Page 54 of Hard to Get

“You probably want to go change.” I move closer to shift wet hair off her shoulder.

“You’re wet, too. I can put your things in the dryer.”

“And leave me naked?” I widen my eyes.

“Oh no, you figured out my plan.” She gives my chest a little push. “Come on up.”

A dark wood staircase leads to the second floor of the condo where there are two big bedrooms. In one bedroom, I notice several cardboard boxes sitting on the floor and a lot of plants in the window.

She opens closet doors to reveal her washer and dryer. I pull my shirt over my head and hand it to her, then step out of my pants. “These won’t take long. This ripstop fabric dries fast.” I’m in my boxer briefs and socks.

“There’s a robe in that bathroom.” She points, then heads into presumably her bedroom.

I find a big terry robe and put it on. It’s too short, but it does meet around my torso.

“Whose robe is this?” I ask, following her into her bedroom.

She grins. “It’s just an extra for guests.”

“Guests.” I sound grumpy. “Huh.”

“I do have girlfriends who sometimes stay overnight.”

I’m distracted from my sulk by Stella pulling off her long-sleeved shirt, then peeling out of her leggings. She pads over to a dresser and finds a pair of loose sweatpants and a sweatshirt in matching pink.

She throws me a towel and keeps one for herself, using it to towel dry her long hair. I drag the towel over my hair, watching her run a hairbrush through her own.

“Maybe we could just have dinner here?” she says.

“That sounds perfect. We can order in.”

“What do you like?”

“I like anything.” I move closer to her and set my hands on her hips. “Your cheeks are the same colour as your sweats.”

“And your hair looks like you just got out of bed.” She runs a hand through the long strands on top of my head, tousling it even more.

“I did.” I tilt my head and dip down to kiss her. Just a short kiss. Soft. Sweet.

“Pizza?”

“Hmm?” I got distracted again. “Sure.”

We debate our favourite pizza places in the neighbourhood as we go back downstairs. There are many. We finally agree on a Neapolitan pizzeria. After checking out the menu on my phone, I place the order for a couple of pizzas, a salad, and I add on focaccia with balsamic dip.

“It says an hour.” I toss down my phone.

“Something to drink?” she offers. “I have beer, wine, and cranberry juice.”

I grin. “A beer would be great.”

I follow her to the kitchen, which is open to the living room, separated by a small dining table and chairs. The kitchen is all white, also tiny but functional, with a stone countertop in shades of beige and cream. She pulls a beer out of the fridge and hands it to me, then pours herself a glass of wine.

“So you just moved in here, right?” I ask.

“Yeah. I haven’t even finished unpacking. I haven’t had time to put up my pictures.” She gestures to a bunch of framed art sitting on the floor against a wall.

“Do you have tools?”