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If I said yes, I know he’d give me the space. It’s been clear from his behavior and efforts that he’s trying to make my life easier not harder, but doesn’t he see how weird things are between us?
Maybe it’s because my mother is dying in the other room, and I’ve caught myself staring at his rock-hard ass twice already, and that’s just since he showed up this morning. Maybe it’s because I’ve found reasons to keep him here longer in the day when he mentions heading home. Maybe because despite what’s going on, the tragedy I’m facing, I put fucking mascara on this morning.
“If you have other things to do—”
“You stubborn—” His jaw flexes as he grinds his teeth. “I’d like to stay if you’re okay with that.”
I swallow before answering, praying my words don’t come out on a squeak. “I don’t mind you being here. I think it makes things easier for Alex to know that I’m not here alone in case something bad happens.”
That bad thing being Mom taking her last breath.
My hands shake, a tremble that comes and goes as I try to mentally prepare myself for the inevitable, as I begin to pull items from the grocery bags.
“I can do this if you want to take a breather,” he offers.
He knows I’m exhausted. It’s been nonstop visits from hospice getting everything set up. The home health nurse only came a few times a week, but now we have a hospice nurse, a hospice aide, the chaplain from the hospice company, as well as the minister from Mom’s church coming and going, multiple visits each day. Although they said from the beginning they’re here to make things easier, I still feel obligated to act as a host when they arrive, making sure to offer them something to eat or drink, needing to give them a full report of what’s been going on with Mom since they last visited. I’m exhausted. Thankfully, my boss understands what’s going on, having dealt with the same for an elderly grandparent not long ago, and is allowing me family medical leave so I can stay home and help. Truthfully, if she’d said no, I would’ve quit my job on the spot, worrying about bills and getting another job later. I’m glad I don’t have that to worry about for now.
“I need to stay busy.”
“You’re going to wear yourself out.”
We pass each other, him heading to the pantry, me carrying an armful of fresh produce.
“I’m already there.”
“Take a break.”
Is he not hearing a word I’m saying? I swear men just don’t get it sometimes.
“I can do the groceries.”
“You just want to hide the candy,” I tease, knowing there’s another bag of M&Ms somewhere in the delivery because Alex and he polished off the first bag that was delivered while watching a televised baseball game last night.
“I won’t apologize for the sweet tooth. I normally work out six days a week.”
Unless he’s been doing that after leaving here late in the evening the last couple of days, he’s been skipping those training sessions. Another realization that makes me think back to a time when I watched him lift weights when we were younger. Knowing I liked it when he did push-ups without a shirt on, he made sure to strip down before getting into position. There’s just something about a man’s back muscles working hard that gets me fired up.
I clear my throat as if he can see inside my head and go back to the counter for another load of things needing to go into the fridge.
“You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?”
“The groceries?” I hedge, trying to steer the conversation away from where my thoughts have taken me.
He doesn’t allow for it, and I can’t help but wonder if it’s another manipulation, like almost kissing me the other night before pulling away. I couldn’t sleep that night, mostly because that day, getting terrible news about my mom, was one of the top five worst days of my life. He drew me in only to slam that door because he wants to hurt me again.
He chuckles. “The groceries? No, Tinley. You’re thinking about me working out. I can take my shirt off and get on the floor if it’ll help get your head out of that dark place it’s always going.”
“You’re so full of yourself,” I tell him, a smile creeping up unbidden.
I turn to find him closer to me than I realized he was, forcing me to tilt my head back to look into his dark, stormy eyes.
His teeth scrape over his bottom lip in that way that has always had the power to make me perk up and take notice. It’s the same now as it was thirteen years ago, and I find myself entranced with the sight of his mouth, the way his cupid’s bow fits perfectly on his face.
