12. Chapter Eleven
Chapter Eleven
Arnav
Awareness came in degrees. A light snore caught my attention first.
I smiled to myself.
Foster had settled right away last night—as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders as I’d made it clear I heartily approved of his dog bed. I didn’t mind in the least. Clearly, for him, the bed was a safe space. I had nothing but respect for that.
In the weak late fall light filtering through the curtains, I noted he had a foot stuck out from under the comforter but that the rest of him was burrowed inside. Ah, his handy temperature-regulation mechanism. Plain, old-fashioned, and highly effective apparently.
My bladder wasn’t happy, and I slid out of bed as quietly as I could and made my way to the bathroom. I pissed, washed my hands, then quickly ran my hand through my hair to make it just right . That flop at the top was getting a little long, so I needed to head to see Quelle at the beauty salon. They always did such an amazing job, and although my dad was a fan of the barber in town, I liked a little style to go with my cut. Probably could’ve gotten that at the barbershop, but I liked getting the gossip too, and Quelle fit the bill perfectly. They, like me, had grown up in Mission City. They knew everyone. Everyone . And if they didn’t know someone, they knew of that someone.
Which made me wonder about Foster. I couldn’t remember ever having seen him around town. But then I was always so busy, I often didn’t take in the faces around me. Except his handsome features would’ve had me taking notice, I was certain. Had he grown up in town? No way for me to know. He wasn’t of my generation. Which should’ve scared me, but totally didn’t. He was, by my calculation, at the very end of Gen X. Maybe a Millennial, but I questioned that. And I was Gen Z by a few days. He was a Latch Key Kid while I was Gen Next.
Could we meet somewhere in the middle? Because, truly, age was just a number. His kindness and almost…na?veté…spoke to me. Maybe he was experienced in all the ways that counted.
But I didn’t get that sense.
He’d hinted he’d had one bad relationship. That broke my heart for someone as sensitive as Foster. I’d had plenty of flings and short-lived affairs—but they’d all gone well and ended amicably enough. I’d been clear going in that I wasn’t looking for long-term. In turn, plenty of guys didn’t want commitment either. Especially when we’d been in university. Still trying to find our places in the world. Often coming from all around that world to study at a prestigious law school. More often than not, heading out into the world beyond Vancouver or even Cedar Valley as soon as we graduated.
No regrets .
I’d come home where I could do the most good.
Moving back into the family home might’ve been a miscalculation, though.
Oh well.
I eased the bathroom door open, relieved it didn’t creak.
Only to hear rustling from the bedroom.
I made my way over there to find Foster folding up his comforter. He’d already made my bed. When he spotted me, he stilled. “Oh, did you want to get back into bed? I was kind of presumptuous, but I always make the bed. Uh, all the beds.”
Making my way over to him, I was careful to telegraph my movements. I grasped his cheeks in my hands and drew him in for a sweet kiss. No tongue. Just a brushing of the lips. “Good morning.”
His eyes were a little glassy. “Good morning.” He held the comforter against his chest like a shield.
We had a long way to go before he was comfortable with me. “Why don’t you have a shower? Or why don’t I go first? Then, when you’re showering, I can start breakfast.” My clothes were barely worn, so putting them back on wasn’t a big deal.
“Um. Shouldn’t I be cooking for you? You’re the guest.”
“Didn’t we agree last night I’d make French toast?”
“Well…yeah.”
“But you thought I didn’t mean it?”
“Well…yeah.”
“Ah. To be clear, Foster, I say what I mean and mean what I say. So, if I say I want to cook your breakfast, it’s because that’s what I want. Now, if you object on principle and want to eat cold pizza—”
He winced.
“Right. That’s what I hoped you’d say. We can heat up pizza later in the day if I’m still here.”
“The road isn’t plowed yet. When they do, I think your car’s going to be piled high.”
Which made me think of my running shoes and light jacket. Wow, I’d truly miscalculated. Something I didn’t do often. But when I did, the results were often epic. “Well, I’m certain you have a shovel.”
“I do.”
“Then I’ll borrow it to dig out. Like I said, I have snow tires. So everything will be okay.”
“Or…”
“Or…?”
“You could, you know, stay until the snow melts.”
He gazed up at me through his lashes.
I laughed. “You’re an imp. Do you want me to stay?”
“Truthfully?”
He nodded.
“Uh, yes, I want you to stay. But only as long as you’re happy here.”
His comment struck me because I honestly believed I could be happy. Here. With him. “Let’s play it by ear. We’ll see what damage the snowplow does.” I moved to the window to peer out. This bedroom faced the backyard.
“Oh, you have to look from the den.” He led me across the hallway.
A chill had permeated my feet, and the idea of a hot shower and getting into my clothes held great appeal. Still, I followed him and gazed outside to the winter wonderland with so much snow that the tires on my SUV were almost completely buried. “How much…?”
“I’ll check the weather app while you’re in the shower.”
