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“A kitten. You told me last year that if you ever got a bonus, we could get a kitten.”
“I agreed to a cat? When did I do that?” I would never.
“You were paying bills on your laptop and I asked and you said yes.”
I shake my head. Smart kid, asking me when I’m distracted doing another one of my least favorite things. “Well, crap.”
“So, we’re getting a kitten, right?”
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I nod, and even though I’ll probably regret it, the squeal of sheer delight that explodes from her makes me smile. If it gives her something to look forward to, I’ll do it.
Anything for her.
* * *
The sauce smells heavenly. Tastes even better. Guess all that talk about making stuff from scratch is true. All that’s left now are the noodles, which I will pop in boiling water closer to when Gavin is supposed to be home.
With that done, I tidy up the kitchen and move on. I’m usually only here four days a week. It gives me more than enough hours to maintain this place, even with the added task of cooking, especially when it’s just one man living here. I’m not sure what I’ll do with so much time.
I go from room to room, searching for something that hasn’t been done in a while. All the bathrooms are spotless, the stack of clothes to iron done. The last room I take a peek in is the office. Or I suppose calling it a library would work too.
Gavin likes to read and nowhere else does it show better than in here. Two entire walls have built-in shelves filled with hundreds of books. Nothing I would generally read, mainly because I don’t enjoy it. But I like the way it feels to be surrounded by them. The way it makes such a contemporary and minimalistic space cozier.
Maybe I’ve likened it to him in some way. The entire house seems cold, while the heart of it has warmth and layers. Maybe it’s just wishful thinking.
There are a few books that have been left on a small table by a green vintage leather chair facing a modern electric fireplace. A glass with what appears to be the remnants of whiskey is set beside the coaster, and sweat has beaded down its side and formed a pool of moisture that seeped into one of the covers.
“Shit,” I pick up the book and wipe it. He’s ruined so many pages this way, and because I rarely spoke with him in the past, I didn’t have the guts to ask him to use the coaster. Instead, I made sure to have one always there. It made no difference.
Now, however, I’ll be sharing a lot more with him. My bed included. Telling him to use a coaster should be easier. Doubt he’ll listen though.
As I walk the books to their place on the shelves, I read the titles. All of them are books on how to become a better person, a more effective leader and how to achieve success. Ways to become master of your life. How to take control of your destiny.
I stare at that last one. It wouldn’t hurt for me to read it, who knows, it could be the start to a new passion. So, I set it aside. The others, I slide into the empty slots on the shelves. That’s when I notice the slight dust accumulated on them and figure out what I can do next.
Grabbing the step ladder and a microfiber cloth, I get to work. First, I dust all the bookshelves that line one of the walls, taking my time with every knickknack I come across. Then I move to the other side of the office. I’ve just reached the top of the stepladder and begin with the upper ones, when I hear a sound near the entrance.
I whirl to find Gavin leaning against the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest and his intense stare roving over me.
“You’re back early,” I say breathlessly, my heart suddenly pounding a mile a minute.
He lifts his eyes from my white sneakers, slowly dragging them up to my face. “My schedule was cleared. Don’t stop on my account,” he tells me when I go to step off. “Please, go on.”
Without removing his gaze from me, he pushes off the doorway and walks around his desk, where he drops into his chair.
I bite my lower lip anxiously. “I can come back later. Surely I’d just distract you.”
“If I wanted you to go, I’d have told you to. Stay. I want the distraction.” He sits back into a relaxed position that tells me he’s getting confrontable to watch me.
Swallowing hard, I turn back to my work. The awareness of his presence in the room makes it near impossible to breathe, much less move. His attention is so palpable, that I lose track of what I’m doing.
The swish of the dust cloth becomes nothing more than background noise as the beating of my heart drums loudly in my ears. A beat that stops abruptly when I hear his chair squeak.
“My book got wet,” he says.
I look at him over my shoulder. He’s gotten up and is leaning against the desk now, turning the book over in his hands.
“I found it on the table near the drink. The glass wasn’t on the coaster, so…”
