13. Roderick #2
“Zara gave me a deal because she wants some help while Dave is away, and she wanted to rent to somebody she knows.”
“Yeah.” I clear my throat. “Look. I don’t want you to turn away somebody you’d rather have as a roommate just because I’m strapped. I don’t want charity. You weren’t so happy to see me roll back into town.”
“Yeah.” He winces. “Let’s just forget about that.”
“You never said why, though,” I press.
“Seriously?” He folds burly arms over his chest. “It’s not that hard to figure out.”
“Because of high school,” I guess.
“Yes, Captain Obvious. But that’s, uh, water under the bridge. I haven’t been a stalker since then.”
I actually grin. “You weren’t a stalker. You were a voyeur. It’s different.”
“Look,” Kieran grunts. “You want the room or not? My only condition is that we never speak of this again.”
“Okay.” I bite back my smile. “Sorry. It’s just that you’re the only one who doesn’t like that memory. I kind of like voyeurs. I don’t have very many hang-ups…” I catch the look on his face, and raise two hands in supplication. “Right. Never mind. We won’t speak of it again.”
“Thank you.”
“It’s just stupid high school shit, anyway,” I add.
“Lord knows I don’t want to be held accountable for anything I did as a teenager.
Or, hell, my early twenties. Okay—one of these days I’m going to stop making stupid decisions.
Any second now.” I laugh, and Kieran smiles so quickly that I might have imagined it.
We end up eyeing each other for a quiet moment.
And suddenly I become all too aware that I’m alone with a hot farmer boy at midnight in an empty house.
His eyes are beautiful, but they’re the kind that see more than they give away.
I have no idea what this man is thinking. And if he has his way, I never will.
“What else do you need from me?” I blurt out. “What about a security deposit? I’d need to get a real paycheck before I can give that to you. If that’s a deal-killer, I’ll understand.”
“Nah.” Kieran shakes his head. “Zara didn’t charge me one, so it would be a dick move if I asked that of you.”
“Oh,” I say slowly. “Did, uh, Zara make you rent me the room? Because if she did, we can just say I wasn’t interested…”
“No.” He frowns. “She has no idea. And our rent isn’t due until December first, anyway.”
“Okay,” I gulp. “Unless you change your mind before then, you’ve got yourself a roommate.” I reach out a hand to him.
Kieran actually hesitates for a fractional second before reaching out to shake. When our palms meet, a flash of heat washes across my skin. His fingers close over mine, and I’m far too conscious of how close we’re standing together in what is going to be our house.
If this is what it will feel like to live with Kieran, I’m so very screwed. “I’ll bring in my sleeping bag, then.”
“I’ve got a camping mattress you can borrow until you get a real bed.” He yawns and stretches, and his T-shirt rides up a few crucial inches, so I check out his abs.
Rein it in, Roddy , I coach myself. Or you’ll be back on the street before you know it .
Kieran doesn’t notice, though. He lumbers upstairs to get the camping mattress, while I dart outside to get a few of my things.
After I come back into the house, I close the door behind me and lock it tightly. Then I let out a big sigh of relief. I’m still dangling over the abyss, but someone just threw me a lifeline.
Thank you, Vermont. This place isn’t half bad.
That night I lie down in a quiet room and stretch my toes all the way to the bottom of the sleeping bag. I have five straight hours of the best sleep I’ve had in ages, and when my alarm goes off, I wash up in a warm bathroom and then drive to work.
The commute takes literally three minutes. I’ve never had it so easy.
Zara and I make two dozen gorgeous bagels and a slew of muffins and pastries. When Kieran comes in to work behind the counter, I fix him a pumpernickel bagel with smoked salmon and cream cheese and carry the plate out front. “This is for you. Thanks for everything.”
He blinks. Then he takes the plate and licks his lips. “Thank you. And you’re welcome. I’ll start the coffee before I eat this.”
“Good plan.”
As I return to the kitchen, I catch Zara watching us. “What’s up with Kieran? Anything wrong?”
“Not a thing,” I say, carrying some dishes to the sink. “I, uh, asked him to rent a room to me, and I guess I’m your tenant now, too.”
“Oh,” she says, obviously startled. “That’s nice.”
She has no idea.
When I get off work at three, Kieran is off to one of his other jobs. The dude works hard. So I’m left to my own devices, exploring his house in the daylight.
I don’t go upstairs, because I won’t invade his privacy.
But I poke around the empty living room, taking in the inlaid details in the wood floor, and admiring the view of the town green from the front window.
Colebury isn’t a fancy town, but this is the nicest part of it.
Most of the houses around the square have been recently upgraded.
My parents’ church is visible on the opposite side of the green.
Once a week they’ll be a quarter mile away, I suppose, praying for my soul.
Or not. I wonder if they think of me at all.
On this depressing thought, I continue my investigation of the house. The dining room is beautiful, with built-in china cabinets in the corners. It lacks a table and chairs, but nobody’s perfect.
In the kitchen, I open all the cabinets and drawers, finding them empty. So I go out to my car and fetch the very few items that I brought with me from Nashville. I’ve got my favorite mixing bowl, a single All-Clad skillet, a kitchen scale, my lucky saucepan, and my knives.
