Page 17 of Chivalry is Not Dead

“It does. Mostly when your emotions are incredibly strong. I have learned I can almost… retract my thread so it is not as connected. To give you time to get used to it.” He pauses, his eyes meeting mine. Bright blue with flecks of navy—they remind me of an aerial view of the ocean, shadows of fish swimming around. “You said I would catch on to your phrases eventually, but I do not have time for that, do I?”

It’s a rhetorical question. He does not and we both know it.

“Should we add ‘Learn some common phrases’ to the list?” I suggest, beginning to walk down the cereal aisle again—my attempt at lightening the mood.

He nods, still a bit solemn. “Yes, that is a good idea. I would also like to be on your television box.”

My eyebrows shoot so far up my forehead that my glasses fall down my nose. “You want to be on TV?”

“Mmhmm. I do not understand how those can be real people inside the box. I want to try.”

“Right… that might be a bit complicated.” That pang of his sadness hits me again. “But I’m sure we can figure it out,” I quickly add.

Sanders takes hold of my hand, spinning me toward him. “You are amazing, Penelope Graves. I am glad to know you.”

I want to kiss him. I want to do more than that, if I’m being honest.

When we get home, we write everything he wants to do down on a Post-it note. In the morning I see he’s added something else to the bottom.

Kiss Penelope Graves.

10

Never did I imagine what it would be like, simultaneously feeling the strength and weakness of Achilles. Now I know.

We start with the easy ones on the list. Obviously Sanders’ love of cereal takes precedence. He tries several different combinations of cereal with chocolate milk, regular milk, and almond milk. I teach Sanders what a bracket is and we make one to determine the winner of what we are calling the Cereal Wars.

We don’t talk about that last item on our Post-it note list.

However, I think Sanders takes notice of the fact that I didn’t cross it off, and he starts to get a little more comfortable with physical touch again, always asking for permission first.

It starts with holding hands while we watch Monty Python and the Holy Grail. Sanders is offended by the inaccuracies but can’t stop watching. He asks me to explain several more times how the people get into the TV. I’m afraid to show him a cartoon—who knows how he’d take seeing animated objects that can talk.

After holding hands, he eases into good night and good morning hugs. My head fits right under his, and I can tell he enjoys resting his chin on top of my mop of waves. During our twice daily hugs, I teach him a new phrase. His favorite is “piece of cake.” Everything is now a piece of cake.

Can you take out the trash? Piece of cake.

Will you pass me the remote? Piece of cake.

Carrying all of my dress forms back and forth between home and the shop? You guessed it: A piece of cake.

A week after that, we cuddle again.

It happens by accident.

At least, that’s what I tell Sanders. It is, in fact, not an accident that I wait until he is asleep before positioning the pillows that have stood between us into a haphazard “Oh, I must have slept crazy and kicked the pillows” way. And then, I scoot closer to him and fall asleep. When we wake up in the morning, we are a tangle of limbs.

I’m not proud of it, but a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.

And what I needed to do was be pressed up against Sanders’ perfectly sculpted body.

I can tell the moment he wakes up because his entire body stiffens. “I can move if you want me to,” he sleepily mumbles into my ear.

“I don’t,” I reply, and he immediately relaxes, pulling me closer into him. “I should probably brush my teeth.”

“Stay,” he says. “I do not care about the tooth cleaner.”

Turning to face him, I quirk my eyebrow. “Even if we kiss? You don’t mind my morning breath?”