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He tilts his head to the side and studies the contours of my face. On cue, my cheeks heat. His stare doesn’t unnerve me. It is more like heseesme. Sees the parts no one else does. It intrigues me more than unsettles.
“Twenty-two.”
A myriad of emotions swirl through my chest at hearing his age. Devlyn isyoung. Much younger than I suspected. A voice in the far corner of my mind says he istooyoung. Ten years is a big difference. Maybe not when the younger person is in their thirties, or older, but that isn’t the case.
Should I be uneasy with my attraction to Devlyn? Hell, when I graduated high school, when I stepped into the adult world, he was finishing third grade. It feels… strange, wrong, to find him physically appealing. To watch him through the window as he works because of some newfound mental addiction. To think desirous thoughts about him and what his lips would feel like pressed to mine.
It feels wrong. Yet, it doesn’t.
We are both adults. Yes, I have a decade on him. Yes, people might stare longer than usual or say off-putting statements. But societal standards are absurd. Invisible lines drawn to make others feel guilt or shame for loving someone or something that others deem controversial. In general, I am not the type to buck the system. But when it comes to pivotal topics, I am front and center.
Is age difference one of those topics? Potentially.
No one I know has been in this particular situation. The opinions of others have never bothered me in the past, but this feels different.
“Does that bother you?” he asks, jolting me from introspection.
I meet his gaze. Stare at his translucent green irises, so similar to stained glass. For the first time, I study their depths close up. See beyond the man. Deeper. Through the window, getting a glimpse of his soul. Without a doubt, his soul has lived more than one lifetime.
“No,” I answer just above a whisper. I sip my water then speak with more confidence. “No, it doesn’t bother me. You?”
He shakes his head. “Nah. Age is a number, tossed out every year by someone who wanted to mark time. I don’t let it rule how I live.”
Such a profound statement from someone barely in adulthood. Quite philosophical.
The room quiets and we go back to our lunch. I do my best to not blatantly stare at Devlyn. Every few breaths, though, I glance to my left. The more I get to know Devlyn, the more fascinated I become.
“So,” I start, wanting more conversation in our limited lunchtime. “When are you starting the interior piece?” I stab a tangerine segment and study the piece of fruit longer than necessary.
“Tomorrow.”
I perk up at the news. Granted, he was only touching up the exterior, but I assumed the exterior would take another week.
“Oh,” I squeak out. Heat blooms over my cheeks at my juvenile response. “Thought you’d be outside longer.”
Eyes on his water bottle, a hint of a smile glints his face then disappears just as quickly. “No. After lunch, I’m applying the sealant. Then it’s finished.” He pops a potato chip in his mouth then meets my wide eyes. A confident yet laid-back vibe rolls off him.
I like the feeling more than I should.
Then a sudden burst of panic infiltrates my bloodstream. With Devlyn inside the shop eight-plus hours a day, for the next week or longer, will I be the creepy voyeur lady? Yep, that sounds like me. The woman who stays in his periphery at all times, gawking. The woman trying to put the Devlyn puzzle together. The woman asking endless questions to learn everything about him.
Ugh! Please don’t let him find me as disturbing as I do.
“That’s great. Guess I expected the touch-ups to take longer.”
I finish my fruit cup and stare down at the brown butcher paper, wondering if my embarrassment will swallow me into the pits of hell.
Devlyn strikes me as the intuitive type. Aren’t most artists? That said, there is no possible way he doesn’t pick up on my attraction toward him. Or my occasional self-consciousness, which is most peculiar. Ask any of my friends if I am shy, laughter would fill the room. Every one of them would say I don’t have a timid bone in my body.
Until Devlyn, that statement held truth.
“Some colors fade easier in the elements. I touched them up. The sealant will help, and Elizabeth is adding an awning.”
Why does it sadden me there won’t be a reason for Devlyn to return in a year or two? Unless I figure out some other project for him.
“That’s great.” Is that the only response I am capable of speaking? My words lack enthusiasm, which makes him smile. I really like his smile. It isn’t artificial or something he hands out to everyone.
He crumples up his sandwich paper and deposits it in the bin with his other lunch trash. All too soon, conversation time ends. Rather than feel down, I inwardly smile at seeing him inside for the next week. Fingers and toes crossed it will be longer.
