Page 67 of Trust Me

“You’re not usually so glum.”

“Maybe people should stop assuming things about me.”

Leaning his elbows on the counter, he grunted. “Alright, whatever. Why are you here?”

“It’s basically my third home.”

“Having so many seems like you’re sorta blessed.”

I matched his position, shifting my weight forward until I was close to him. “What makes a home?”

His brows went up for a second, then he turned contemplative. “Family?” After he said it, he shook his head. “Not only that, though. It’s just one option.”

“You don’t have to be apologetic about it.”

He made that signature grunting sound before he turned away from me. I struggled to find something else to say, but after my long day at work, I didn’t really have the brainpower for it.

Dean took a glass and filled it from the soda gun. When he turned back around, he set it down in front of me.

“Trying to get me drunk?” I teased.

“It’s virgin.”

“I know.”

Tentatively, I took a sip. For some reason, I thought he’d give me a graveyard or something, just to mess with me, but it was root beer. I met his eyes while I took a longer drink, and he stared right back at me. It could’ve been a coincidence that this was my favorite soda. There were two options in this place that were caffeine-free, so it was a roll of the dice.

“I think how you feel in a place makes it a home,” he said, resuming his previous position. “It’s not just about the people or the location.”

“Go on.”

“When you’ve had a long day, does walking through the door take that weight off your shoulders, or do you feel boxed in, like that familiar kitchen is just a placeholder for something else? Would you feel sad to see it burn down, or would you simply find yourself moving on to the next place? Do you feel safe there, even when you’re alone?”

I hummed thoughtfully. “Those are interesting questions.”

“So, do you?”

Chewing on the inside of my cheek, I ran my finger around the rim of the glass. “I don’t really know. I don’t not feel safe there. If it burned down, I’d be sad about it because it’s an old place with a lot of memories. Not just mine. In the bedroom behind the dresser, there are marks on the wall. I think they’re from measuring a kid’s height. Nobody will ever know who they belonged to, but the idea of them being gone feels tragic.”

“But that has nothing to do with you.”

“Doesn’t it? Some people a lot smarter than me say that thought shapes reality. Maybe memories do too. Matter can’t really be destroyed, right? So everything I’m made up of could be connected to a thousand other lives that came and went at some point. Maybe millions of years ago, part of me existed in another galaxy we can’t even fathom. Maybe I was a warrior.”

“You sure you aren’t drinking?”

With a laugh, I drained the glass. “Nah, man, I just get lost in my head sometimes.”

“He’s a dreamer,” Remi chimed in from the register.

“And he’s a nosey bitch,” I muttered. “Hey, I’m gonna grab some food on my way home. I’ll get you something for when you’re off.”

Dean shook his head. “Don’t do that.”

“It’s cool. I know you’re trying to make me save money, so I guess I could just cook. What sounds good?”

“Seriously, I’ll be off late. Probably won’t even be hungry.”

“I’ll have to surprise you, then. I’ll wait until later so it doesn’t sit around for too long.”