Well. If he wants to get technical. “The cushions have been disinfected and are drying in the sun,” I tell him. “Eat your food.”
“Do I have a place to dry cushions in the sun?”
“You have a slab of concrete outside the back door. Eat or I’m going to take that ramen and eat it myself. I’m hungry.”
“Help yourself to anything,” Roman says. Seating himself at the table, he slouches low in the wooden chair.
“I might,” I say. I watch with satisfaction as he begins his bowl of noodles, slowly at first and then with more enthusiasm. He’s probably starving.
It takes him all of two minutes to finish, and he drinks the broth, too. After that he leans back in his chair and sighs, a long, content sound. Then he looks at me.
“You really should head home,” he says tiredly. “I appreciate all this. But you’re going to get sick if you stay too long.”
He’s right. I round the kitchen counter. “I just wanted to make sure you got something to eat.”
He gives me a slow nod in return, something curious in his expression. “Part of your fifty-dollars-an-hour services? Or is it pity for the man child who can barely keep himself fed?”
“Neither,” I say lightly, because despite his casual voice, Roman’s question is rooted deeper, laced with a faint bitterness. “This is purely self-serving. I was worried you had perfect hair all the time, and now I get to report to my sisters that you don’t. You’re human, just like the rest of us.”
The shadow over his features eases, and although he doesn’t smile, something bright flashes in his eyes. “There’s nothing that can be done about my immaculate face, unfortunately. I’m handsome always.”
“I think that’s probably true,” I say.
“Glad you’re finally admitting it. You were in denial there for a while.”
“Keep drinking water,” I say firmly, because whether I find him attractive is not up for discussion. “You need to stay hydrated.”
I receive another nod, the slow dip of his chin as his gaze stays locked with mine.
“I’ll see you on Friday, then,” I say when he remains simply watchful. “Feel better soon.”
It’s only when I’ve reached the living room that he calls his thanks—hoarse but clearly genuine, and a smile blooms over my lips.
The next day when I get home from work, a gift bag is sitting on my front porch; folded inside is the cardigan I wore to Roman’s, the one I didn’t even realize I’d forgotten. I lift it to my nose and inhale; the fresh scent of detergent and dryer sheets finds me.
He washed it. Another smile tries to grow, just like the one that appeared when he thanked me yesterday. Instead of going inside to change out of my work clothes, I remain on the front porch, basking in the sun, and I let that smile have free rein. It’s a nonsensical expression, but I can’t stop it.
It really is a beautiful day outside.
AURORA
Me
Good news: Tyler got a job doing lawns two or three days a week! He texted me this morning. He’s still hunting for other work too, but he’s going to send me part of his paycheck every time he gets paid.
Jules
woohoo!!!!
India
Do you trust him to actually give you the money?
Me
Not totally, but I can’t do anything else, so…
India
