Chapter 12
TWELVE
the big ones are just plain awkward to eat with
Alice
“Not your boss.”
His words ring loud and clear as I walk toward the building that houses my office and workspace.
I smile to myself, remembering the way his ears were already turning red by the time I turned away from him.
I bite my lip thinking of the way he adjusted that baseball cap he loves to wear backward when he’s working and forward when he’s riding.
My satisfaction doesn’t go unnoticed. Paige, Sam, and Corey are all watching with brows raised and knowing looks.
Son of a biscuit.
By the time five o’clock rolls around, I haven’t seen Arthur because I’ve hidden in my office all day. I know we were supposed to meet today, but after he so accurately called me out earlier, I couldn’t face him, so I pretended to have some calls to make and needed to reschedule.
I knew I’d made the right decision when Paige came to have lunch with me and asked about the “sexual tension that was most definitely tensioning” between Arthur and me.
Shutting it down as quickly as possible, and hiding the way my face heated at her comment, I let her words fuel my determination not to let myself get too close to him.
Now, rather than going back to the farmhouse, I opt for a grocery run.
I can’t keep living off snacks and Gran’s leftovers at the care facility.
Plus, I’m not going over there today. The nurses asked me to take a break since she’s been so upset lately, but they promised to call if she happens to be having a better-than-usual evening.
I don’t know how to feel about it. Relieved? Guilty? Numb? I think I’m all of them. It’s exhausting.
The people looking after her are so lovely, but they don’t know what kind of caregiver my grandmother was. They don’t know that resentment was so thick in the air of her house, it was suffocating. Or how she blamed me for my mother’s death.
No one does. Because what kind of person would I be if I seemed ungrateful for my grandmother taking me in when I was left with no parents at the age of twelve? No better than her, that’s for sure.
So I walk around the grocery store like I have nowhere else to be, because tonight, I don’t.
I keep my budget tight, opting for bananas, peanut butter, potatoes, chicken, bread, butter, an onion, and some garlic.
At the last minute, I splurge on eggs. Despite knowing exactly how much is in my bank account, I breathe a sigh of relief when the cashier hands me a receipt and sends me on my way.
Gran’s care facility drained me of nearly every dollar I had to my name.
And the moment my paycheck lands in my account, it’s essentially spoken for, between the facility, student loan payments, rent that I will insist on giving to Arthur, and all the other bills regular people have.
It’s all meticulously listed on a spreadsheet I look at no less than twice a week as if it’s my lifeline, which sometimes it sort of is.
I text Arthur to let him know I’ll be arriving at the house shortly. Owen had already given me his phone number, so I decide to finally use it.
Hi. I’ll be there shortly. Giving you a heads up in case you’re outside with Luther again.
ARTHUR:
Who is this?
Kidding.
No worries. Lu’s in the dog run, so he might hear you coming, but he can’t get to you. Is that okay?
His attempt at a joke has me rolling my eyes with a silly smile, and the kidding has me picturing him scrambling to send that in case I did think I had the wrong number. Even the fact that he shortened the dog’s name makes me smile.
Of course. See you soon.
My fingers move of their own accord, asking if he needs anything, but that feels too…
friendly, or something. We’re not friends.
We’re colleagues and roommates, and I know better than anyone that those are not guarantees for friendship.
I opt not to send it and put the Jeep in drive, following the familiar roads back to the farmhouse.
As I unload the back seat with my bag of measly groceries, Luther’s barks greet me from somewhere in the backyard.
For a moment, my heart rate picks up and I pause to listen for his proximity, looking around at both sides of the house.
Nothing. The barking stops, and if I hadn’t been listening so intently, I would have missed Arthur’s gentle scolding.
Once I’m in the front door, I’m greeted with the smell of something delicious, and my stomach rumbles. I was planning on a peanut butter and banana sandwich for dinner, which I’m certain will taste like cardboard after smelling whatever Arthur is making for himself.
When I step into the kitchen, he’s got a pair of basketball shorts and a cut-off shirt on, his hair is damp, and there’s a tea towel draped over his left shoulder.
Great. He looks like that while I’m still in work clothes and my hair piled in a messy bun on top of my head with stray curls that refuse to stay straight after a day in the heat of Ojai’s late summer weather.
He turns to greet me with a smile, and the bag I’m holding nearly slips out of my hand.
He’s so unfairly good-looking. Beautiful people have always intimidated me a little.
I don’t think anyone is truly ugly until their actions make them so.
I mean, if you’re the kind of person who doesn’t give up their seat for someone who clearly needs it more than you, or you scowl at babies, I don’t care how objectively beautiful you might be. In my eyes, immediately ugly.
