“He doesn’t mind being caged up?”
“What the hell, Ronan? It’s not a cage.” He laughs.
There’s my dimples. I want to touch them, but I don’t. It’s still too soon for that. But my hands fidget by my sides with the strain of not reaching out to him.
“If you say so. I’m going to make dinner.” I check my watch — 6:10. I have twenty minutes. “I’ll make a stir-fry since we only have twenty minutes.”
In the kitchen, I start pulling out ingredients for a quick stir-fry. Colton comes in a few minutes later.
“Anything I can do to help?”
“No, thank you,” I say.
“Wow, you really know how to cook.” Colton picks up several spices, examining each one before putting them back down. Thankfully, he sets them back down in the right order.
“All of us had to take cooking lessons when we were teens. Most of us don’t like people in our spaces, and Mom didn’t want us to live on takeout.” The sound of the chicken sizzling fills the silence as Colton watches me.
“Ronan, can I ask you something without sounding ungrateful? Because I am, but I have questions.”
“You can ask me anything,” I say, glancing quickly at him and back to my pan.
“Why are you and your family doing all this for us? The job is one thing, but everything else is crazy or over the top. I mean, your mother set up a fucking playground.”
“Mom,” I correct him.
“What?” he asks.
“Don’t ever call Alessia Murphy Mother. You call her Mom even when referring to her,” I explain. “Mom grew up with very distant parents; it was always Mother and Father. She says it puts distance and is cold.”
“I know what that feels like.” He says it low and quietly, but I still hear him.
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing, just that my parents prefer Mother and Father.” His fingers idly play with the ends of the dish towel on the counter.
“Are you not still close to them?” From the background I did on him, I knew he had been living with them until recently. The real background on his real name, not the one he gave me. He’s good at covering his tracks, but I’m better.
“No. Don’t change the subject. I asked you a question.”
“Mom is at that age.” I start the veggies and rice. “She wants grandkids, and none of us are moving fast enough for her. When I told her about you and Ollie, well, you saw what happened.”
“Okay, well, that explains her, but what about you? Why are you doing all of this? You just met me, and I’m an employee.” He starts twisting the towel now. I think it’s a nervous habit for him.
“Because I can,” I say.
“That’s it? That’s your reason? Because you can?” His voice gets higher as he finishes.
“Yes.”
“See, that makes no sense to me.” He waves the dish towel in my direction. I’ve noticed several times today that when he seems nervous, he either bounces his leg or he plays with fabric. Thestraps of his bag, the sleeve of Ollie’s shirt, and now the dish towel. I like that I’m learning his tells. I want to learn them all.
I don’t comment again for a minute. I don’t understand why he keeps asking. The answer feels obvious to me. I pull out a small tray from the fridge. Mom sent over several prepared meals for Ollie that she had her cook make. I read the instructions taped to the top. Microwave for a minute, stir, then microwave for one more minute. A separate container has fruit. When that’s done, I turn to Colton.
“It makes perfect sense. You needed a job, so I gave you one. You weren’t safe where you were, so I brought you somewhere you would be. No one can get to you or Ollie here or at the office.”
“Why do you care so much? You don’t know me.”
“I know more than you think,” I say. At some point, I need to tell him I know who he really is. I think that will scare him, though.
