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4
BRYSON
The first week of settling into the apartment flies by, and Carleigh and I rarely even see each other.When we do, it’s amicable, but she’s a lot less uptight than I expect her to be.I feel bad for making that assumption, even if I never voiced it to anyone else.But hey, if it’s the thought that counts, then a bad thought has to count, too, right?
She makes me the most popular guy at work every day, when I turn up with another batch of whatever she’s been experimenting with baking lately - even if I don’t love that the Bryson-brings-baking praise sometimes comes with a kind of passive toxic masculinity, from a couple of rotten-apple coworkers I’ve spent my life proving I’m not like.Just because I like hunting, fishing, and fixing stuff doesn’t mean I’m a sexist asshole.Or, that I’m cool putting up with it from other people who give outdoorsy guys like me a bad name.
On the day before my birthday, I show up to work with a container of Carleigh’s flaky, buttery homemade croissants and one of the younger guys tells me to get Carleigh to make them some doughnuts.This annoys me right off the bat: clearly, the baking is a free gift.Besides, Carleigh’s croissants are incredible.I purposely left half a dozen behind at home that morning for my own consumption.
“She’ll make whatever she wants, and if you’re lucky, I get to bring some of it,” I inform him.
“Oh, come on, Bryson.Lay some good pipe and right after, ask her for doughnuts.I bet she’d make some damn good ones.”
I give him my bestwhat the hellface.“She’s just my roommate, you moron, there isn’t - ”
“Oh, y’all aren’t doing the deed?Can I have her number, then?”
“What?No!You don’t even know anything about her.”
The younger guy shrugs.“Anyone who has the patience to make something like this probably has a lot she wants to prove in bed, you know?”
“No, I don’t know,” I say sharply.“Now move off over there, shift’s starting.”
While I pride myself on maintaining a positive attitude, this puts a bit of a damper on my mood for the rest of the day.I don’t mind construction work most of the time, as unfulfilling as it is, but it’s days like this and guys like whatever-his-name-is that really make me want to get the hell out of the industry.
Carleigh’s not there when I get home from work, which really isn’t much of a surprise.She’s in school and also works a part-time job at a bar somewhere, and I’ve been spending a lot of evenings out with friends in the city now that I’m not married to ferry schedules.The usual routine commences - a shower and a shave to wash off the dirt and sweat of my day job - and I am in the middle of checking on a couple of fermentation projects when the apartment door opens and Carleigh comes in.
She’s just been on a run, I gather.She’s sweaty and half-breathless, wearing running shoes, a white tank top that somehow only makes her more pale, and a pair of floral gray leggings I recognize from a clothes hamper.She’s been training for a marathon; I’ve seen a decent amount of athletic wear in our tiny laundry space, after all, but I’m not home a lot and haven't had a lot of opportunity to see that athletic wear on her.
And look, I’m more evolved than the average Jersey dingbat, okay?I’ve readLittle Women, and not for a school project.But right now, in the kitchen,damn.
Carleigh is beautiful.That much was obvious as soon as I met her: big, dark eyes, a strangely alluring streak of gray at the front of her hair, and a lot of pale, unblemished skin I can just tell is soft.And while she dresses pretty casually, it’s also clear there are some nice curves under her jeans and loose-fitting shirts.
I’m not staring at her ass, okay?She just so happens to be tying her shoes while I’m standing in the kitchen, holding a jar of sauerkraut, and if I observe the shape of her calves, thighs, and hips...Okay maybe I’m staring.
Damn it.I’m just another idiot like ol’ what’s-his-face from this morning, thinking dirty things about Carleigh just because she’s wearing pants that make it clear just how great her ass is.Be better than this, Bryson.
She’s still wearing ear buds in her ears and obviously hasn’t noticed me standing here.So, I clear my throat and wave in her direction with my clean hand, counting on the fact of my general largeness to ensure she sees me.
When she does, she startles a little and lets out a soft, “oh!”noise.Carleigh reaches up, takes the earbuds out of her ears, and gives me a sheepish smile.“Hi, didn’t see you there.”
“Sorry, didn’t want to scare you.”
“Oh, it’s my fault, I should’ve turned off my music.”She sets her phone and earbuds down on the counter, then pours herself a glass of water.She guzzles it without stopping, then pours another and downs that as well, which makes me chuckle.
“Ever thought about bringing water with you while you run?”
Carleigh walks past me and sinks into a chair next to my Fermentation Station.“I’ve tried all the different bottles, blenders, and everything.I just don’t like it.It’s bad enough to bring my phone and keys with me, but that’s kind of necessary.”
“Fair enough.”I grab a jar of what will be garlic and ginger paste.“How was the run?”
“It was good!”Carleigh pulls her phone toward her and taps a few times on the screen.“I’m on pace for where I want to be, I think.Hmm, yeah,” she continues, peering at what I assume is a tracking app.“Not bad considering mid-afternoon isn’t my best time of day.How was work?”
I paste on a smile.“Another day in paradise!”
“How’d the croissants go over?”she asks, her face scrunching up curiously.“Any feedback?”
I point to the empty container in the sink.“Gone by eight thirty.That’s all the feedback you need.”