But Arthur? He’s… I don’t know, this weird mix between pretty, with his sparkly brown eyes and those thick, insanely long eyelashes, and ruggedly hot, with the big muscles, forearm tattoos, permanent scruff on his jaw and a mostly serious expression at all times.
And it’s not that he doesn’t smile, but they’re these tiny, crooked ones that pull at one of his cheeks, and if you blink, you’ll miss them because they never last long.
I may have done a good job of avoiding him, but I have a surprisingly good view of the barn doors from my office, and I may have become a little too acquainted with every detail of Arthur from afar.
He’s a little rough around the edges, and yet there’s a softness to him.
I saw it when we met. It was in the way he watched me as I spoke, how he held me when we danced, in the tenderness of his voice when he talked about reading books with Luther, in how he interacted with Josie, looking both annoyed and entertained by her antics.
Never mind how concerned he was when he found me in the bathroom.
“Alice?” He wipes his hands on the towel draped on his shoulder and turns away from the stove, directing all of his attention to me. “Did you hear me?”
Crap on a cracker. I didn’t.
I got so caught up in my little Arthur daydream, I didn’t hear a word he said. Not having enough snacks today wasn’t a good idea. I’m so hungry I’ve lost the ability to act like a regular human being.
“I said, Luther is outside with a slow feeder that will keep him busy for a little bit.” He takes pity on me and repeats himself. Given how hot my cheeks are, I have a feeling my blush has become visible even through my tan skin.
I nod dumbly, and that little crooked smile pulls at his cheek, but he licks his bottom lip, erasing it as quickly as he did all my working brain cells with the swipe of his tongue.
“Need any help with that?” He motions to the bag I’m now holding on to for dear life with both hands. Looking away from him momentarily, I loosen my grip, hoping I didn’t squish all of my bananas. Or the eggs.
“I’m okay. Sorry, my brain stops working when I’m hungry.
” As I set my things on the kitchen island, Arthur gets back to whatever smells so ridiculously good on the stove, and while I quietly put my things away, my stomach rumbles in an obnoxiously loud way.
I try to cover it up with a cough, but Arthur’s chuckle is confirmation enough that it didn’t work.
“It’s almost ready, don’t worry.” He sets a hand on his hip as he continues to work. “I hope you like stew. I know it’s not quite fall yet, and it’s not like it ever gets all that cold here, but I thought some comfort food might be nice.”
“Oh. No, that’s okay.” As soon as my words are out, his shoulders slump.
“Shoot. That was rude, sorry. I do like stew. Who doesn’t like meat and potatoes, right?
But that’s the dinner you made for yourself, so it’s all right.
I’ll come back and make myself something when you’re done.
” And that’s code for, I don’t want to salivate or have my stomach embarrass me any further, nor do I want you to know I was going to eat a lame sandwich for dinner, so I’ll be going now.
“How do you know there’s meat in this stew?” He doesn’t look away from his task of… Oh my heavens, that’s garlic bread he’s taking out of the oven and setting down on the trivet. Tossing the towel he used back over his shoulder, he eyes me curiously.
I swallow down the lust I’m currently experiencing over this bread, butter, and garlic. “Um, it smells like it?” That shouldn’t be a question, and yet…
“Your nose is right.” He casually serves out the stew into two bowls that had already been sitting next to the stove.
“Table or island?” With his focus on sprinkling chopped parsley over the food, I stand motionless, mouth agape, taking in the scene in front of me and trying to make sense of what he’s saying.
I guess we’re having dinner together. “If you don’t mind grabbing us some spoons, I’m happy to eat wherever. ”
For some reason, that gets my feet moving, though my mouth is still proving to be quite useless. I grab a soup spoon for him and a dessert spoon for myself. Big spoons are so awkward to eat with.
Something about that thought makes me clear my throat.
“Table, if that’s okay?” I look over to the kitchen table, noting a pile of napkins already on it.
I place two underneath our spoons so we end up sitting across from one another.
“Can I get you a drink?” Might as well make myself useful. I hate watching other people work.
“Ice water would be amazing, please.” His eyes meet mine briefly before I walk to the open shelves where he has matching sets of minimalist glasses next to the plates and bowls. I let the falling ice and dispenser drown out my thoughts as I pour us both full glasses.
He’s already at the table, the garlic bread cut and displayed on the wooden cutting board, and the smell of stew making my stomach rumble again.
“You really didn’t have to do this, Arthur.” I sit, reluctantly, and he stands, jogging to the silverware drawer.
As soon as he sits back down, he holds his new spoon up.
“I like the little spoons, too. Honestly, the big ones are just plain awkward to eat with.” He sighs, like this is a serious concern for him, like he didn’t reveal we share a quirk I don’t think I’ve ever shared with anyone.
“All right, let’s dig in!” With a bright smile, my roommate renders me speechless yet again.