“Are you?” She puts the phone on my palm.
Good girl.“Am I what?”
“An adult.”
She’s cute. “I’m twenty-six.”
Chapter 4
He’s twenty-six
Dina
Twenty-six seems like forever ago for me, so I don’t comment on his age. Or mine.
“That’s good to know,” I say.
“Is it?” His smile turns into a sexy smirk.
Oh please. I walk into my kitchen and open the freezer, grab a bag of peas and carrots, and toss them to him. “Have a seat while I think on my terms. That’s all the ice I have.”
He wobbles to the couch and shrugs off his bag, then sits down with a pain-filled grunt. I grab another frozen vegetable pack and pull up the coffee table closer to him. “You can put your leg up here, and here’s one more bag.”
He tugs up his pants, revealing an ankle the size of my calf muscle. “Oh no,” I say.
“Echo,” he answers and ices the ankle.
“Echo?”
“You said, ‘Oh no.’ I echo your sentiment.”
Ah. Must be some sort of generational joke. While he stares at his leg, I watch him. I bet he cleans up nicely. “You have an accent,” I say.
“No, I don’t.”
Yes, he does. He’s not from around here. “Are you an expat?”
“No.”
“Are you on vacation?”
“A temporary job that’s now done.”
“You are an expat.” I sigh.
“An expat lives here for a period of time. I don’t and I never will.”
I lean back. “Why not?”
“You don’t want to know.”
“I really do.”
“No you don’t.”
I fetch him some clean towels so he stops wiping his face with his dirty shirt.
“Thanks,” he says.
