Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 80555 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80555 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
“I hope you’re right.” I took a deep breath, released it, and started eating before I could get overwhelmed. The pile of tasks ahead was likely a mountain of things I’d rather not deal with. If I slowed down at all, let myself think, really think, I might fall apart, and like when Flo died, melting into a puddle wasn’t an option. Thus, I ate and tried not to think beyond the next bite, let alone the rest of the night or tomorrow.
“Is there anything that would help?” Eric asked softly as we finished the food. It had been hot and in decent portions, but I couldn’t say as I’d registered the flavors.
And in keeping with my conscious effort to not think, my reply flew out of my mouth. “I don’t want to be alone tonight.”
Chapter Ten
Eric
“I don’t want to be alone tonight.”
Magnus’s reply wasn’t entirely unexpected. And despite his history of hitting on me, I knew this wasn’t a come-on. I recognized the weary, lost expression on his face only too well.
“Brain weasels loud?” I asked as I cleared both our plates. Cooking together had been a rare delight. Montgomery had been a fussy gourmet chef who was rather territorial in his kitchen. I had been a more than competent sous chef, but with Magnus, the task had been more a sharing between equals than one of us assisting the other. “Brain weasels is my name for when my brain refuses to shut off.”
Shaking his head, Magnus didn’t so much as crack a smile. “More like there’s a pack of hungry wolves right outside the door, and I just don’t want to let them in or toss food to them.”
“Ah. I get that.” Did I ever. That feeling like one more decision or task might well be the death of one, but also knowing that sitting down for even a moment might mean falling apart. “As a professional, I should tell you it’s good to let yourself acknowledge and feel your feelings, even the overwhelming ones. But as a human who has dealt with far too many of those feelings over the last few years, I sympathize. Want to watch a movie?”
“I shouldn’t keep you up any later.” Magnus gestured vaguely as he followed me to the sink, but his eager eyes gave him away.
“I’ve got enough of my own sleep issues.” I flipped the faucet sprayer on decisively. “Let me worry about that. And besides, I can subject you to my terrible taste in movies.”
“How terrible?” Magnus sounded genuinely curious.
“I have a deep love of classic comedies, much to my high-brow spouse’s horror,” I confessed. I’d happily sat through many independent films and artsy shows, but Montgomery had never cured me of my first love.
“Laughing over stupid shit sounds perfect, honestly.” He glanced at his dogs sprawled near the breakfast nook with the treat bones he’d brought them. They looked far more settled than their owner.
“Good.” I offered a grateful smile. I would have sat through something with explosions or more thinky, but Magnus sharing my taste was an unexpected bonus. “Thanks to insomnia, I have certain favorites I can recite from memory, but there’s something comforting about predictable humor.”
We cleaned up our late-night dinner as easily as we’d cooked it. I rinsed while Magnus loaded, and then he found a dishtowel while I did the skillets. By the time I’d moved on to wiping down the stove, he already had a sponge out for the counters.
“Is cleaning your other go-to de-stressor?” Glancing up from cleaning the counters, he smiled knowingly at my wiping down the already-spotless fridge door.
“That obvious?” I grimaced. Montgomery had been one of my few friends who approved of my fastidious ways. Even Jonas, who enjoyed a good cleaning sprint, liked to give me a hard time. “I was always the neat roommate, even back in college. And for all that I’m not close with my parents anymore, the urge to put everything in its place before I allow myself to relax is probably genetic.”
“Fair enough.” Magnus shrugged rather than making the offensive-yet-all-too-common OCD joke I’d expected. “Cleaning wasn’t my parents’ thing at all. And no way was Flo ever going to be domestic. But when Diesel was little, I figured out that kids need routine. And even though it didn’t come naturally to me, picking up at the end of the day always felt like the one thing I could get right.” Counters done and dried, he quickly rinsed the sponge before meeting my gaze. “Which is a long-winded way of saying I admire you natural neatniks.”
“You got more than the cleaning right.” Done with my tasks, I joined him at the sink, intending to clap him on the shoulder. His very bare, very tattooed shoulder. His collection of ink was like a travelogue on his skin—Indonesian-style bicep cuff, Japanese koi on his shoulder, Hawaiian-looking flowers on his pec, French words across his upper back, and other stops along the way. Danger. Danger. It wouldn’t do to study his art too closely. I dropped my hand but continued the compliment. “Even tonight, which has to be right up there as far as terrible nights for you, you put your kid first.”