Chapter 5
five
DirtyGurl arrives at the same time as Dakota and her mother.
I buzz them all up together. She saves me a huge amount of potential embarrassment by holding her hand out to Ty, who answers the door like this is his apartment, and saying, “Hi, I’m Brenna.”
I could have guessed her name wasn’t actually DirtyGurl, but it never occurred to me to ask.
I give the three ladies a quick tour of my apartment, not that there’s a lot to see in sixteen hundred square feet.
But LouAnn’s eyes pop at some of the features, like the bookshelves built into the wall all the way up the staircase, the window-wall of the loft that shows the twenty-foot container of money trees and kentia palms that screen my bedroom, the bright orange accent wall behind the built-in dining nook, and the exposed brick wall that runs the length of my office and the kitchen.
The apartment’s filled with early-evening golden light which makes everything look better.
The light’s kind to the dark wood floors, which are clean, but I haven’t polished them since I moved in, and the stainless-steel appliances in the kitchen, which show fingerprints like nobody’s business.
Brenna makes herself at home on the couch with the kids while I show LouAnn the loft.
She looks reassured when I don’t have any half-assembled skin suits anywhere.
“You have a lovely home,” she offers as I lead her back downstairs.
“Thanks.”
I don’t really think about it. I had the apartment decorated after I bought the building with the money Uncle Max left me.
I haven’t paid much attention to it since.
I like plants, mostly because I never had a houseplant until I moved in here, so I’ve stuffed plants into every corner, added the computers and books, and then left it alone except for cleaning it twice a week.
I can’t stand clutter; it triggers my OCD.
So I haven’t bought any more furniture except the futon Ty sleeps on.
There aren’t any knickknacks. I haven’t added any artwork because I don’t know anything about art.
The walls in my office are covered by two huge, digital whiteboards which are currently dark since I didn’t want my guests to see what I’m working on.
I have a couple of pictures tucked onto the bookshelves, mostly me and Uncle Max but also a few of my unit in the Navy, but otherwise there’s nothing personal anywhere, and as I look around, I see it for the first time. I hope she doesn’t think it’s weird.
She walks to the door and stands there, twisting her hands together. I suddenly wonder if she has her own dinner to go home to.
“Uh, are you sure you wouldn’t like to stay? I made plenty of food,” I offer.
She drops her hands to her sides and laughs a little. “Dakota would stab me in my sleep if I ruined her first real date. Thank you for offering, though. And for doing this. It’s very nice of you.”
“My pleasure.”
She gives me a bright smile and I realize she’s waiting for me to say goodbye.
Instead, I open the door for her. She waves to Dakota, who has her head down with Ty’s as they watch something on his phone.
LouAnn’s smile turns wistful, and I wonder what it’s like to see your kid growing up right in front of your eyes.
I close the door behind her.
Brenna unfolds herself from the couch, picks up a paper bag, and walks over to me.
Her brown eyes hold mine, and even though there’s sadness instead of effervescent joy in them, the eye contact makes my heart speed up.
She’s unusual looking, with her blue dreadlocks and copious tattoos, but she’s beautiful.
All long, toned legs in worn dungarees. She’s wearing a black tank under the dungarees that shows the muscle in her shoulders and arms. She’s not built like a weightlifter, but she’s got a lot of muscle tone for a woman.
I have a sudden vision of her bent over a spanking bench, showing off those strong legs and heart-shaped ass.
Now that’s what I’d like to see instead of all those skinny girls who look like they’ll break if I hold them down too hard.
I don’t pop wood, but only because of the two teens sitting on the couch ten feet away.
She hands me the bag and I peep inside. A decent bottle of white wine, four Coronas, and a little bag of limes.
“I didn’t know if babysitting means this meal is alcohol-free or not, but I thought I’d bring something just in case. Can I help with anything?”
“Sure.” I beckon her after me and lead her into the kitchen.
Food’s all ready. I can’t cook anything fancy, but I can make chicken about a dozen different ways and put together a salad.
I’ve gone for my tried and true: chicken cacciatore.
The grocery store had fresh bread, so I’ve done a loaf of garlic bread to mop up the sauce.
I hand Brenna plates, cutlery, and the salad bowl. She balances them like a pro as she carries everything to the table. That’s a woman who has done her time waiting tables. I carry the hot bread in a crinkling wrapper of foil and the big serving dish of chicken over to the table and call the kids.
