“O-oh. Hey,” I say, quickly brushing away the tears off my face and placing the cat gently on the ground.
“Are you okay?” he asks, and his face looks so sincere. His hair is messy. Really messy. I don’t want to think about what that might mean.
Right now, with me being this emotional, I just want to think about anything else that does not concern Lincoln.
“Um, y-yeah. All good.”
Lincoln just stares at me with a curious expression, but Morris breaks the spell when he goes to greet him.
Walking toward the kitchen, I start to tell Lincoln about my day and some of the chores I did for him that he didn’t ask me to do, hoping he won’t get mad. I organized his den.
“Thank you,” he says, taking off his shoes and stepping in, still holding his cat.
“How was your day?” I ask more out of habit, but I genuinely want to know. When he just looks at me standing there, I shake my head. “Sorry.”
“No… I… my day was busy,” he replies, stilted.
Why does everything between us feel so awkward? There’s a big part of me that still wants to hate him.
“I made some dinner and I… figured you’d be hungry when you got back. Or maybe not, but… if you want… there you go. It’s up to you. There’re leftovers anyway. I didn’t want to waste the food.”
“You still make too much food,” he chuckles, looking at me.
“Yeah well…” I shrug. “Old habit, I guess.”
“Did you do that when you lived alone? I mean after we got divorced?”
“Actually yeah I did. Means I didn’t have to cook everyday. Kind of refreshing.”
“Well you didn’t have to cook everyday with me either.”
“Yeah but I had to cook way more often. You ate through the leftovers like crazy.”
As Lincoln sits at the table, unbuttoning the top three buttons of his shirt, he puts his phone down right next to him, petting Morris who’s at the foot of his chair. “I’m really sorry that I made you work so hard.”
His voice is so soft and so genuine. Still has that deep, intense tone to it but… I don’t know. There’s just something about him.
“Why is your hair so messy?” I ask him as I give him the warmed-up food.
“Oh, um… it is?”
See, that right there. That’s the kind of shit that makes me regret even doing this. I know I’m not going to like the answer, so why do I keep asking?
“None of my business.”
When he says nothing else, that pretty much confirms what I think. I swallow a lump in my throat, then hold up the cat and kiss his nose.
“Alright Morris I’m going to see you… when? Monday?” I ask.
“You sure you don’t want to stay?”
“I still have my apartment so I might as well use it. And I mean with the money you’re going to be paying me I can… you know… live there,” I say, not really meaning it.
I don’t want to stay in my apartment. I want to live in this house and not have to worry about rent. Because that way I could save up my money at least, but I also don’t want to look needy either.
“I mean you could save up for an actual house.”
What the hell. How did he know I was thinking that?
