He shrugs. “It’s bound to draw some attention.”
“Right.” I nod. “What kind of outings?”
“Like . . . dates?”
“Dates,” I repeat solemnly. Ihaven’t been on a real date in a while. Everything with Philip was very secretive—nothing public at all. His parents definitely wouldn’t have approved of their future politician son dating an unemployed college dropout, and my confidence was too shaky at the time to protest.
Theo jerks his chin toward the notebook. “How ’bout this? You make a list of the things you need help with around here, and then we’ll fill in my part second.”
I tap my pen against the blank page. There’s so much that needs to be done, but safety-related tasks are the priority.
First, I write,fix bathroom pipes.
Theo leans forward to read it. “But we just got that done.”
“I still owe you something for it.”
A muscle ticks in his jaw. “That’s not why I did it or why I’m offering to help.” He blows out a sharp breath. “I can’t deny that I’m getting something out of it if we follow this arrangement. But I’m willing to do whatever it takes to know you’re safe here. Write as many things down as you can. It could be five house tasks for every one date, I don’t care.”
His eyes pin me in place. Unyielding. Itry not to let that statement—whatever it takes to know you’re safe—weave its way into my heart.
I reach for my tea and take a sip, then I hold his gaze with matching resolve. “This has to be a fair exchange of services. Acontract. A business arrangement. That’s the only way I’ll do it.”
After a few quiet moments, he dips his chin once, conceding.
Down the left side of the page, I continue the list: insulation, stairs, railing, bedroom drywall, paint hallway.
When I run out of things to write, I hand him the notebook. “How’s this look?”
His gaze slips over the list. “Great. Ican help with all of that.”
I pull the notebook back. “Then let’s make a list of a few things I can do for you.”
He hums, thinking. “The adopt-a-thon is next month. You could come with me to that.” I write it down. “And we could go house-hunting together if you want?”
“With Cathy?”
“Only choice, really.”
“Fuck’s sake, Cathy,” I murmur, and he chuckles as I add that to the list.
He takes a sip of tea, then asks, “How about a dinner at Maddox’s, for practice? He invited me over this weekend.”
I chew on my bottom lip while I consider it. Practicing sounds smart for two people who’ve barely spoken to each other for years. “All right.” I count both sides of the list. “We’re still three short for you.”
“We could leave those as bonus events—dealer’s choice.”
I give him a skeptical look. “Who’s the dealer here?”
“Open-ended events thateither of uscan claim.” There’s a playful glint in his eye.
“As long as they follow the plot,” I amend, adding threefree spacespots to the list.
“Yes, ma’am.”
As I read over the page again, one question looms at the front of my mind. “Are you sure you don’t want to find a real girlfriend instead? It seems like it would be a lot easier.” I shrug. “Less manual labor at least.”
His gaze flickers to the window, and he’s quiet for so long that I think he might not answer. Then he says, “I don’t do real relationships, Fabes. Idon’t trust myself in them. No-strings situations have worked out fine in the past, but beyond that...” His focus shifts, trailing over my face. “People have gotten hurt around me before. Ican’t let it happen again.”
