I could see it in my head like one of my paintings.
I just wasn’t sure if it was going to end in tears or laughter.
I had a feeling it would be both.
SIXTEEN
Dutch
The therapistI’d tried had given me steps in how to regulate myself when anxiety was creeping in. He’d also given me a generous prescription for Xanax.
Neither of them had worked.
This tiny chaos demon of a woman did more to ground me in the moment in five minutes than anything I’d tried in the last year.
I hadn’t realized I was heading for a spiral, but she knew.
“Dutch?”
“Yeah?”
“Can we have pizza?”
I laughed. “I’m fucking starving.”
“Me too.” She leaned back, her fingers laced along my lower spine. “How do you feel aboutRoadhouse?”
“Pardon?” Not at all what I was expecting her to ask me.
“Roadhouse. The movie.”
“Reboot or original?”
She gave me a disgusted look. “Is that even a question?”
“I have very fond feelings about it.”
“Great!” She reached down and smacked my ass. “You slice the pizza up and I’ll start the movie.”
The laugh tumbled out of me as she ducked under my arm and hurried back into the living room. She went right to the large bay window and flicked a switch. A hidden shade lowered, darkening the room as it blotted out the afternoon sun.
I followed directions and cut up the pizza, filching a piece of sausage as I divvied up the slices onto the mismatched plates she’d put out on the counter.
In the three minutes it took me, she’d rearranged the living room to turn it into a Netflix and chill situation. It was the only word for it.
She situated herself on the couch, patted the cushion on one side of her for Mouse who happily hopped up then did the same for me on her other side.
“Do this a lot?”
“You have no idea.” She made gimme fingers and I handed her the plate. “Thank you.”
I was about to sit down when she gave me a pained expression.
“What?”
“Wine.”
I shook my head and grabbed our glasses then settled beside her. She already finished most of the slice before she reached over Mouse for a remote.
