Her hands fall to her sides, and she sits up a little straighter, some of that fight finding its way back into her spine. “You conned me into making you crab cakes and giving you half my steak.”
Exactly. Dinner. “You’ve visited me at work."
A heavy sigh pushes through her lips as she throws her eyes toward the gray sky overhead. “I stumbled into a bar where you happened to be bartending.”
“I let you drive my truck.” So what if I listed that one twice? It’s that big of a deal to me.
Her mouth opens but no protest emerges.
While she’s silent, I keep going. “I never letanyonedrive my truck, Loren. Oh! And you know my family.”
“I met your cousin twice.”
“Like I said, you know my family.”
“Wow.” Her eyes narrow. “You’re really laying it on thick. Makes me wonder what you’re getting out of the deal.”
She’s right. Why am I so adamant about this?
It’s hard to explain, but something about Loren leaving doesn’t sit right in my gut. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in my thirty-two years on this earth it’s this: When your gut speaks, you listen. Otherwise, you’ll find yourself sitting in a courtroom across from the woman you love, arguing over who gets to keep the damn dog.
Loren’s hand falls to my knee, bringing me back to the present. “Look, I can’t put you out like that. You’ve already done more than enough for me. I appreciate the offer, but it’s a no.” She glances past me to my door across the concrete hallway. “Where would I even sleep?”
“In the spare bedroom.”
“Your apartment isn’t a studio?”
I shake my head. “The corner apartments are all two-bedrooms.”
“Why do you need two bedrooms?”
To answer that would be opening a whole can of worms, and having both of us depressed at the same time isn’t going to help the situation. So I keep it light and neutral. “I like my space.”
Her head tilts, that poodle flopping to the side. “Yet you’re willing to give up that space for me.”
“Maybe I just want someone to pay half the rent.”
She finally removes her hand, letting it fall to the concrete between us. “How much is half the rent?”
“Two-fifty.”
“A month?”
“I’ve been here for a while.”
“How long’s a while?”
“Twelve years.”
“And they haven’t upped the rent?”
“They can’t. My rate’s locked in.” That’s why I haven’t moved. One of the reasons anyway. The other one isn’t relevant to this conversation.
“You’re a saint for offering, but I won’t do that to you. I’m sure someone online has a spare room. Maybe a bit closer to the city so the drive to work won’t be such a slog.”
I guess that’s that.
Now I’m going to have to get to know a new neighbor and hope they can cook as well as Loren. Otherwise, I’ll have to go back to going home for proper meals and listening to my mom harp on and on about my life choices in person instead of via text.
