My fingers move of their own accord, asking if he needs anything, but that feels too… friendly, or something. We’re not friends. We’re colleagues and roommates, and I know better than anyone that those are not guarantees for friendship. I opt not to send it and put the Jeep in drive, following the familiar roads back to the farmhouse.
As I unload the back seat with my bag of measly groceries, Luther’s barks greet me from somewhere in the backyard. For a moment, my heart rate picks up and I pause to listen for his proximity, looking around at both sides of the house. Nothing. The barking stops, and if I hadn’t been listening so intently, I would have missed Arthur’s gentle scolding.
Once I’m in the front door, I’m greeted with the smell of something delicious, and my stomach rumbles. I was planning on a peanut butter and banana sandwich for dinner, which I’m certain will taste like cardboard after smelling whatever Arthur is making for himself.
When I step into the kitchen, he’s got a pair of basketball shorts and a cut-off shirt on, his hair is damp, and there’s a tea towel draped over his left shoulder. Great. He looks like that while I’m still in work clothes and my hair piled in a messy bun on top of my head with stray curls that refuse to stay straight after a day in the heat of Ojai’s late summer weather.
He turns to greet me with a smile, and the bag I’m holding nearly slips out of my hand. He’s so unfairly good-looking. Beautiful people have always intimidated me a little. I don’t think anyone is truly ugly until their actions make them so. I mean, if you’re the kind of person who doesn’t give up their seat for someone who clearly needs it more than you, or you scowl at babies, I don’t care how objectively beautiful you might be. In my eyes, immediately ugly.
But Arthur? He’s… I don’t know, this weird mix between pretty, with his sparkly brown eyes and those thick, insanely long eyelashes, and ruggedly hot, with the big muscles, forearm tattoos, permanent scruff on his jaw and a mostly serious expression at all times. And it’s not that he doesn’t smile, but they’re these tiny, crooked ones that pull at one of his cheeks, and if you blink, you’ll miss them because they never last long. I may have done a good job of avoiding him, but I have a surprisingly good view of the barn doors from my office, and I may have become a little too acquainted with every detail of Arthur from afar. He’s a little rough around the edges, and yet there’s a softness to him. I saw it when we met. It was in the way he watched me as I spoke, how he held me when we danced, in the tenderness of his voice when he talked about reading books with Luther, in how he interacted with Josie, looking both annoyed and entertained by her antics. Never mind how concerned he was when he found me in the bathroom.
“Alice?” He wipes his hands on the towel draped on his shoulder and turns away from the stove, directing all of his attention to me. “Did you hear me?”
Crap on a cracker. I didn’t.
I got so caught up in my little Arthur daydream, I didn’t hear a word he said. Not having enough snacks today wasn’t a good idea. I’m so hungry I’ve lost the ability to act like a regular human being.
“I said, Luther is outside with a slow feeder that will keep him busy for a little bit.” He takes pity on me and repeats himself. Given how hot my cheeks are, I have a feeling my blush has become visible even through my tan skin.
I nod dumbly, and that little crooked smile pulls at his cheek, but he licks his bottom lip, erasing it as quickly as he did all my working brain cells with the swipe of his tongue.
“Need any help with that?” He motions to the bag I’m now holding on to for dear life with both hands. Looking away from him momentarily, I loosen my grip, hoping I didn’t squish all of my bananas. Or the eggs.
“I’m okay. Sorry, my brain stops working when I’mhungry.” As I set my things on the kitchen island, Arthur gets back to whatever smells so ridiculously good on the stove, and while I quietly put my things away, my stomach rumbles in an obnoxiously loud way. I try to cover it up with a cough, but Arthur’s chuckle is confirmation enough that it didn’t work.
“It’s almost ready, don’t worry.” He sets a hand on his hip as he continues to work. “I hope you like stew. I know it’s not quite fall yet, and it’s not like it ever gets all that cold here, but I thought some comfort food might be nice.”
“Oh. No, that’s okay.” As soon as my words are out, his shoulders slump. “Shoot. That was rude, sorry. I do like stew. Who doesn’t like meat and potatoes, right? But that’s the dinner you made for yourself, so it’s all right. I’ll come back and make myself something when you’re done.” And that’s code for, I don’t want to salivate or have my stomach embarrass me any further, nor do I want you to know I was going to eat a lame sandwich for dinner, so I’ll be going now.
“How do you know there’s meat in this stew?” He doesn’t look away from his task of… Oh my heavens, that’s garlic bread he’s taking out of the oven and setting down on the trivet. Tossing the towel he used back over his shoulder, he eyes me curiously.
I swallow down the lust I’m currently experiencing over this bread, butter, and garlic. “Um, it smells like it?” That shouldn’t be a question, and yet…
“Your nose is right.” He casually serves out the stew into two bowls that had already been sitting next to the stove. “Table or island?” With his focus on sprinkling chopped parsley over the food, I stand motionless, mouth agape, taking in the scene in front of me and trying to make sense of what he’s saying. I guess we’re having dinnertogether. “If you don’t mind grabbing us some spoons, I’m happy to eat wherever.”
For some reason, that gets my feet moving, though my mouth is still proving to be quite useless. I grab a soup spoon for him and a dessert spoon for myself. Big spoons are so awkward to eat with.
Something about that thought makes me clear my throat. “Table, if that’s okay?” I look over to the kitchen table, noting a pile of napkins already on it. I place two underneath our spoons so we end up sitting across from one another. “Can I get you a drink?” Might as well make myself useful. I hate watching other people work.
“Ice water would be amazing, please.” His eyes meet mine briefly before I walk to the open shelves where he has matching sets of minimalist glasses next to the plates and bowls. I let the falling ice and dispenser drown out my thoughts as I pour us both full glasses.
He’s already at the table, the garlic bread cut and displayed on the wooden cutting board, and the smell of stew making my stomach rumble again.
“You really didn’t have to do this, Arthur.” I sit, reluctantly, and he stands, jogging to the silverware drawer.
As soon as he sits back down, he holds his new spoon up. “I like the little spoons, too. Honestly, the big ones are just plain awkward to eat with.” He sighs, like this is a serious concern for him, like he didn’t reveal we share a quirk I don’t think I’ve ever shared with anyone. “All right, let’s dig in!” With a bright smile, my roommate renders me speechless yet again.
THIRTEEN
we’re not going to get married because of stew
Arthur
Alice is looking at me like I sprouted a second head. I purposely ignored her attempts to make this a big deal. It isn’t. So I take a bite and let her sit with her thoughts for another minute before I address her discomfort with something as simple as making her a meal.
“It’s not a big deal. We’re roommates, I was already making stew, and I always make too much. I’m the oldest of six kids. I’ve been cooking full meals since I was like ten. I promise you, this is nothing.” And I might have been looking for an excuse to get her to sit with me since she avoided me all day and didn’t show for the meeting we were supposed to have. She emailed me to say she had to make some calls and couldn’t make it.
“It’s something to me,” she responds quietly, a wince following her words. “I haven’t ever had a roommate willingly share, well, anything, really.” Her shrug is quick and dismissive, and her reaction to something as small aswanting to share a meal with her stirs something in my chest.
