"You mean you're penniless."
"That's the aspirational word for it, yes."
He doesn't smile. He has, I'm learning, a whole vocabulary of not-smiling. But he steps back to let me in, and the door closes behind me with the well-oiled sound of a door that's never once been slammed, and just like that, I live here.
For all of a minute. Then the rules start.
"Rule one," he informs me, already walking. "Don't touch the thermostat."
"What if I'm cold?"
"Wear more."
"What if I'm hot?"
"Wear less—"
He pauses, but it's too late. I got him to say what I needed, and I'm grinning as I write those two precious words.
"You know what I mean."
"What's rule #2?" For me, it's to always change the subject when you want to sound agreeable while not actually agreeing at all.
"Don't answer my phone." "Even if it's your girlfriend?"
"I don't have one."
"Gotcha." I try hiding a smile as I write down two more precious words.
He's single.
"Rule two," I crow, "he's single. What's rule three?"
By my count we hit rule eleven before lunch, one of which includes not calling him Mr. H in front of the housekeeper, and I just nod at this because there's no point letting him know this is totally moot. I've already broken his rule when his housekeeper let me in, but she seems quite nice, so maybe it can just be a secret between the two of us.
And anyway—
"Don't you think it's time you tell me your name? I need something to call you—unless of course you're okay with me introducing you as my landlord slash rescuer slash eventual husband slash—"
"It's Maximo."
A few seconds of silence follow—because I need proper time to savor his name.
Maximo.
It totally suits him, and even better it totally suits me.
I'm Jassy, Maximo's wife.
I can't help smiling as I practice saying this in my mind. It sounds really, really good, and so I bet it sounds even better when I say it out loud.
"Maximo."
And so I do, and it immediately makes my future husband's expression turn stoic.
How cute.
And so I say it again and again and again. "Maximo, Maximo—"
