Page 65

Sophie

I’msittingatDrew’s table upstairs, finishing up some grading, when he comes in through the garage door. He’s still in his scrubs and despite his tired eyes—performing surgery all day has got to be exhausting—he still makes my heart skip a beat. Before I can stop myself, my face morphs into a big smile. Like a small child looking at a puppy.

“Hey, Soph.” He smiles back. “Sorry I’m late; my last surgery ran longer than I expected.”

Something has shifted between us in the last forty-eight hours. I’m not sure if it was caring for each other when we were sick, or if it just gradually shifted over the last two months. There are so many sparks flying between us lately, we could use them to power our own defibrillator. I roll my eyes at myself. Spending this much time with Drew has me thinking in medical euphemisms.

Anyway, it feels like we’re on the precipice of a huge transformation between landlord and lessee to something much different.

“No problem, spaghetti is on the stovetop waiting for you.” Gathering up my papers off the table, I put them in a folder. “I need to get Samantha to bed, so I’ll leave you to it.”

I pull my bottom lip into my mouth, stalling because all I really want to do is sit with him while he eats and ask him all about his day.

He runs one hand through his hair and takes a deep breath. “After we get the girls to bed, can we talk?” He clears his throat, seeming abnormally nervous.

I freeze. Maybe I completely misread him. He sounds so serious, not at all the casual and confident man I’ve come to know so well.

With a feeling of dread in the pit of my stomach, I nod. “Yeah, sure.” I fake a smile.

An hour later, I’m sitting on the sofa in my apartment downstairs, wringing my hands together while I think about each interaction Drew and I have had over the past two months. Wracking my brain to see if I’ve mistaken the connection between us, and coming up with a list of things he might want to talk about. None of them good.

So far my list looks like this:

1.He might tell me to stop holding eye contact for so long.

2. He might’ve found a sitter who can actually cook.

3. Perhaps Emily is coming back, and he needs me to move out.

4. Maybe he will point out how inappropriate it was that I was drooling all over him when he wore those fitted, grey sweatpants. (Although, in my defense, I was sick and delirious).

Just as I’ve nearly worried myself into a full-blown panic attack, a knock comes from the basement door. I rush through the main area and down the small hallway to let Drew inside.

He smiles when I open the door, making me feel slightly more calm. He must have taken a shower because his hair is wet and he smells like heaven. Also, I think he takes pleasure in torturing me because he’s wearing another pair of sweatpants along with a white hoodie.

I gesture for him to come in and he follows me into the living room. Taking a seat on the sofa, I take a deep breath. Drew sits next to me and his eyes shift around the room. If he’s avoiding eye contact, this can’t be good.

I gulp down the lump in my throat and wait for him to speak.

“Soph—” He stops and then runs both hands down his face. He looks frustrated, tortured even. “Damn it. I’ve never been so nervous.”

“Drew, you’re scaring me. Just spit it out. Did you find a new sitter or something?”

He looks into my eyes for the first time since entering my apartment, and then he laughs. An exuberant, booming laugh.

“A new sitter? Sophie, the problem I’m having isn’t that I’m not happy with your babysitting services.” He laughs again. “I’m nervous because I want you to be more than just the babysitter, and I’m not sure how you feel about that.”

I release the breath I’ve been holding in, and now it’s my turn to laugh. “Oh my gosh, Drew. You had me so worried something was wrong.”

He grins at me, and then his face turns serious. “Getting to know you these past few months and watching you with Penny has been a special kind of torture … because I often find myself wanting you all to myself.” He smiles again. “I know you’re grieving the loss of your husband, but if you think there’s room in your heart for me, I’d really like to take you on a date.”

My eyes fill with tears as another layer of ice melts away from my heart and I feel it leap to life with rapid beats. Good thing Drew’s a doctor. He might need to check my heart rate after this conversation.

He looks at me with concern as a tear releases from each of my eye sockets. He releases my hands. “A- a- and if you're not ready, or if you don’t feel the same, I completely understand. I know I’m older than you, and I’m friends with your dad, and we have the girls to consider—”

He’s talking a thousand miles a minute, and a giggle bubbles up through my lungs and releases from my mouth before I can stop it.

“Drew, stop.” I place my hand on top of his. “I would love to go on a date with you.”