Page 62 of Muscle Cub

“Snacks and TV?” I asked.

“Sounds perfect.” Austin kissed me. “You got any popcorn?”

“I have a popcorn cabinet,” I bragged as I led him downstairs. “Well, it’s a shelf in a cabinet, but it’s the entire shelf.”

I rarely had guests. Even when my mom or my sister stopped by, I followed them around with mild anxiety, trying to anticipate their every move or requirement, then felt relieved when they were gone. Despite the noticeable hush they left in their wakes.

I liked watching Austin move through my space. He inhabited my kitchen without reticence, opening cabinets until he found the drinking glasses, filling them with ice, and pouring us sodas. All the while chatting like he’d been here a hundred times before.

Where did you come from? I thought. How are you here?

His presence was both magical and gloriously mundane. Like he belonged here.

The thought was so recklessly hopeful I had to cover for it by mansplaining how best to microwave the popcorn. “A minute and nineteen seconds.”

Austin ignored me, punched in two minutes on the clock, and hit Start.

“What are you—”

He lifted his chin. “You’re supposed to listen and stop it when there are two full Mississippis between pops.”

“Which, I am telling you, sir, is exactly one minute and nineteen seconds.”

He lifted his chin. “We’ll see.”

I scowled, and he mimicked my expression with cartoonish exaggeration until I finally gave in and laughed at him.

As the timer neared the optimal number—which I’d perfected from countless attempts—I reached for the touchpad, but he batted my hand away. He cocked an ear, listening.

I crossed my arms and glared at him. Stubborn fucker.

He punched Stop at one minute and twenty seconds. “Perfect.”

I rolled my eyes. “Oh, please. We both know I won that round.”

I used the room at the front of the house next to the living room as a den. It had originally been a bedroom, but we’d removed the door so it felt more like a passthrough.

I told Austin to sit wherever he liked, to make himself comfortable, but he insisted I claim my usual spot first.

I put my drink and the popcorn within reach on the coffee table and sat in the corner of the L-shaped sectional. Austin arranged a few pillows so he could lean back against me with his legs stretched out. He grabbed the cashmere throw folded over the back of the couch, sniffed it, and sighed. “Smells like you.” He covered himself with it from feet to chin, and once he was settled, I draped my arm over his shoulder with my hand resting on his chest.

I smiled against his hair and clicked the TV remote.

Reno 911 appeared on the screen.

“I love this show!” Austin said excitedly.

I smiled. “I do too.”

“Really? I figured you’d want to watch Masterpiece Theater or a documentary.”

“I like those options fine, but I also particularly love a mockumentary. You wanna hear a confession?”

He tilted back his head to look up at me. “Always.”

“I have a crush on Lieutenant Dangle,” I whispered. “The one who always wears short-shorts.”

“Yeah, he’s cute, but I’m partial to Travis Junior.” He sighed. “I swoon for a good mustache.”