I burst out laughing. “That’s very true.”
“I’ve also sort ofgot showering down to a science. What with taking several a day.”
“Huh.” I grabbed plates and serving utensils. “That doesn’t dry out your skin?”
“I use a good moisturizer. But I don’t have dry skin.”
“Lucky.” I gestured to my arms. “I’ll put some cream on before I go to bed. Just the way it is for me.”
He offered a sympathetic smile. “One of my clients has eczema. That looks so painful. She’s tried pills, creams, potions, and nothing works.”
“That would be awful.” I offered him a plate. “Guests always serve themselves first.”
“Thank you.” This time, the smile was a little shy. “You’re always so generous.”
For a moment, I hesitated.
“You held my hand on the plane, you offered me a place to stay, I’m certain you’ll help me with Demetrius—” He cut himself off. Then bit his lower lip. The gesture felt incongruous…but also right. His always-present nerves were just below the surface.
“I’ll be here to hold your hand again.” I handed him a fork. “Food first. Unless your stomach is too upset.”
“No, not upset. But yes, scared.” He forked shrimp egg foo yung, sweet and sour pork, beef broccoli, and vegetable chow mein. He licked his lips.
I grinned. “Table or living room in front of the television?”
“Well, television is less personal, right? Like we don’t have to talk?”
“We can sit at the kitchen table and not talk.”
“But we could talk.”
“Of course.” I heaped food onto my plate—although not as much as he had—and headed to the kitchen table.
This room had windows on all three sides, and the western setting sun flooded the room with light.
“It’s so cozy.”
“The morning light through the eastern window is amazing. I have a little office upstairs, and it faces east. Sometimes I see a stunning sunrise, and I run out and take a photo or two.” The egg foo yung’s temperature wasn’t as high as I liked. “Do you want me to heat up your food?”
He offered a sheepish grin. “Uh, yeah.”
I rose, grabbed our plates, and headed to the microwave. “Andre, you have to tell me what you want. What you need. I can be good at anticipating some things—but not everything. I want to be a good host—and possibly a friend—but I need help.”I didn’t with Marty because I knew him so well. And because his pup nature gave him permission to speak his mind.Andre, though? I needed time.
He cleared his throat. “I’ll try, okay? I promise to try. I’m…not used to being honest with people. I tell them what they want to hear. To do with me, anyway. I can help them with fitness goals and techniques—but I can’t tell them if my feelings are hurt or if I’m having a bad day.”
My heart ached for him. “Well, that’s not true with me, okay? You have to promise to do your best with me. I’m not going to judge, okay? Like not ever.”
“You say that now—”
I shook my head. “Look, my husband was a pup. I was a Daddy. I deal with all kinds of people through my work. Some have…different lifestyles. It’s not for me to say whether what they’re doing is right or wrong. Just to support and to help.”
“That feels…too easy.” He rubbed his face.
I put our plates back on the table. “It’s as simple or complex as you want to make it.” Again, I extended my hand.
Again, he grasped it.
“I’m sorry you’ve had a rough go. My parents’ rejection didn’t come out of nowhere. We knew Marty was dying. I’ve had time to prepare for the crap in my life. And there’s been more good than bad. I get the feeling it hasn’t been that way for you.”
