I back away from the island slowly, like I'm trying to escape some kind of wild animal. “Thanks for the company, though! Good night!”
I turn and bolt from the kitchen, hating myself for being such a coward. Once I'm safely inside my room, I lean against the closed door, my heart pounding in my chest. Martin’s footsteps fade down the hall followed by the soft click of his bedroom door. The house goes silent again.
I realize I’m still clutching my empty milk glass in my hand.Smooth, Greenwood.I roll my eyes and set it down on the nightstand, my fingers shaking slightly.Fuck, I really am a sad sack.
I collapse onto my bed, burying my face in my pillow. Sleep seems even more impossible now.
Goddammit. I am well and truly fucked.
Over breakfast the next morning we both act as if whatever happened between us in the kitchen last night was some kind ofdream, studiously ignoring it, even though it's constantly on my mind.
Over the next few weeks, we fall into a comfortable rhythm. I usually work from the Greenwood Energy offices three or four days a week, while Martin works from my home office, laying the groundwork for the shelter and job training center I want to build for LGBT young people.
We usually eat dinner together, and then we almost always take a walk on Moonlight Beach.
He's easy to live with, and the truth is, Ilovenot coming home to an empty house every night after work.
I noticed after the first few days that he always gets distracted before he can finish his second cup of coffee, inevitably leaving his half-full mug in random places around the house. It's turned into a game between us, with Martin finding ever more ridiculous places to stash his half-empty mug for me to find when I get home. I've discovered it everywhere from the fruit bowl on the kitchen table to tucked inside the mailbox. It makes me laugh every day.
A few days later, I arrive home after a particularly long, hot day spent at a job site in the east part of the county. We're in the middle of a relatively rare heat wave in SoCal, and the temperature this afternoon had soared to over 100 degrees while I was stuck outside helping the contractor solve a thorny solar panel installation issue. Normally the first thing I do when I arrive home is seek out Martin to check in, but right now I'm so uncomfortable, a shower is my top priority.
"Hey, Martin, I'm a disgusting, sweaty mess, so I'm heading straight up to shower," I call, eager to wash off the frustrating afternoon.
After peeling off my clothes, I step under the water with my eyes closed, focusing on how good the cool water feels on my overheated skin. Opening my eyes a moment later, I'm greetedby the sight of his coffee cup, a non-breakable version for today, perched neatly on my soap dish.
My bark of laughter echoes through the bathroom, and somehow it makes my long, hot, miserable afternoon into something funny as opposed to something irritating.
After my shower, I find him in the office.
"You outdid yourself today," I grin, presenting him with the cup.
His warm laugh wraps around my heart, squeezing it in a way I don't want to acknowledge. "Ah, you found it already? I was hoping it'd take you longer."
You know," I say, leaning my hip against his desk, "normal people just finish their coffee."
He swivels in his chair, eyes twinkling with mischief as he beams up at me. "Well, where's the fun in that, Jess?"
I roll my eyes, but I can't keep the smile off my face. It's these silly, funny moments that make me realize how much I've missed laughing. Even before my divorce, life with Andrew hadn't exactly been overflowing with joy, and these few weeks with Martin have showed me what I'd been missing without even realizing it.
"Just wait," Martin says, waggling his eyebrows. "Tomorrow's spot will blow your mind."
"Can't wait," I grin at him, already looking forward to it.
Chapter 3
Martin
Living with Jesse has worked out amazingly well; far better than I could have predicted. We've settled into a routine that's already familiar and comforting. It’s an odd combination of domestic bliss and torture.
Every morning I wake to the smell of coffee and the sound of Jesse humming as he putters around in the kitchen. I shuffle downstairs, bleary-eyed, where I find him flipping pancakes or scrambling eggs, all bed head and soft eyes. And every damn morning my heart flips in my chest when I set eyes on him.
He always greets me with a cheerful “Top o’ the mornin’ to ya,” and I snort at his ridiculously bad Irish accent. Then he hands me my coffee, perfectly fixed with the exact right amount of cream and sugar. I look forward to our mornings almost as much as our evening walks on Moonlight Beach.
The days he works from home, we share his small office, and on those days, I’ll be damned if I can get anything done. I catch myself staring at the curve of his neck as he bends over his laptopor the way his hands move as he talks animatedly about the shelter plans.
It’s maddening, this constant state of want. I’m too old for this shite. But in a strange way, it’s also exciting. I feel like a kid with a crush; it’s like being young again.
On our evening beach walks, Jesse and I cover every topic under the sun, from politics and history to books and movies. One night, as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink, he surprised me with an out of the blue thought. “You know, I always thought Darth Vader was misunderstood.”
