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Six months ago, I was perfectly happy being alone. Now … now that I’ve sat by Savannah’s beside while she was sick, now that I’ve carried her in my arms, now that she’s been naked in my shower and smells like my soap, I don’t want to be alone anymore.
Chapter Fourteen
Savannah
* * *
For a guy who can barely keep himself fed, Ian makes an excellent caretaker.
Okay, so I don’t know that he can barely keep himself fed. But I’m assuming, since Martin had to hire me to cook for him, that Ian wasn’t doing a great job feeding himself before I came along.
After my embarrassing display of inferior lung capacity on the stairs …
And can we just talk about how humiliating that was? Who can’t walk downstairs on their own? Who?
Anywho…
After my embarrassing display of weakness, Ian gets me settled on the sofa and cues up an episode of Brooklyn Nine-Nine. He spends an inordinate amount of time fussing with pillows and a blanket, fluffing and then stepping back to study the effect, as if my comfort is a complex scientific mystery he needs to unravel.
Is he hoping to win the Nobel Prize for pillow fluffing? Or maybe he’s worried I’m going to file a workman’s comp complaint?
At some point, I feign sleep just so he’ll give it a rest. And because I have the energy levels of a newborn kangaroo, I actually fall asleep.
When I wake up, there’s a tray of food on the coffee table. There’s a travel mug with warm herbal tea, along with a to-go container of soup. The soup seems to be chicken tortilla soup, but with wontons. A weird combo for sure, but unexpectedly good.
I can hear Ian on the phone in the other room, undoubtedly on one of his many business phone calls. This one is something about the acidification of oceans, kelp forests, and mussels. For a guy who claims to be retired, he puts in some long hours.
As soon as I sit up, I notice Ian has gone silent, usually a sign his call has ended. I look up in time to see him propping his shoulder against the doorway between the kitchen and the living area.
“You’re up.” He tucks his phone in his pocket as he walks towards me. “How’s the soup?”
“Weird.” I tuck myself in the sofa's corner, leaving him plenty of room to sit. “But somehow, not as weird as it should be.”
He chuckles, sitting at the other end of the sofa. Despite the size of the room, the sofa is a simple, sleek black leather sofa, so he’s not that far away. “Yeah, no one ever expects Tortilla Wonton Soup to be good, but it is.”
“I guess better this than the Spanish Inquisition,” I quip, slurping up a wonton.
He tips his head, frowning.
I laugh at his obvious confusion. “Come on. Monty Python? ‘No one ever expects the Spanish Inquisition’? Don’t tell me you’ve never seen it.”
“I’ve never seen any Monty Python.”
“No way!” I reach out a foot to nudge his leg, sure he’s teasing me.
He just shrugs. “Why would I have? Wasn’t that show from the sixties?”
“Um … the seventies. And it was a show and there were movies. Besides, you’re a geek. I thought all geeks were Monty Python fans.”
He squirms, swallowing visibly. “First off, most people would consider me a nerd, not a geek.”
“Oh, my gosh. You’re blushing.” I give his leg another playful nudge. “Are you seriously embarrassed by this?” He scowls and I can’t tell if he’s legitimately annoyed or just messing with me. I hold up a hand in truce. “Okay, okay. I’ll stop teasing you, but first you have to explain what the difference is between a nerd and a geek.”
“A nerd is into engineering and math. A geek is …” He gives another shrug. This one inexplicably even more awkward. “I don’t know. Cooler, I guess.”
I bust out laughing and have to put down the soup because I don’t want to spill it on his fancy-ass (probably) cashmere throw. “Are you serious right now?”
He gives me a thoughtful look. “About what?”