A cook never goes anywhere without his knives.
I left my whole life behind in Nashville, including my guitar, but somehow I had enough clarity to take my favorite kitchen essentials.
I wasn’t about to walk away without my five-hundred-dollar set of Wüsthofs.
They’re worth more than the guitar, anyway.
I tuck all these items away, which only takes a few minutes. And then I wonder if Kieran would want me to stock up on a few more things that every kitchen needs. Would he be grateful? Or would he think I’m dominating his space?
I ponder the question for a minute or two. But, fuck it. This kitchen is empty and sad, and cooking is my area of expertise. I grab my car keys and the wallet that contains all the money I have in the world.
And I head for the store.
Maybe I go a little crazy at the grocery store, but a guy needs to eat, right? When I get busy cooking in Kieran’s kitchen, I feel happier than I’ve been in a long time. I rub spices all over a pork loin and set it to roast in my skillet, leaving my saucepan free for a nice batch of applesauce.
It isn’t until I hear Kieran walk in the door at seven thirty that I notice there’s flour on the countertop and steam on the windowpanes. I’ve made myself at home before he’s had a chance to do the same.
Hastily, I start cleaning up. But there he is in the doorway, holding?—
“Is that a pre-made sandwich from a convenience store?” I ask, unable to keep the horror out of my voice.
He looks down at the plastic wedge in his hand, as if he’s not quite sure how it got there. “I decided not to stay for dinner at my folks’, but then I didn’t have a better plan.”
“Well, I made a pork tenderloin and applesauce. Then I realized I don’t, uh, have any plates. So I had to make some rolls to eat it on.”
“It smells so—” He sniffs the air. “Wow. Really good.”
Even this small crumb of praise makes me grow taller. “Then let’s eat. You can save that for tomorrow.” I grab the plastic sandwich container out of his hand, open up the refrigerator, and chuck it inside.
Kieran catches the fridge’s door before it closes. “Holy cow. You did some shopping.”
“Well, I guess I did.” I let out a nervous chuckle at all the food I’ve crammed in there.
A gallon of milk, because it’s cheapest that way.
Apples, winter squash—because it’s cheap.
Butter. A few condiments for cooking. Blocks of cheese, because it’s an inexpensive protein, and some of them were on sale.
My sourdough starter. “Look, I can keep all of this on two shelves and give you the other two. I don’t need to hog the space. ”
He shrugs. “There’s plenty of room. And I don’t know how to cook. Like, at all. Do you think you might…”
I wait.
“Never mind.” He shakes his head.
“I might what?” I prod.
He puts his phone onto the countertop charger and avoids my gaze. “I want to learn how to cook a little,” he says. “I can’t afford to eat out every night. Could you, uh, recommend a book you like?”
“You can’t learn from a book,” I tell him. “It’s all about technique. I’ll teach you to cook. It’s the least I could do.” I move closer to him, because this idea excites me. Cooking is fun when there’s someone to feed.
Those brown eyes widen. “Really?”
“Sure. No problem. Cooking is like breathing to me. It’s the only thing I’ve ever learned how to do more quickly than other people seem to.”
That, and blowjobs.
“I’d appreciate it,” he says, jamming his hands in his pockets. He leans back a fraction of an inch, and I realize I’ve invaded his personal space. I do that to everybody when I get jazzed up about something.
I take a healthy step backwards. “Let’s eat this food before my rolls burn.” I open the oven and carefully remove the stainless steel lid to my skillet, which I’ve repurposed as a baking sheet. There are four large rolls ringing the handle.
The skillet itself is on the bottom rack, the roast browning nicely in the pan.
“Whoa,” Kieran says. “That’s impressive.”
“It’s a twelve-dollar roast and a dollar’s worth of flour. This is why I never eat take-out food. Oh, and—” I lift the lid of the saucepan, and the scent of apples rises into the air. “Apples are cheap this time of year.”
He snorts. “They’re free if you’re cousins with Griffin Shipley. I eat so many of them in the fall that I might be fifty percent apple.”
The other fifty percent is beefcake . I keep that idea to myself. But Kieran Shipley is so attractive that my slutty little mind can’t stop noticing him.
I give myself a mental slap and then ask a nosy question.
“Audrey lives at the orchard?” I’m super curious about my new bosses.
I pluck the rolls off the skillet’s lid and drop them onto the countertop to cool.
Then I pull the skillet from the oven, setting it in on the stovetop to rest the roast before I slice it.
“Yup, they have a big spread. The orchard is their main business, but there’s also a small dairy. Griffin makes hard cider, and that’s turning into his biggest moneymaker.”
“Cool.” I can’t imagine the luxury of growing your own food. And getting Kieran talking makes me feel like I’ve won a prize. “Would it be weird to put applesauce inside the sandwich? Because we don’t have silverware, either.”
He shrugs. “You don’t have to feed me at all. But that sounds pretty good to me.”
“Awesome. Give me ten minutes to assemble this, and I will blow your mind with my pork loin.”
Wait, did that come out sounding dirty?
“Thanks,” he says simply. And then he goes upstairs to change.