Yay! I’ve successfully diffused the situation. Gold star, Casie!
Sensing the crisis has passed, I relax a little.
“If he touches you again, I’m going to break every bone in his body,” he whispers, so softly I can barely hear. His hot breath is on my neck, his nose brushing against the shell of my ear. The goosebumps that appear have nothing to do with the situation and everything to do with the man.
Clearing my throat and trying to find solid ground, I ask “Do you still need help finding a book appropriate for Calida?”
He smiles at me, before planting a kiss on my cheek. He steps away and begins to go through the books in front of him. He easily finds something about animals and human relationships that should satisfy Calida’s request for a story.
Which is how I end up in clean pajamas (yes, he didmy laundry and even put it away), trying to focus on my story, while he reads out loud to Calida from the couch.
Beingherroommate has proven to be more of a challenge. Kind of like a puppy, she insists on being let in and out multiple times a day. She is always up for snackies and I have caught Flint singing the cheese tax song in the kitchen to her on more than one occasion, although her favorite form of cheese is currently pizza. She does tend to snuggle with Flint on the couch in the evenings, but come bed time, she is in bed with me, hogging the blankets.
Flint has been – frustratingly – a perfect gentleman, other than the volatile situation with Brett. Any other man I’ve met in my life would be pressing our living situation to his advantage. Flint has been nothing like that. He asks how my day was, even if we were working together for most of it. He makes my meals, does my laundry. He has tried marketing, but the store overwhelms him, so that has become my go to task.
He’s so considerate I don’t know what to do with myself. It’s not just the housework. He praises my dedication to my writing and scolds Calida for interrupting that time. Helistenswhen I talk. When my writing is done for the day, we often spend the rest of the evening watching TV and enjoying each other’s company. I guess I can’t even say we’re watching TV. A lot of the time, we’re curled up on the couch, legs or arms brushing, reading together. And this manreads.
I thought I was a voracious reader but Flint puts me to shame. I’ve never seen anyone read as much as he does. After noting what he reads, there doesn’t seem to be a preference for genre and subject matter.He just reads anything he can get his hands on. It’s amazing to see.
I shake my head, struggling to focus on what I’m supposed to be doing. The words aren’t coming tonight and it’s the worst feeling in the world. All I’ve done for most of the evening is write and then delete. Wash and repeat.
I sigh and shut my laptop. I’m not actually accomplishing anything sitting here and, honestly, my body is starting to hurt.
Flint looks up from the story he’s reading immediately. “What’s wrong?”
I shake my head. “Just not a good day for writing and I’m starting to get sore from sitting too long. I know better.”
He continues to study me. “Want to run to the gym with me?”
Flint has discovered that there’s a gym only a block away and has been spending some of his free time there, often before I’m even conscious for the day. He’s been encouraging me to go with him, but so far, I’ve been able to avoid doing so. I’d much rather spend those extra minutes sleeping rather than trudging out into the wild to not only face people that early, but also to sweat. Ew. No. I’ll continue to do my yoga at home when I remember, thanks.
“That’s a no.”
“You’d enjoy it. Getting up and moving around would help your soreness.”
“So would a glass of wine and a hot bath.”
“…okay.”
“Okay, what?”
He’s already heading into the bathroom and amoment later, I hear the distinct sound of water hitting the porcelain.
Dumbfounded, I watch him as he goes into the kitchen. A moment later, he is walking back into the bathroom, my favorite wine glass in his hand.
Coming back out, he catches the look on my face.
“What?”
“What are you doing?”
He looks confused. “What do you mean?”
I gesture to the bathroom door with my hand.
“Oh. Did you not actually want a bath and a glass of wine?”
“I mean, yeah, I do. But I could have done that myself.”
