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“Don’t apologize. I’d love to know what assumptions you’ve made about me. Let’s see if you can guess what sport I played?”
The chicken crackles in the pan while she takes the chopped potatoes from me and adds them to the other skillet. “Hmm, let’s see. Private school, maybe even boarding school, so…rowing team?”
“Is that what you think rich kids do? Learn to row?”
She shrugs at my grin and washes her hands. “Golf? Skiing? Polo?”
“I’d hardly have a chance for that with all the time I had to spend polishing my gold, sailing my numerous yachts and adding to my exotic animal collection. Zebra skin makes the softest sheets, did you know that?"
“Touché. Point taken.”
“I went to public school. Captain of the swim team and leader of the bodybuilding club. The second one wasn’t really a competitive sport. We just worked out and lifted weights. Until I got suspended for fighting. But I stayed on the swim team until I graduated.”
“Fighting? Were you a troublemaker?”
“No, not really. A few scrapes. What about you?”
A grin inches across her face. “I was a partier. Suspended at least once a year, but I had good grades. I just wouldn’t listen or follow rules.”
“I’m shocked.” A scrap of potato peel flies at me and I swat it down.
“What do you like to do for fun now?” she asks.
“I hike a lot, go kayaking and canoeing when the weather is good. I still love to swim.” I pull my phone out and open an album. “This is my indoor addiction.”
Her genuine smile when she sees the picture makes my day. She wouldn’t have been the first woman to ridicule it as a child’s hobby, but it would’ve been disappointing as hell.
“LEGO?” Taking the phone from me, she zooms in on the massive pirate ship that sits in my spare room, along with a lot of other completed LEGO projects. “You made this? Holy shit.”
“Careful, you sound impressed.”
“It must’ve taken forever. Is it a set with directions?”
“That one was from a set, but some of the others are mine. You can scroll.” For a good minute, she scrolls through the photos, admiring them.
“Wow, these are amazing. Creative. Did you consider studying architecture in college?”
“I didn’t go to college. Did you?”
“Nope. I didn’t want to be buried in student loans, so I got a job right out of high school.”
She’s never talked about her parents and I’m going to take the opportunity to ask. “What’s your mom like?”
She turns her back to me, stirring the potatoes as she replies. “I don’t know. Pops raised me after my dad left me with him. I haven’t seen either of them since I was a baby.” The nonchalance she tries to show doesn’t cover the edge in her voice.
“I’m sorry.”
“No need to be. I had a good childhood with Pops. He’s the best.” Before I can respond, she changes the subject by setting a stack of index cards in front of me. “I almost forgot. I picked up the votes from the drop box. Feel free to count them yourself.”
There’s no need since the smug smile on her face tells me the outcome, but I flip through them, anyway. All of them say no. Every single one.
“Alright, you win. What’s it going to be? A dress? Lingerie?” Her eyes rake over me when I walk over to her and run my hands over her hips. “I could wear you like a scarf all day, wrapped around my face.”
“Tempting, but I have something else in mind. You’ll see.” That devious smile is concerning.
My phone rattles with a text alert as I step out of the shower.
Maren:
