My throat suddenly goes dry. I nod and all but run to the living room, grabbing the menu with trembling hands. I spend way too long agonizing over what would be the right thing to get for him. I wonder if he eats steak.Duh, Ivory. What man doesn’t like steak?What about salad?
Not wanting to seem too presumptuous, I order two of the chef’s specials and a bottle of sparkling water, hoping that sounds manly enough.
While we wait, I sit on the edge of the sofa, fidgeting with the hem of my sleeve. Hudson stands near the window, arms crossed, looking out over the city. He doesn’t speak, and I don’t attempt to make small talk, not even knowing what I would say.I wonder what he thinks of me.My leg bounces, and I keep biting the inside of my cheek to give my nerves somewhere to go.
Does he pity me, or does he just see another spoiled kid trapped in a glass box?
After what seems like forever, our food finally arrives on a silver cart, and I’m grateful for something to do. I set the plates at the big table, feeling ridiculous as the white linen and crystal glasses swallow our little dinner. Hudson takes a seat across from me, filling the end of the table with his presence.
I attempt to break the silence by trying my hand at small talk. “So, um… have you been doing this a long time?”
He barely glances up. “You could say that.”
“Oh…okay. Do you like it?”
He shrugs. “It’s a job.”
I nod, feeling the conversation start to die a slow death. I poke at my food, trying again. “Where are you from?”
He sighs, then sets down his fork. “Look, maybe it’s best if we don’t nose into each other’s personal shit. Client-employee, alright?”
The words sting more than I expect them to. I force a smile, nodding quickly. “Of course. I’m sorry.”
He picks up his fork again, and I stare at the tablecloth, wishing I could be anywhere but here. I wonder what it would be like to have a real conversation with someone and not feel so invisible in my own life.
Silence continues to stretch between us, broken only by the distant hum of city noise beyond the glass. The table feels even bigger with someone sitting across from me…bigger and emptier at the same time.
I happen to glance up and find him watching me, and instantly avert my eyes. I wish I knew what he was thinking. Or maybe I don’t want to. He eats with quiet efficiency, not making a sound, every movement precise. Every so often, his eyes flick toward the door, the windows, as if danger might crawl out from behind the curtains at any moment. I almost envy that certainty, the way he takes up space without apology, never given limits to what he could and couldn’t claim.
I must be a glutton for punishment, but I decide to give the whole conversation thing another try, unable to help myself. “Is there anything you want to do while you’re here? I mean, besides work.”
Hudson’s mouth twitches, and it’s almost a half-smile, or just a tic. “I’ll be wherever you are. That’s the job.” His rough voice sounds final, and he never makes eye contact.
I nod, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. My face is warm.Why do I always sound so ridiculous?If I had the balls, I’d ask him something real. I’d ask him what he saw when he looked at me; if I looked like a child, or a burden.
I wonder if he notices how I barely eat, or how I keep folding and unfolding my napkin, buying time. I glance up again, and this time he’s not looking at me, but out the window, jaw clenched like he’s chewing on something sour.
I want to tell him about my grandmother, or my old dog, or the way my father’s voice echoes in my head long after he’s left the room. But I don’t. I stay quiet, chew, swallow, and pretend I’m not so pathetically eager for anyone’s approval.
The meal ends with a clatter of silverware. I stand, collecting plates, needing something to keep my hands busy. My hands shake so hard I almost drop a fork. I hate how obvious my nervous energy is right now.
He surprises me by standing too, moving so quietly the chair barely scrapes across the floor. “You don’t have to clean up.”
“I know.” My voice is thin. “But I like things to be neat.”
He hesitates, running a hand through his short dark hair. “Okay,” he says before stepping aside to let me stack the plates and set them by the door for room service to collect. For a moment, I feel his gaze on the back of my neck, and it makes goose bumps trail down my arms.I wonder if he thinks I’m being ridiculous. Or if he understands why I’m the way that I am.
He moves to the living room, scanning the space like he has every other nook and cranny in this place. I hang back in the dining area, staring at the empty table. I think about how he said we shouldn’t ask personal questions. I wonder if that means he doesn’t want to know me, or if he’s scared of what he might find out if he does.
Eventually, I turn off the lights and walk toward the hallway. He follows, of course, his footsteps quiet against the thick carpet.
“I’ll do a sweep before bed,” he says, keeping his voice low. “Lock up behind me, okay?” I nod, not trusting myself to say another word.
Watching as he disappears down the hall, I noticed how unhurried and silent he moves. I listen to the doors open and close, the faint jangle of keys. I imagine a life where this isn’t normal; a life where I don’t need protecting, where men like Hudson aren’t forced to orbit my world at arm’s length.
When he returns, I’m waiting at my bedroom door, twisting the ring on my finger.
“All clear,” he advises. “You get some rest. I’ll be right down the hall.”
