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He doesn’t ask questions and I’m relieved. He probably thinks we just bought an entry-level home we could afford. I don’t typically blurt my business and I’m surprised I’ve said as much as I’ve already said. I’m stopping myself from explaining that my fiancé lost the use of his legs recently and that’s why we bought a one level rowhouse when I’ve always dreamed of living in a big home with all sorts of character including a wraparound porch, grand staircase, and a yard big enough to have a football game in. Like that house I’ve been watching that we can’t afford and that’s come off the market. Just as well, I guess. I’ve stopped dreaming about raising a family there.
I eat more of my soup, but I’m feeling self-conscious. He’s eating his soup, too, but he’s also studying me.
I feel a little stumped. Because if I encourage conversation, will he think the wrong thing? I can’t just sit here and say nothing.
My phone buzzes and I quickly reach for it, relieved that I’ve now got an excuse to make a quick exit.
“Excuse me a second,” I say to Derek as I read it.
Dad: What’s my Wi-Fi password, kiddo? Got a new phone.
I reply.
I taped it to the upper inside of the drawer in the table where you keep the remote controls.
I stare at my screen a moment, waiting to see if he replies. He does.
Dad: Thanks. All good with you?
I reply with a smiley face and another line saying,
We should catch up soon.
He replies with a thumbs up.
I tuck my phone away and loop my bag over my shoulder.
“I’m gonna have to go. Something’s come up.” I wave to Mr. Nguyen and move in that direction with my wallet. “Could I have a take-out container and a raised chocolate donut to go, please?”
“Of course,” he calls out and rings me up.
After I pay for my food, three people come in, so he tells me he’ll bring me the container and my donut in a moment.
I move back to a watching and waiting Derek Steele, who has his elbow propped on the table, his chin resting on his palm.
“Don’t forget your book,” he says.
“I’d like to give you the money for it,” I tell him.
He shakes his head. “Book report.”
I roll my eyes. “How am I supposed to deliver a book report to you?”
“It won’t be difficult,” he states with a salacious look in his eyes.
I laugh it off, feeling uncomfortable. I’m not sure what that means, but I don’t ask. Instead, I put the book into my bag and sop up stray soup drips from the table with a napkin, studiously avoiding Derek’s eyes, even though I know he’s still watching me.
More people have come in, so it takes a minute, but Mrs. Nguyen stops by with a container, lid, and a paper bag. I thank her as she lifts my soup and pours it into the container while Derek gets up and holds my jacket out for me.
He helps me into it and the proximity means the heat is again rising, not just up my face and up my neck, but also in other places too.
He steps around to face me and begins to button up my coat for me.
I stand still, sort of statue-like, sort of deer-in-the-headlights like, eyes on his face while his fingers work their way up my coat.
Why is he buttoning my coat? Why am I not backing up and taking over?
He’s got fascinating bone structure. Cut jaw. Really great skin. Grooves in his bottom lip that have me licking my lips for some reason. After doing up my top button, he straightens my collar for me and looks straight into my eyes while still holding it. “Get home safely, Chloe Turner.”
