Except I don’t know how.
I don’t know what to say, or how to even begin to get to know him. Which is ironic, considering I’m one of the most outgoing, friendly people I know. Putting people at ease is like a special talent of mine, be it a frightened mom desperately waiting for us to rescue her five-year-old son from the tree he somehow climbed to the top of, or a group of drunk, panicked college kids stuck in a broken elevator on campus. Chatting it up and making people relax, and even laugh, comes easily to me. But the one time I could really use those skills, I’m coming up blank.
And, fuck, if that ain’t frustrating.
It dawns on me as I turn onto my street that the one thing I didn’t do in all my preparation was get groceries. Both the fridge and pantry are damn near bare, and I don’t know if I’ll have time to make it to the store today with all we have going on.That’s fucking great.
“Do you like pizza?” I ask Lukas as I pull into the driveway.
He looks at me like I’ve grown a second set of arms and chuckles. “Yeah. What kid doesn’t like pizza?”
“Hey, you never know.” Laughter bubbles out of me as I turn off the ignition. “Figured we could order some pizzas for lunch after we’ve done some painting. What do you think?”
“I’ll never turn down free pizza,” he says. Then, averting his gaze, he adds, “Th-thanks for doin’ this. All of this.”
Nudging him with my elbow after I unlock the front door, I say, “It’s no trouble, bud.”
Lukas shrugs, still not meeting my gaze. “Yeah, but you could’ve just given me a room with a bed in it and called it good. It’s really nice of you to let me paint and stuff.”
My chest warms. “I’m happy to do it,” I tell him honestly. “And besides, like I told your grandma, I want you to feel comfortable and at home here.”
He finally lifts his gaze, looking me in the eye. “Well, thank you.”
After I give Lukas a quick house tour, we bring in the paint and supplies, setting them in the room that’s now his.
“Ever painted a room before?” I ask while pouring half a can into one of the pans.
Lukas shakes his head. “Nope, never. My parents painted my room when I was younger, but they wouldn’t let me help.”
Chuckling, I say, “Probably for the best. Little kids and paint sound like a recipe for disaster to me.”
“What about you?” he asks.
“Oh yeah.” I nod. “Plenty of times. Hell, when I moved in here, I had to touch up the paint in damn near every room. Truth be told, I kinda like it.”
“You do? Why?”
I shrug. “It’s a methodical task, and I don’t know…relaxing, I guess.”
“I’ll let you know if I agree when we finish.”
Once I give Lukas a mini lesson on painting the walls, we get to it. Unlike in the truck, I turn on some music, which does wonders at easing some of the tension. Thankfully, I prepped the room last night, and I’m glad I did because it cuts out at least an hour of work. As the morning turns into afternoon, Lukas seems to be loosening up little by little, and by the time we break for lunch, the conversation comes more naturally.
“What’s your favorite subject in school?” I ask as we take the pizza box and a couple of sodas into the living room.
He thinks for a moment. “Probably science.”
“That was my worst subject when I was still in high school.” I chuckle. “What do you love the most about it?”
“I don’t know.” He shrugs. “I guess because I like knowing why things are the way they are. Makes the world feel less…random.”
“That’s fair. What about your least favorite?”
The response is quick. “English.”
Chuckling, I say, “Also fair.”
Lukas glances my way before quickly shifting his gaze to his lap. “Hey, can I ask you something?”
