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Fuck.
I really like her.
Aspyn
On Monday at work, one of the nurses, Shala, asked about my date this past weekend. As we ate lunch in the dining room, I filled her in on what had happened and how I ended up actually having dinner with Troy Serrano. My failed date had essentially turned into a date with Troy, and I still didn’t understand how I truly felt about that. I’d had a good time with him, though. That was undeniable.
Shala was all too amused by my story.
“Honestly, what are the chances?” she said. “It’s like you can’t get away from the guy. I love it, though.”
“I know. And it turned out to be a pretty nice dinner.”
It was the first time I’d been able to spend time with Troy without dwelling on the past. I’d gotten lost in conversation—and a little lost in his gorgeous eyes at times.
“Sounds like you dodged a bullet with that Brian, too.”
I nodded. “Without a doubt. It’s always nice when someone shows their true colors off the bat. Saves you time wasted. Although, I wasn’t attracted to him in person, so it likely wouldn’t have gone anywhere even if he’d turned out to be a stand-up guy.”
“Physical attraction is important.” She took a bite of her sandwich and chewed. “Speaking of attractive, what about Troy? What are his true colors? Do you think he’s still that jerk he was in high school?”
I shook my head. I hadn’t figured grown-up Troy out yet. “I’ve always been taught to believe that people don’t change. I can’t say there are never exceptions, though. But I don’t have enough current-day experience to deem him trustworthy.”
She shoveled some chips into her mouth. “That’s too bad, because he’s so damn good-looking.”
“If Troy were as trustworthy as he is hot, we certainly wouldn’t have a problem, now would we?” I chuckled.
We continued chatting as the subject changed from Troy to Kiki. Shala had three kids, one of whom was eight like my niece, so I often looked to her for advice.
Our conversation was interrupted when she looked over my shoulder. “Oh my. Look who’s here.”
I turned to find a smiling Troy walking toward our table.
I wiped the side of my mouth with my napkin. “What are you doing here?”
“What do you think I’m doing here? I’m visiting my grandfather.”
“I know…but your days are usually Tuesdays and Thursdays.”
He pulled up a seat next to me. “It’s not an exact science, Dumont. Those aren’t the only days I ever come see him, just the days we go out. Sometimes I pop in at random times—bring him a donut or say hello during my lunch break.” He looked down at my empty plate. “What are you up to…eating?”
“Yeah.” I tucked a piece of my hair behind my ear. “Just finishing up.” The hair on my arms stiffened; the way my body reacted when he was close definitely unnerved me.
“What’s going on the rest of the day here?” he asked.
“We’re doing a singalong later.”
“Nice. How does that work?” he asked.
“I play the piano and sing and everyone else…” I stopped, momentarily distracted by his…face.
“Sings along.” He grinned, finishing my sentence.
“Yeah.”
“What tunes?”
“We usually pick one band or artist and go through a number of songs from their catalog. Today it’s The Carpenters.”
He scratched his chin. “Oh yeah…the brother and sister from the seventies. Tragic how she died. What made you pick them?”
“Their songs are pretty easy to play, and they’re a fan favorite.”
Just then the facility director, Nancy, popped her head into the dining area. She asked if she could pick Troy’s brain about some financial questions. He agreed, and after he excused himself, I didn’t see him for the rest of the afternoon.
The singalongs, which we did a couple of times a week, were usually held at 3 PM. I liked that they made the last hour of my shift go by pretty fast.
Knowing how to play the piano had never come in handy until I got this job. I used to think my years of lessons as a kid had been a total waste, but being able to play for the people here was one of my greatest joys. I chose songs they might remember from their younger years and passed around sheets with the lyrics.
Today’s singalong started routinely enough, as everyone got situated in their spots. After I’d passed out the lyric sheets, I spotted Troy wheeling his grandfather into the room. He’s still here? Not only that, he had a guitar over his shoulder.
What the…?
He parked Mr. Serrano at a spot in the front, close to my piano.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
Troy put the guitar down. “I hope you don’t mind. I figured the more, the merrier.”
“You play the guitar?”
“Yeah. I used to teach myself in my spare time.”
“Oh. That’s right. Your obituary mentioned that.”
