Chapter 15 #2
“Wait, no. Take the class. But you’re not making up the time by coming in early or staying late. Just take the class. If you were in the office, there would always be downtime spent chatting with coworkers or whatever. Consider it water-cooler time.”
“You mean it?”
“Yeah, I do.”
“I appreciate it.” I moved by instinct, or the phases of the moon, or something I couldn’t explain, and leaned forward to kiss Emil on the cheek. When I pulled back, the heat in his eyes was unmistakable.
“You’re very welcome.”
“Although it might not matter.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because I’m working on the last section of the files you gave me. Once the project is over, there’s no reason for me to stay out here.”
Emil looked thoughtful but didn’t contradict me directly.
“When this project wraps, we’ll figure out what comes next.”
Oh. Deep breath. “Okay.”
“Anders, that was the best damn pot roast I’ve had in my entire life. Full stop. No notes. No pot roast will ever be better.”
“Oh stop.” I felt my face blush at the compliments, but secretly, I did a happy dance inside. My pot roast was good, and I knew it was, but I was so, so satisfied that Emil thought so too.
“Please never change it. And make it often.”
I stood up to clear the dishes and Emil tried to help. Except he picked the items up in the wrong order, and it made it more work for me to organize them for cleaning. I had a system, and he didn’t know it.
“If I promise never to make it any other way ever again, will you not help me and let me clear the dishes the way I like them cleared? Please?”
I braced for what came next. Emil’s openness may have lulled me into a false sense of security. My request might’ve been a bridge too far.
“I just want to help.”
“And I just want to take care of you.” Anders, you idiot. “I mean…uh…” There was no plausible explanation for the nonsense that had come out of my mouth. What is wrong with you tonight?
“All right.”
Whether Emil understood me or not, he did what I asked.
He set the dishes back on the table and let me handle them.
I cleared the table in record time, got the leftovers put away, wiped the counters, and loaded the dishwasher.
The kitchen was back to looking tidy, and the flowers I’d told myself I’d take home that night shone on the table.
And Emil was right there. I halfway expected him to leave the room while I finished, but he’d sat back down at the table and watched me the entire time.
He didn’t interfere or talk to me while I worked, which I appreciated.
The quiet let me get myself under control, feel less flustered, and more settled.
“It’s done.”
“Are you ready to talk about it, or do you want to wait?”
“Let’s get this over with,” I sighed.
Emil smirked at my phrasing but answered me with, “I’ll make it as painless as possible.”
Just like the other day, he took me by the hand, and we went into his workshop. I knew he had a proper living room because I passed it every day, but the workroom was where he spent his time. Maybe all his meaningful conversations happened here? I wanted this to be an important one.
“We don’t have to do this,” I said as soon as he pointed me to the sofa. It was too comfortable, and the worn chenille covering invited snuggling.
Emil must have thought so too because he planted himself next to me, threw an arm over my shoulder, and hauled me close.
“This is how we’re talking?”
“Yes, unless you tell me to move away. Is that what you’re saying?”
“No.”
“Then I’m staying right here,” Emil said, giving my shoulders a small squeeze. His fingers found their way to my topknot, and within seconds, the tie was pulled free, letting my hair loose. “Finally. I’ve been thinking about this hair since the first day I met you.”
“Are you kidding?”
“Nope. You were at your desk, and I wanted to know how long it was, how soft it was, if it was straight or curly when it was down. Unfortunately, I couldn’t think of a way to find out without sounding like a creeper.”
“Yeah, I would’ve thought it was strange.”
“And creepy?” Emil asked with a chuckle.
Lying with my head on his shoulder while he played with my hair, I felt the tension across my shoulders ease.
“Yeah, creepy too, but now you know.”
“Now I know.”
We lapsed into silence again, but it wasn’t tense or worried.
“Thank you for letting me handle the kitchen tonight.”
“You’re welcome. Can you explain why? It was definitely more than how I stacked the dishes.”
“You’re the best stacker of dishes I’ve ever seen,” I said solemnly.
“Except for you?”
“Maybe,” I agreed. “It’s not about the dishes. It’s about the care… No, that’s not the right word. It’s the service. It’s that the service is caretaking.”
Emil stayed quiet and let me think aloud.
“I feel more settled when I’m doing it, and it’s part of who I am. Maybe I missed my calling and should’ve been a butler?”
“And when I do it for you?”
“It feels like you’re saying I’m not good enough.”
“You are damn sure good enough.”
“But when you do it for me, it doesn’t feel that way.” I took a few more deep breaths. “And if it were up to me, I’d do more.”
“More than breakfast, lunch, and dinner every night? Polishing my shoes? Tidying up? That’s a lot.”
“You bring home dinner pretty often. Lunch is super simple. Breakfast is practically coffee and fruit. Polishing your shoes takes ten minutes, tops. You never make a mess, so tidying up takes less time than the polishing.”
“Do you need this to be happy?”
“I do. I really, really do.”
Emil kissed my forehead and kept me close while he thought about what I’d said.
Thankfully, he didn’t argue or tell me I was wrong for wanting this.
While I waited for him to think, I imagined the care I could be doing.
Setting out clothes. Prepping his bed. Bringing coffee to him.
Even the thought of the tasks relaxed me. Please, please, please let him say yes.
“All right. You have free run of everything, but I’m holding on to the right to intervene if I’m worried it’s too much or too far.”
His voice was soft and easy, like he was talking to a skittish animal ready to bolt.
“I can accept that. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, sweet boy.”