I waved him off. “Doesn’t really matter, does it? Unless you’re super curious—”
He pressed a kiss to my cheek. Just a peck. “As long as you don’t have somewhere to be, I have no complaints. I like having you here.” He eyed me. “Now, breakfast and then more rom-coms? I’ll dig you out once the snowplow’s been down the street.”
“I can dig myself out.”
“Uh, yeah. No. I saw your running shoes. And that jacket’s a joke. I won’t have you freezing and getting all wet.”
Even as he said the words, I noticed a light snow continuing to fall. If I went out in that, I’d get soaked for certain. “Can I make lunch then? Hot chocolate and maybe chili?”
He grinned. “Why do you think I named my dog that? It’s one of my favorite foods. Comfort, you know?”
I did know. And it was one of the things I was actually good at making. “Okay. I’m not happy about you doing all the manual labor, but I do like the idea of cooking for you.”
“I like that too.” Unbidden, he brushed my stubbled jaw. “I do manual labor a lot. I might be the foreman, but I often dig in and help out. That’s who I am.”
“Maybe I can give you a massage when you’re done. Or run you a hot bath.”
“You don’t have to.” His gaze turned wary.
Who hurt you? I want to rip him to shreds with my bare hands . Which wasn’t like me. I was about using words to resolve issues. Never brute strength. Except he made me want to use fists instead of affidavits.
“We’ll see.” He pointed to my feet. “They’re turning blue.”
He wasn’t entirely wrong. Well, the color wasn’t actually blue, but they were blocks of ice. “Right. Shower.” I allowed him to lead me back to the primary bedroom where I scooped up my neatly folded pile of clothes. By the time I was in the bathroom, he’d retrieved a couple of fluffy towels for me from the linen closet.
“There’s a spare toothbrush in the medicine cabinet. Still wrapped. We’re going to have to share toothpaste.”
I pressed a quick peck to his lips. “I think I’ll survive.”
He met my gaze with luminous dark-brown ones. “Yeah, I think we will. Normally I’m a shower-at-night guy, but I like the idea of showering while you cook.” He winked, and then was gone.
With that in mind, I showered quickly. He had a moisturizing body wash, which I appreciated. I hadn’t felt much of his skin—something I intended to rectify today. The two-in-one shampoo was a generic brand, but I was going to be good, so I tucked away the part of me who wanted to buy him the expensive stuff. Meenakshi had once accused me of being a shampoo snob. Likely because she needed the harsh dandruff version, and it didn’t do any favors to her hair. No amount of conditioning was going to cover up her disastrous hair. I felt sorry for my older sister—which only made her madder.
I kept my shower short as I didn’t know if he had hot water on demand, like we did at our house, or if he had a hot water heater.
Drying myself off took little time with the wonderful-smelling towels. My father was supersensitive to scents—they tended to give him migraines. Everything in our house was as scent-free as we could make them. My rebellious-teenager phase had included some truly wretched cologne. Only took me making my father sick one time for me to throw it out. I opted for soap and water plus deodorant, and what I now understood was that I smelled just fine without the strong additional scents. On the other hand, I didn’t do manual labor all day.
I slipped my underwear on and thrust my feet into my socks before they got cold again. I never judged those who worked with their bodies for a living. I didn’t even mind the scent of sweat—if it was coming from someone like Foster. The scent of sweat from someone lying to me on the witness stand? Kind of gross. Fear smelled different. And I hoped to never smell it from Foster.
By the time I was fully dressed, the steam from my shower had dissipated. I ran my fingers along my cheeks and decided stubble was a good look for me. Because I wasn’t going to use a disposable razor of his as well. I brushed my teeth, belatedly realizing maple syrup and mint weren’t going to mix well and then deciding fresh breath was more important as I intended to kiss Foster.
If he let me.
I found him sitting in a bathrobe, perched on the side of his bed, typing something into his phone. He kept squinting.
“Foster?”
“Hmm?”
“Do you need glasses?”
He winced. “Sorry.”
I blinked. “For what?”
“I, uh, yeah. I do need glasses. I have some, in fact, reading glasses.”
“And you’re not wearing them because…?”
“I look dorky.”
That line could’ve been a question or a statement. I took it as a statement. “Where are they?”
He pointed to his nightstand.
I retrieved the glasses, carefully tucked in a case. I unfolded them and then, very carefully, put them on his face.
He winced.
I grinned. “That’s, like, so fucking sexy.”
He narrowed his eyes.
“You ever look at yourself in the mirror? Say whatever you want, but those frames are perfect for you. I think you should wear glasses all the time.”
He pulled them off. “Yeah, well, that’s never going to happen.” He rose, put them back in their case, and closed the nightstand drawer. “I’m going to have a shower.” He strode from the room. Leaving his phone on the bed—open and waiting for someone to snoop.
Well, I wasn’t that person. Tempted? Of course. Willing to cross that line? Oh hell, no.
So I texted Mama and then headed downstairs to make breakfast.