Chapter 43
Tilda
The lights on the washer and dryer are on.
Ethan fixed it.
By checking the breaker box.
It’s so simple.
And I feel so stupid.
Heat flares in my eyes, and I blink.
I hate feeling stupid.
Ethan’s steps are quiet as he enters my bedroom, but I can feel him as he stops beside me.
“Thank you,” I whisper, but I can’t meet his eyes.
“You’re welcome.” Ethan shifts so he’s in front of me, blocking my view of the appliances.
I still don’t look up.
I don’t want to see pity on his face.
Don’t want him to look at me like I’m an idiot.
I just…
I bite my lip harder.
This is my new start.
A place where no one can criticize me. A place to make my own. And I’ve already messed up so many times.
Warm fingers grip my chin, and Ethan tips my head up.
I blink again, willing my eyes to stay dry, as I finally meet his gaze.
Ethan’s brows are furrowed. “What’s this look for?”
His concern feels real.
His genuine intentions… real.
He feels so real to me.
And every time he sees me…
My hands lift and drop to my sides as defeat takes over.
Ethan leans down, putting our faces inches apart, as he continues to grip my chin. “Firecracker, what’s this look for? You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I should’ve known how…” I swallow, my voice going quiet. “I’m not st—”
Ethan pushes my chin up, cutting off my word. “Woman, I know you’re not stupid. I’ve never once thought that. Not ever.”
He seems so… mad. On my behalf?
So I admit the truth. “I feel stupid. And I hate it. It’s the worst feeling.”
He furrows his brows again. “Because of the breaker box? Tilda, lots of people don’t know how those work.”
“Yeah, but this is my house. I should—”
He presses my chin up again.
“You should learn as you go. How long have you owned this house?”
He loosens his grip so I can reply.
“A couple days,” I sigh, knowing the point he’s trying to make.
“And did your parents teach you this stuff growing up?” He asks it like he knows the answer.
I think about my dad, who cowered around my mother, hardly a figure in our lives before he up and left when I was nine.
Then I think about my mother, who never did anything herself, always called maintenance when something needed fixing in our apartment, and who always told me to go to my room when they came over, so I’m not in the way. Meaning I couldn’t even watch them fix stuff if I’d wanted to.
But in the decade since moving out, when I lived on my own in my own apartments, I couldn’t tell you if I had a breaker box.
And that makes me feel stupid too.
“My dad made me help with everything,” Ethan says, like I asked him the question he asked me.
“Didn’t matter if I wanted to or not. He had me running power tools, chopping wood, holding the ladder, and flipping breakers on and off while he tinkered with shit he probably shouldn’t have been tinkering with. ”
The start of a smile tugs on my lips. “He sounds fun.”
Ethan huffs, “He was a pain in the ass.”
Was.
My bit of a smile drops.
For a moment there, I forgot that Ethan had mentioned his parents were gone.
He’d said it so casually, when I’d called him a bastard one of the first times we met, that I almost didn’t believe him. And I have to stop myself from wondering which is worse—good parents who die too soon, or bad ones who stay forever.
“My parents didn’t teach me any of that stuff.” I don’t hide the sadness in my tone. “But I should—”
He shakes his head. “Stop beating yourself up.”
“But—”
He takes a step into me, and I take a step back. “If you’d fixed it yourself, you wouldn’t have gone to the laundromat today. And then you wouldn’t’ve come into my gym.” He takes another step forward, and I step back again, bumping against the foot of the bed. “And if you hadn’t come into my gym…”
My eyes lower to his mouth. “You wouldn’t have kissed me.”
The edge of his mouth pulls up, just a little. “Correct.”
I watch his lips, and I think about all he’s done for me.
How he took down the ribbon that I was supposed to remove.
How he decided not to give me a ticket.
How he helped me with the pool.
How he fixed my washer and dryer.
I lift my gaze back up to his as my hands lift to his sides. “You act like a bad guy, but I don’t think that’s what you are.”
Ethan shifts closer, and I feel his muscles move beneath the soft flannel he’s wearing. “No? Then what am I?”
I watch him watching me. “I think you’re a good boy.”
His lids lower.
His body goes tense against mine.
And then the hand on my chin shifts so he’s palming my cheek. “Say that again.” He moves even closer, until our bodies are flush. “Call me that again.”
“Ethan?” I slide my hands up his stomach, over his pecs, to his shoulders. “Are you my Good Boy?”