at him and then at his king-sized bed.
“I’m sleeping on the couch,” I said.