“Ty, can you grab glasses and bring whatever you and Dakota want to drink? You know where everything is.”
“Sure!”
I chuckle quietly, not wanting to embarrass him, but I’ve never heard him so enthusiastic about helping me get a meal ready. He’d usually rather eat out of the pizza box than go to the trouble of fetching a plate.
Brenna catches my eye as she’s setting the table and grins.
I nod, sharing the moment. When she finishes laying out the plates and cutlery, moving like she’s dealing cards, she picks up a paper napkin and makes quick work of folding and creasing it until it looks like a bird of paradise flower.
She does four in the time it takes Ty to bring drinks; she pops one on each plate.
Dakota’s eyes bug when she comes to the table, following Ty.
“This is really fancy,” she says. “Thank you so much, um, Mr. Max.”
“You’re welcome, Dakota. Everyone take a seat and tuck in. There’s more chicken in the kitchen so don’t be shy.”
Ty and Dakota take the built-in bench seat while Brenna and I sit in the chairs.
They’re not the most comfortable and I usually eat in my ergonomic chair or one of the beanbags when I’m alone.
Still, it’s kind of nice to have people in my place.
It’s not that I’m lonely, exactly. It can just get awfully quiet, living by myself.
Brenna and I make light conversation over dinner, asking the kids about school, their favorite games and movies. Dakota surprises me by being a reader and I’m doubly shocked when Brenna chimes in while we’re discussing Dakota’s favorite books, the Oz series.
As Ty and Dakota are clearing away the dishes, I wink at Brenna and say, “Guess you can’t judge a book by its cover.”
Her smile twists. “The ink and dreads make you think I can’t read?”
“Maybe just into wilder pursuits,” I say.
“Reading can be wild. Maybe you’re just not doing it right.” She wiggles her dark eyebrows at me. “It’s true I’d rather draw. But I like to read. I’m reading one of Emily’s books right now.”
“Emily know you’ve read her books?”
She shakes her head, blue dreadlocks swishing. “You’re not going to tell her, either.”
I lean in and whisper, “That doesn’t seem very submissive.”
“I’m submissive, but I’m not your submissive,” she whispers back. “How am I going to answer your questions with the kids right here?” She nods at the couch a few feet away. “Cause, no offense, but I’m not going up into your bedroom with you.”
I chuckle. “I’ll show you a secret and don’t worry, it’s not up in the bedroom.”
“Better not be down your shorts, either,” she mutters as she follows me through to the kitchen with the last few dishes. Ty and Dakota are standing at the sink, whispering to each other. When Bren and I walk up, they pull apart with red faces. Teens.
“You guys want some popcorn for the movie?” I ask, reaching into a cabinet overhead and pulling down a foil-wrapped readi-pop.
“I can do it,” Ty offers, puffing out his thin chest.
“Knock yourself out.” I hand him the pan. “Brenna and I are going to take our beers and sit out on the fire escape. If you need anything, yell. And no necking on my couch.”
Both of them turn purple and shift apart as if I’d caught them naked.
I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing.
Brenna elbows me and I leave off teasing the kids in favor of grabbing the beers Brenna brought, a knife, and a lime.
Then I show Brenna one of the best features of my apartment.
Between the fridge and the half-bath, there’s a door that looks like a closet.
I open the inner door, key in the passcode to the outer door, and open it out onto the building’s fire escape.
I had the landing on my floor widened and strengthened to make a porch.
There’s a tiny table, two bench seats, and a planter bursting with Black-Eyed Susans in gold and red to screen the landing from the street.
True to the decorator’s claims, the flowers bloom all summer.
The planter’s always humming with bees; small birds I don’t know the names of come in the mornings and evenings.
“Those are nice,” Brenna says, nodding at the planter as she takes a seat and stretches her legs out on the padded bench.
“Yeah. I didn’t know anything about plants when I moved in here, but I really like having the flowers out here and the trees in my bedroom. It makes the air feel cleaner. Probably crazy.”
Brenna shakes her head. “Probably true. Plants give off oxygen. From what I could see, you’ve got a little jungle in your bedroom. It might make a difference. Anyway, you didn’t ask me here to talk about your plants. Ask me anything.”
“Anything?”
“I didn’t say I’d answer everything, but yeah, ask. I’ll see what I can do.”