I get a small nod, but her eyes remain focused on her shoes. “I was chased by a dog once. I was nine, and I didn’t know there was a dog in my house. I stepped on his tail by accident when I walked into the kitchen, and I screamed because he scared me. I guess I scared him, too, because he started barking and chasing me. I ran out into the street, and I fell and hit my head on the curb when he jumped on me. When I woke up, I was in the hospital and—” She stops herself with a shake of her head. “Well, I’ve avoided dogs ever since. It makes no sense, I know. I work with twelve-hundred-pound animals, but I was lucky because the barn dog at my previous place was so old he would stay in the tack room or the boss’ office all day. I know this fear is stupid?—”
“No, it’s not.” Not taking my hands off her, I take a step closer. She doesn’t recoil or step back, so I take it as a good sign that she’s okay with this. “I’m sorry, Alice. I’ll keep Luther with me or in his room when you’re around. We can text each other, and I’ll make sure he’s not going to greet you with barking and jumping, okay?”
“He’s your dog. You shouldn’t have to do that.”
“He’s my dog, and it’s my responsibility to make sure he behaves. Luther’s a rescue, and I haven’t had him long, so there are a lot of behaviors we still need to work on. He’s a good dog, but he has some trauma, so we’re taking it slow.” With a final squeeze, I let her shoulders go, immediately wishing I hadn’t. I fucking hate the way I’m drawn to her, but since the day we met, it’s like I’m incapable of not responding to her vulnerability.
“That makes sense. These things take time.” With a step back, she looks up at me. “Thanks. For, um, sendinghim inside and being so nice about this.” She attempts a smile, but it’s tight. I wish she didn’t feel like she needs to smile to appease me—or anyone, for that matter.
“Of course. Do you maybe want to chat a bit about any other roommate stuff? You haven’t been around much, and I was hoping to go over a few things with you.” Like knowing literally anything other than your first name and profession…
“Oh. Yeah. Sure.” Looking toward the front door, she inhales a deep breath.
“Luther will stay inside. We can sit on the porch. I won’t take up too much of your time.” I motion for her to walk ahead of me, which is a mistake, because it dawns on me she’s wearing bike shorts that hug every single curve of her legs and hips perfectly. I wasn’t even aware shorts could hug a person’s ass that way.
Fuck. Look away, Arthur. Her ass is not up for grabs.
Literally.
Shit.
I am in way over my head here.
TEN
i’ll show you how capable i am
Alice
Arthur closes the front door behind him and takes a seat on the chair next to me, setting two glasses of water on the table between us. I considered sitting on the other side—on the swing I’ve wanted to relax on every day, but haven’t had a chance to yet—but ultimately decided it’d be weird to be side-by-side if we’re supposed to be talking.
“He’s got a treat, so he’ll be quiet for a bit.” He rubs his hands up and down his jean-clad thighs, and I quickly avert my focus to his shoes, because that is a much safer place to look. The man has thick legs that are incredibly difficult to look away from. Everything about him is hard to look away from. “So,” he breaks the silence. “Alice. Alice what?”
“Huh?” I look up, utterly confused.
“Sorry, that was weird. My last name is Machado.” He rests a hand over his chest before gesturing toward me. The AM signature on his notes now makes sense. “What’s yours?”
“Oh. It’s Preece,” I respond, waiting for it…
“Priest? Like the guy in a black robe at mass?”
“No, not like that. Preece,” I annunciate as if that’ll clear up his confusion. It doesn’t. “P-R-E-E-C-E. Preece,” I say, like I’m in a freaking spelling bee. But it’s nothing new. No one ever gets my last name right. Pearce. Priest. Price. Anything but my actual last name.
Arthur’s deep chuckle pulls me out of my thoughts. “You obviously get this a lot.” I look up, confused by what he means. “That little eye-roll you did when you spelled it said it all, Alice Preece.”
I rolled my eyes?
Shoot. I really need to get better at controlling my face. “Sorry,” I mutter, feeling my cheeks heat.
“No need. I like that your thoughts are written on your face.” He studies me, and my cheeks grow impossibly hotter. This feels like the Arthur and Alice from that first night at the bar, making easy conversation and flirting. Except we’re not two strangers getting to know one another. We work together. We live together. And though I hope this living arrangement doesn’t have to last long, I’m here now and entirely unwilling to get swept away in his deep brown eyes and kind words.
“Do you have a middle name?” He’s completely at ease, taking a quick sip of water. “Mine’s Ivan.”
“Margaret.”
“Hmm. Okay. And how did you get into occupational therapy?” This time he doesn’t answer the question before me. He… waits.
“I was originally going into physical therapy. But when I told my PT I wanted to be like her, she took me around the facility and introduced me to the other kinds of therapies and the different ways they help people. Everyonethere sort of took me under their wing, showing me what they did and the tools they used.”
