Chapter 11 #2
When he’s gone, Ivy appears in the kitchen with the empty salad bowl.
“You don’t need to help out,” I reassure her. “I have the day off tomorrow, so I can clean up without worrying about missing hours of sleep. Go home and rest.”
She fully ignores me. “You scrub, and I’ll rinse.”
“Ivy—”
“I haven’t had homemade dinner in a while. Not anything that good anyway. Joe and I mostly live off the frozen aisle and cold sandwiches, so this is the least I can do.”
Without waiting for a response, she locks the deck door and puts the bowl in the sink.
She’s standing so close to me that our arms brush while I scrub the dirty dishes.
Our height difference shouldn’t affect me—I’m a big guy, so everyone tends to be shorter than me—yet all I can think of is how easily it would be to throw her over one of my shoulders.
How she would laugh and hit my back, trying to make me put her on the ground again.
The fuck am I saying?
“So, frozen food.” My voice sounds raspier than normal, and I clear my throat. “Neither of you can cook?”
Our fingers touch when I pass her Lexi’s princess plate.
“I’m not a great cook. Joe is decent, but he doesn’t know how to cook most things.
We were never taught, but we also didn’t care to learn ourselves, so,” she explains, seemingly oblivious to the zap of electricity I’ve just felt.
“My time in the city didn’t help my culinary skills either. I didn’t even have a kitchen.”
That gives me pause.
“What do you mean, you had no kitchen?”
I know some people pay an insane amount of money to live in a shoebox in New York City, but I’d never heard of an apartment without a kitchen. Is that even legal?
“I lived in a room, rather than in a proper apartment. It was a weird thing,” she says, her voice quieter.
“Like a studio?”
Did she just wince?
“No, it was a room.” She pauses as she rinses Lexi’s princess cup, the one that matches her plate.
“I lived in a building where each apartment was as big as a bedroom. It had a small sink, a tiny fridge, and some space to put a microwave or whatever, but no actual kitchen. I had lunch at work or grabbed something at the deli down the street. That’s why I’m not used to cooking, even as an adult. ”
“Wait, hold up. What about the bathroom?”
She glances up at me with a sheepish look. “It was a communal bathroom.”
“You’re joking.”
She shrugs, focusing back on rinsing the plates. “It’s not a big deal. Some people don’t even have a roof over their heads, so I wasn’t going to complain about sharing a bathroom. I’m not a snob.”
I grew up sharing a bathroom with my two disgusting brothers; I can’t even fathom what it would be like to share it with complete strangers. If that makes me a snob, so be it.
“This may sound too forward. You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to,” I start. “But how much did they pay you at your job? I mean, I know the city is expensive, but your living situation sounds…”
“A little too much?” she finishes my sentence with a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.
“They paid me good money. I could’ve afforded something better, but saving up was my priority.
If sharing a bathroom and having no kitchen was going to save me more than a thousand dollars each month, then I was going to share a bathroom and have no kitchen. ”
“Jesus, Ivy,” I mutter, my head going in all sorts of directions. None of them calm me down.
She nudges my arm playfully. “I was used to sharing a bathroom with my family, so it was fine. What’s that face for?”
How do you tell someone you wish you could go back in time and get her a proper apartment with a kitchen and a goddamn bathroom because she deserves no less?
“You did what you had to do, and I respect that. I just think you deserve better than that,” I say, deciding to keep it real. “I can get behind not having a kitchen, but sharing a bathroom with strangers I’m assuming weren’t very clean…. I don’t know. Maybe I’m being too anal about this.”
My eyes follow her tongue as she wets her bottom lip, hesitating.
“It wasn’t that bad,” she says quietly, in a way I’m not sure she even believes. “The point of me working in the city was to stuff my savings account, which I did. The sacrifices were worth it in the end.”
The urge to hug the shit out of her right now is so strong, I start scrubbing more intently.
“You were saving up for Joe?”
“Still am. For his flight school, mainly. Do you know how expensive that is? I’m not sure selling my kidney would cover the full tuition.”
“Organ trafficking is where I draw the line, Ivy.”
Her laugh soothes something inside me. “I promise I’m not that crazy.”
I send her a sideways glance and get a chuckle in return, one that has no business sounding that adorable.
“I’m watching you closely from now on,” I half joke.
“Most boring stalking job ever. I just go to work and come back home to rot on my couch.”
“Speaking of jobs,” I start, feeling more talkative than usual. There’s just something about Ivy that makes me want to say shit. “I didn’t know you were working for Nash. What about Fran?”
She rinses the last plate. “I’m working two jobs. Sunny Stitches five days a week, full-time, and The Harmony Grove six days a week from eight until midnight. It’s a good balance.”
I’m not one to speak, given that I do forty-eight-hour shifts on the regular.
“I might be biased, but Nash is a good boss.” I turn off the tap and grab two tea towels so we can dry our hands. “He meant it when he said you could go to him for anything.”
“I believed him. You seem close to your brothers. Are you the oldest?” she asks as she dries her hands.
“That’s Rhys. I’m the middle child, and Nash is the youngest,” I explain. “And yeah, we’re really close. We all have our stuff, but we’ve always been tight.”
She arches an amused eyebrow. “I’m curious to know what your stuff is.”
“My stuff is being the most normal out of the three.”
“Oh, really?” she challenges, leaving the tea towel on the counter.
“You don’t believe me?”
“I’m not sure I do. Rhys seemed pretty levelheaded, and Nash is—”
“Too carefree.”
“Fun.”
“That’s what kids are calling it these days?”
She pokes me in the arm, leaving a sea of goose bumps in her wake. “I know what your stuff is.”
“Surprise me.”
“Ugly drawings.”
“Did you just insult my art skills?”
“I meant ugly as a compliment.”
I shake my head, amused at her bratty ways. “I’ll act like I believe you.”
“Good, because it’s true,” she tells me with a relaxed smile. “I should probably go, but thanks for inviting us over today. I had fun.”
Why the fuck am I disappointed that she wants to leave?
“No problem.” I clear my throat, confused. My reaction makes no sense. I’m a loner by nature; I don’t crave being around people. Let alone women, as of lately. “Thanks for helping me with the dishes. Let me walk you to your door.”
“It’s literally right there.”
“Your point?”
She lets out a loud sigh, but I can tell she isn’t angry or annoyed. “Fine. Walk me the fifty steps from your front door to mine.”
“Gladly.”
When I return home, the silence and the emptiness of the house bothers me for the very first time since I moved in.