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He gives me a half smile, one corner of his mouth lifting above the other, and I can’t help but marvel, again, about how smiling—really smiling—changes his face. “Ruthie. But I don’t think she’d take kindly to you pushing me out the window. She likes me most of the time.”
I want to ask more questions, but my own sister is staring at me, worried, and I can’t have that.
“I wouldn’t call it an emergency,” I say, but the words lack conviction, because my leg is propped up, and I was just told I need surgery. I keep trying to sugarcoat the whole thing in my mind, but it’s not making the medicine go down easier.
“You just told me you need surgery, Mira,” Delia says, her expression worried as she leans forward in her chair to check out my fucked-up foot. They took off my shoe and wrapped it up.
“Surgery?” Danny asks, looking a little pale.
“They said it was no big deal,” I insist. “A little chop-chop, thirty minutes at the most. They’re doing it tomorrow, and they said I’d only be in here for a couple of days afterward.”
Delia puts a hand on my shoulder. “Please come and stay with us when you get out, Mira. I don’t like the thought of you being alone.”
Laughter snorts out of me. “That’s not much of a compliment to Danny, or whatever-his-name-is over there.” I wave in his direction.
“Oh, that’s okay,” he says awkwardly, shifting on his feet. “I know she didn’t mean it like that. But you don’t have to go anywhere.” He swallows, as if it’s incredibly difficult for him to say all of this out loud and with anything resembling conviction. My eyes follow the motion. “I’ll help you.”
“As you just said, we barely know each other,” I feel the need to point out, even though I amabsolutelynot going to move in with Delia and Lucas. They’re in the phase of being in love that is sickening to outside people. I’m happy for them, obviously, but I’d prefer to be happy for them from a distance. Shaking off the thought, I add, “I don’t even know what your preferred name is.”
“I shouldn’t have said that. Danny’s fine,” he says, his gaze darting to the door like he’s considering a sudden and abrupt escape. “My friends call me Danny.”
“So we’re friends now?”
He grins at me then, and to my shock, I feel…something. It’s the way it makes his whole face brightens up. His eyes gleam, creasing at the corners in a way that tells me that when he laughs, he gives it his everything, and his whole body seems to hum. Without knowing how I know, I’m certain this is a man who smiles when he means to and only then. “You know what? All things considered, I guess we’d better be friends.”
“Does this mean you won’t make a Facebook post about my ankle?”
His brow furrows in that familiar frown. “I don’t use Facebook. Everyone knows their security is a joke. You probably shouldn’t use it either.”
Honestly, it was a rookie mistake for me to think otherwise. The man’s a Boomer trapped in the body of a surprisingly attractive thirty-something.
“It’s like I always say.” I point a finger at him. “I don’t have any secrets.”
From the look on his face—his intensely dark eyes narrowed, his brow furrowed—the same can’t be said for Danny.
Eeen-teresting.
ChapterThree
Danny
Conversation with Ruthie
So, she was there for less than a day before she broke her ankle? That’s one way to get rid of an unwanted roommate. Maybe you’ve been listening to too many of those true crime podcasts.
No such thing. And I didn’t push her.
That’s your story, and you’re sticking to it. ;-) ;-) ;-)
Very funny. One winky face would have done the job. Why haven’t I seen you in a week? What are you plotting?
…
It doesn’t have the same effect when you actually send the ellipsis.
It shall all be revealed in good time. Try not to kill your roommate.
I’ll take that into consideration. If she doesn’t kill me first.
