“I know you’re doing well and having fun,” Joe said. “But if ever you’re in the market for a place of your own, I’d love to rent out the second bungalow here. I hesitate to mention it to you because I’m sure you’ve got a plan. I haven’t rented the bungalow out yet because I wanted it to go to a special person. I think you’d be perfect. It’s not as big or fancy as you’re used to, and I’m sure you’d rather be with your friends, but if you ever are looking for a little place to call your own, I’m renting it out for twelve hundred a month. Utilities are included, and you’d have full use of the art studio next door and probably as much leftover homemade bread that you could eat.”
I didn’t answer for a full minute. I was letting his words soak in. It was like winning the lottery. I loved that little bungalow. I had loved it the first moment I stepped into it, and I never wanted to leave it. I pictured my grandmother’s quilt on the bed, and I couldn’t wait to go there. Twelve-hundred dollars was nothing, and I could easily pay six months in advance with my bag of cash. Six months might be enough time for me to get my life together, I thought.
“I love that bungalow,” I said into the phone.
“You seemed at home in it yesterday.”
“It was perfect for me. A dream home.”
It was all perfect. A happy ending. There was just one more thing to clear up, and I had no idea how to broach the subject. I wanted the bungalow more than I wanted anything, and I felt so lucky that he was offering it to me. But I had to know that he wasn’t expecting something from me in exchange. Like maybe he expected me to move into his farmhouse someday. I really liked Joe. He was a wonderful person and friend, but I didn’t have romantic intentions toward him.
How could I say that to him? What if I hurt him? What if he got angry and didn’t let me rent the bungalow? What if he laughed at me because I’m a pathetic woman who slept on my couch surrounded by junk food, blubbering over the man who left me for his personal trainer?
I didn’t have to worry. As usual, Joe was empathetic and knew my thoughts before I did. “It’ll be nice to have another pal around the compound,” he said. “You know, some men say it’s impossible to have a platonic relationship with a woman, but that’s just what you and I have, and I hope we have it forever.”
“I’ll take the bungalow,” I blurted out. “May I move in tomorrow?”
“The key will be under the mat.”
I hung up and practically danced down the stairs. Everything was falling into place. I could have kissed Steve for being a rotten jerk and stealing my house.
The dining room table was empty except for Hudson. The rest of the men were in the kitchen, huddling around the pantry.
“What’s happening?” I asked.
“Don’t ask,” Hudson groaned.
“Dang!” Peter cried from the kitchen. “Dude’s got a kickass supply of Twinkies.”
“And Ding Dongs!” Jeremy yelled, triumphantly.
“Dude’s got the Hostess with the mostess,” Tony said.
They returned to the dining room with armloads of Hostess boxes and dropped them onto the table.
“Did the model home people leave all that in Hudson’s pantry?” I asked, eyeing the stash of baked goods.
“Our man Hudson doesn’t go anywhere without Twinkies,” Peter told me, opening a box of Ding Dongs. “Even in the mountains of Afghanistan, he had at least a dozen packages in his pack at all times.”
I turned to look at Hudson. He smirked at me and shrugged.
“Perfection is the enemy of good,” he explained.
I smiled back at him and grabbed a Twinkie. “You know what? This clean eating is growing on me.”
Hudson’s friends left a couple of hours later. I helped Hudson clean up, and I swore to myself not to mention the Hostess cakes to him. It was enough to know that Hudson was truly human and not a robot. And it was nice to know for me that one could be a clean eater most of the time, and a Twinkie eater the rest of the time and be just fine inside and out.
By the time we were done cleaning, we were both yawning and ready for bed. I asked him once again if I could sleep on the couch, but he insisted on giving me his bed. I hadn’t told him about the bungalow yet, but since we had had such a long day and I had a feeling that the Joe conversation would be a long one, I decided to wait until morning to tell him about it. I said goodnight and went upstairs.
Hudson’s bathroom was modern and spotless. I took a long, hot shower, trying to wash the day off of me. After, I slipped between Hudson’s sheets. I could smell his cologne on his pillow, and that’s when I knew I wasn’t going to get a minute of sleep.
Boy, was I right about that.
CHAPTER 14
“What Would Plato Say?”
Nine o’clock turned to ten o’clock turned to eleven o’clock. The clock on Hudson’s nightstand taunted me with every passing minute.
