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“I dare you stand there and let me put this all away.”
My mouth falls open as I take a breath to speak. But nothing comes out.
Tommy looks smug and watches me.
The only sound I make is a pathetic squeaking one because my brain is not sure that it processed his last statement correctly.
“Do you accept?” he asks.
At least his prompting pushes my brain into an automatic response. “Yes.”
“Excellent,” he says, looking at the bottom of the glasses. “Dishwasher safe. Do you hand-wash these anyway?”
I shake my head. What is this man up to?
He opens the dishwasher and I groan because it’s half-full. Which means dirty dishes. He’s seeing my leftovers.
It’s not like he’s rifling through my dirty clothes, I remind myself.
Tommy pulls out the top rack, placing the glasses next to the three already there. He leaves the same amount of space between each one as I did and puts his hand on the end of the rack to push it in and pauses.
I look up and find his eyes on me.
“What are you going to change?” he asks.
“What do you mean?”
“When I leave, are you going to move these into a different place?” he clarifies.
“Actually, no.”
“Okay,” he says, closing the dishwasher until it clicks. He reaches for the cracker box, with those big hands of his, on the counter. Instead of grabbing the bag right away, he looks inside the box for a moment and gently unfolds it. He pours the crackers back into the bag, refolds it just as it was, and closes the box. The mixture of attraction and confusion at what I’m witnessing is unbelievable. No one has ever done anything like this before.
“Would you like to point to the cupboard where these belong or do I get to explore?” he asks.
This is the most bizarre dare I’ve ever experienced. I’m sure that Tommy would be incredibly amusing while trying to locate the right spot, but my hand has a mind of its own and points to the one next to the fridge. Half a heartbeat later, he’s looking inside and setting the box in the one open space.
“What will you change when I leave?” he asks.
“That box sits on its side because it’s easier to see the flavor from the top flaps.” I cringe. I shouldn’t have said that. It’s better to keep those quirks quiet.
“Ooh, smart.” He tips the box over and pushes it back in.
What? That’s his response? Nothing about me being neurotic like my ex said?
As my brain tries to go down a rabbit hole, Tommy already has his face in the fridge. The door shuts and he pours the blueberries gently into their container.
“I don’t think I need any pointers for where this goes.” And he winks at me.
About blueberries.
Actually, he winks at me about putting blueberries properly away in my fridge.
Oh my, I have never been more attracted to another person in my entire life.
Chapter 12: Tommy
This is definitely a date, and you can kiss on a date.
