But with the sour aftertaste of that pushy tourist a few hours ago still rattling through me, I don’t let my gaze trace across her exposed collar bone or dance up her long legs the way I want to.
“I brought Thai food.” It’s all I can manage to say with my mouth this dry.
She makes a yummy sound in the back of her throat that’s really not helping me right now. “Sounds perfect. Come on in.”
I follow her through the house into the dining room in the back. From the street, the house looks like any other in town in the “mountain modern” style: neutral brown wood-look siding, wide windows, and a roof pitched at steep angles for winter snows. Inside, it’s even more pronounced, with exposed beams, a stone fireplace, and honey oak cabinets in the kitchen. It’s a comfortable house.
But none of the actual stuff in here matches Rose’s more…let’s just say, quirky style. From the faux cowhide rug to the metal donkey sculptures in front of the fireplace to the wall covered in paintings of cowboys, none of this looks like her. Even the rustic vases and knick knacks on the sideboard look out of place next to her.
“Are you housesitting?” I open the takeout bag and set the containers of curry and rice on the table. She’s already got two plates laid out side by side, and glasses with a jug of milk.
“No. It’s my house.” She gestures for me to take one of the chairs. We sit, and I open up the food, letting the scents of lemongrass and coriander swirl in the air.
“I didn’t know you were such a fan of the old west.”
She laughs, pulling one foot beneath her as she spoons rice onto her plate. “That’s my parents. We moved down here from Seattle when I was ten, and they went a little overboard on the frontier chic.”
“I thought their traveling was a permanent thing.” She talks like they don’t plan on coming back to stay for several years at least.
“It is. They gave me the house before they left. They wanted me to have something now because they feel bad they’re ‘spending so much of my inheritance.’” Her sarcastic tone goes along with the air quotes she dashes in front of her. “I told them to go live the lives they want and not worry about saving it for me.”
“That’s good advice.” I wish Harry had taken it. He lived likea hermit in his retirement, in a cabin worse off than mine. The only thing he spent his money on was bait, regular donations to the local food bank, and that coffee shop.
If I’d had any idea he had so much saved up, I would have told him to travel the world, too. Go fishing on every continent. Buy himself better waders, for cripe’s sake. But we didn’t talk about money. I never knew he had a dime until he was gone and it all came to me.
But I’m no better than he was. Now all that money’s sitting inmybank account, and I don’t know what to do with it, either.
“It’s not really my taste, but…” She lets her hesitation hang there, glancing around at the rustic wood decor.
“These walls are stark white.” A surprising find from the woman who’s been bringing me paint chips for Perk Me Up ever since I hired her on.
She exhales a cute little groan. “I know. I bought paint.” She flings a hand toward the corner. Two gallons of paint and a plastic bag with a foam roller sticking out are tucked next to the sideboard. “But Mom hates the idea of me changing things up.”
I might not want her to go color crazy in the coffee shop, but she should be able to do what she wants in her own home. I’m about to tell her so when she pokes me in the shoulder.
“Keep those frowns to yourself, mister. They paid an interior designer a lot of money to make it look like this.”
“You could take it all down for free.”
She laughs. “I know, I know. I’m working up to it.”
I want to tell her to stop worrying about her parents and do what she pleases, but I bite my tongue. Me telling her what to do isn’t any better than her parents telling her whatnotto do. I won’t add to those demands on her.
We eat in relative quiet. Aside from Sunday meals with my family, I’m used to eating in silence, but this one feels different. Comfortable. Less severe, just because I’m with her. I wouldn’t have ever said I was missing companionship, but I sure am slipping into it like a worn-in old flannel.
It’s a troubling revelation.
Then again, so are the assorted sounds Rose makes as she eats. She’s not an obnoxious eater, but I clearly chose well with the curries. Those soft sounds of satisfaction worm through my brain, digging in deep so I can recall them later. How could I get her to make similar sounds of delight all on my own?
“We should figure out our history,” I say before I let my mind wander down paths where it’s likely to get lost. “Since people will probably ask.”
“People” being my family, who haven’t stopped texting me for two days straight. I don’t have to guess at the kinds of questions folks might ask since my phone is full of them.
“Right.” She puts down her spring roll and wipes a napkin over her lips. “Well, we’re coworkers, so things probably developed gradually. We were friends and liked being around each other, and then we realized we had deeper feelings. Easy.”
“Easy.” It’s hard to swallow around the truth of just how easy it would be to fall into a scenario like that. Like falling into bed at the end of a long day. Inevitable.
“How long have we been dating, do you think?” She pins me with her big blue eyes. “A few weeks sounds right, but I told Lucy we’re already official.”
