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Instantly he replies, “You’re so pretty I need to buy a pencil sharpener.”
He looks at my mouth and his pupils dial out, ink black, and everything on the edges of this moment washes away. I think he’s going to kiss me. I’ve only just come out of romance retirement and I’m very inexperienced, but even I know that this is it.
I swear, he’s going to do it. Another inch closer.
I haven’t been kissed in years, and those were largely tongueless. I don’t remember how to, but Teddy does. We are suspended in this buoyant moment, knees touching. Then it’s like he remembers something, blinking out of the building haze. Now we’re floating a respectable distance apart.
To cover up the weird mix of disappointment and relief I’m feeling, I say, “I know you just want to defend your couch and cheddar territory.” I’m getting fatigued and am sinking down to my chin in the water.
“According to your own Week 1 worksheet, which I photocopied and is now in the back pocket of my jeans, your dream guy is nothing like me. You want someone who’ll stick around. Mature, generous, principled.”
His fist is solemnly offered to me; I don’t check which hand it is. I just rub the knuckles like a comfort. “You didn’t have to make an ass of yourself just now, but it made their day. You just made a difference to a lot of people.” I watch him turn over my words. “You’ve been interested in what goes on inside my head, and that means more than I can say.”
“What’s going on here?” Renata bawls from the sideline. “What did I talk to you about, at length, Theodore Prescott?” She gets to her feet and walks to the edge. I stare at the wet tiles beneath her feet with my heart even further up my throat.
Teddy looks back into my eyes. “Don’t seduce Ruthie if I don’t plan on sticking around, because she’s a tender treasure that must be protected at all costs.”
Renata barks: “Correct. And what are you doing right now?”
“I’m explaining to her that I’m not her type,” he says easily as he strokes through the water, away from me.
“Damn right. Get out of the pool. Now.” Renata says it in a voice that cannot be disobeyed, and just like that, Teddy’s up the ladder, leaving me to eventually climb up myself. Out of that cold water, on dry land, I sweat and shiver for the rest of the afternoon.
Chapter Sixteen
You did good,” Melanie says with her head inside my closet. “Your first worksheet was excellent. You were really honest about your dream man.”
(Was I, though?)
“Thanks, Mel. And yours looks good too.” I am sitting on my bed, reading her version of the worksheet: the dream job edition. “I think what I’m seeing here is that you don’t like any job where the days are the same.”
“Yeah. It makes me start to feel like I’m decaying.” She tosses a handful of clothes on the bed, still on their hangers. “But don’t try to distract me. We’re talking about you. Bring on the Sasaki Method, Week 2.”
My swimsuit is on a hanger from the curtain rail. It’s been dry for three days now, but I haven’t put it away because it’s a reminder that what happened between Teddy and me was real.
I changed when I jumped in that pool. I got younger.
I’ve soaked myself in something that has made my skin sensitive. I’ve been breathless ever since we swam in the same water and he told me words like sublime, sizzle, magnetic. I need to walk around naked for a few minutes to recalibrate myself, but the moment I even touch a button or zip, he’s knocking on my front door, asking to borrow something.
A knife, fork, plate, and frying pan have all gone next door. After dinner, he appropriates a squirt of washing-up detergent. He leans in my doorway drying my things with my dishcloth, telling me about the ridiculous tasks he performed for Renata, and I can’t stop staring at the toes of his boots on the threshold to my apartment. He’s creating a boundary for us. The fact that he sees a need to? I get a delicious shiver in my stomach.
Without thought I tell Melanie, “Teddy’s made me doubt this whole project.”
“Did you just tell me to my face that Teddy Prescott is making you doubt me and my Method?” Melanie throws a tweed blazer onto the bed with violence. “You’re going to take advice from a man-child like him?”
I am compelled to defend him. “That’s harsh.”
“It’s accurate.” She holds up a blouse and makes a face. “Remember, he’s a test. You need to stay strong and resist the urge.”
“There’s no urge,” I begin to lie, but she holds up a hand.
“My mother says in any relationship, there’s an adorer and an adoree. One who loves, and the one who is loved. You’ll need to know which one you are.”
“Adorer. Adore-ee.” I sound out the unfamiliar made-up word. I think of my mom and dad. That’s pretty clear-cut. He doesn’t even buy her a birthday present; she bakes him a triple-layered cake. “Give and take.”
“Exactly. Theodore Prescott is permanently on the hunt for an adorer. And he will take all the adoration until you have no more. Then, like a big old honeybee, off he’ll go, buzz, buzz, buzz . . .”
Teddy’d probably agree, but I wish she’d stop. “Just warning you, if he’s home, he can hear you through the wall. He says bless-you when I sneeze.”
