Ashley wasn’t sure when I told her I was giving working for him another go. She said I should make him grovel until his knees bleed. But I don’t need fancy displays of him pouring his heart out to me.
I just want his honesty.
And the wild look in his eyes as he threw the contents of his desk off so he could help me when I hurt myself told me a lot more than extravagant gifts could.
He cares.
He even sucked my wound without a thought, getting my blood in his mouth. But seeing the edge of despair that was entwined with his actions pained me a billion times more than any cut could.
He was scared.
The way he yelled for the ambulance… I hate that something about that situation stirred up memories for him. Memories of people getting hurt. Memories of not having control.
I drop my attention back to the bouquet, smiling as I search through the petals, discovering note after note of beautiful, classical tunes.
This is Sullivan’s way of sharing a part of himself with me without actually needing to speak.
Maybe he finds words hard.
But these roses are something I am more than willing to listen to.
“You got a new sofa?” I say to Molly as I hold her hand and walk inside their home the following evening.
Last night I played with her while Sullivan worked. After, he made dinner for the three of us. That in itself was a surprise. But then I saw he made lasagna, one of my favorite dishes, which I’m sure I told Molly about once while he was busy working across the room.
Joan is back at work now. But Sullivan asked if I minded if he gave her the afternoons off when I’m helping with Molly. He said he likes that Molly gets to learn how to cook with me. Although last night it was him showing her how to layer the pasta sheets and spreading the sauce in-between.
I just got to sit and enjoy watching them.
My eyes slide over the new giant gray sectional sofa. Something else new. Yesterday it was a sculpture of a musical cleft, occupying the space on the table where the broken vase usedto be. Today it’s a new sofa, even though their last one looked like new.
Molly runs over to the new sofa and climbs onto it.
“Did you feel like a change?” I ask Sullivan as he walks in behind us both, loosening his tie and undoing the top button of his shirt.
He swallows, making the five o’clock shadow dusting his throat move against his collar.
“The old one was itchy.”
I frown. His old sofa was beautiful. And comfy.
“But it was velvet.”
He shrugs. “I didn’t like it.”
Pulling something from his pocket, he walks over to me.
“Memorize this number, then throw this away.” He hands me a piece of paper with eight digits on it.
“What is it?”
“The alarm code. Now, come over here.”
He’s walked over to the security panel and is tapping something into it.
“Tate?” He looks back at me, hitching a brow.
I move to join him. “I don’t understand.”
