“Yup.”
“And you’ve already been to Tosh and Mac’s only to discover they’re away.”
“Yes, but only because they both live closer to the airport,” I say, giving him a bright smile while gently tilting his latte side-to-side in what I hope will be a very enticing way.
Scowling, he says, “I’m not big on houseguests.”
“I figured as much based on that time I rode in your car. But I promise I’ll be a very neat and tidy guest. You’ll hardly notice I’m here.”
He sighs and steps aside to let me in.
Yes!
* * *
Or no.
Because that’s the word I’ve heard most in the last ten minutes, as in, “No leaving your clothes on the floor, no lying all over the top of the bedspread. Just get into bed when the time comes and make it as soon as you get up. No sleeping in the nude unless you want to replace the sheets.”
“Okaaay,” I say, peeking my head into the stark spare bedroom which has only a bed with all-white bedding, and a single nightstand (white, obviously) with a small old-fashioned alarm clock ticking away on top of it.
“No eating unless you’re in the kitchen—and I mean it. Not in the living room, not the bathroom—”
“Gross. Why would I eat in the bathroom?”
“Why would you have that disgusting beard?”
“Arabella likes it.”
“That’s because she’s probably not educated on what lives in beards. Now, can we continue? Because we’re only a third of the way through my house rules and I really must get to the office.”
“Sorry, go on.”
“No eating in the bedroom.”
“Obviously.”
We walk down the hall, and he points to his bedroom. “Off limits.”
“Why? Is that where you keep the bodies?”
“You’re welcome to stay somewhere else, you know,” he says, turning around and taking me back to the living room/kitchen combination where the waft of bleach hits my nostrils again. “No answering the phone, especially if my mother calls.”
“Are you avoiding her?”
“No, but I’m pretty sure she thinks I’m gay, and having a man living here would only confirm her suspicions.”
“Really?”
“She grew up in a small village. The only tidy man she knew was also the only gay man in town.”
“Does it really matter if she thinks you’re gay?” I ask.
“Yes, because she keeps trying to set me up with other men which is not only awkward, it’s unfair to them when they find out the truth.”
“I see. So, no answering the phone and pretending we’re snuggled up having a lazy Sunday lie-in.”
Dwight gives me a deadpan expression. “There are plenty of Airbnbs in town.”
