Pause by Kylie Scott
CHAPTER FOUR
“Ithink I liked it better back over there,” Ed’s wife, Clem, says.
Ed gives her a pained look. Fair enough. He and Leif have been moving things around all day. Which can’t be good for Leif’s arm, but he refuses to take it easy.
“The light is just so nice there,” she continues arguing her case.
“I think they’re running out of oomph for the day,” I say. “Might be time to break out the beers and leave the rest for later.”
She sighs wistfully. Her commitment to the placement of my side table is immense. “You may have a point.”
I’m just pleased to have a new home that is not my parents’. After a busy two weeks, I am indeed now moved in with Leif. My new roommate and friend. Nothing more. Not that it needed to be said because it’s already obvious.
Two weeks was also a necessary period to get the furniture out of the old house, et cetera. It’s nice to be surrounded by my own stuff again. I’d had concerns it would be strange, since it came from my life with Ryan. But nothing feels especially off. New and different, but not off. Though I ordered a new bed. No way did I want anything to do with the mattress from my past. That thing is cursed for all time.
Clem hands out beers, earning a kiss on the cheek from her doting husband. She was attacked a bit over a year ago, and lost all of her memories, though she was only briefly in a coma.
Clem and Ed live in the condo beside ours, along with their dog Gordy, who is asleep under the dining table. He’s a silver Staffordshire terrier and a very good boy. Apparently some creeper dude by the name of Tim used to live in this condo, so everyone was pleased as punch when he left and Leif got the place. They’re obviously all close. A loving family. It’s nice to see them interacting and to be around new people. Today feels like a big step forward. No more stagnating. I am rebuilding my life from the ground up.
“So that’s what the place looks like with stuff in it. I like it.” Hand on hips, Leif looks around with a pleased grin. “What do you think, Anna?”
I smile. “I think it’s all good.”
“Excellent.”
“It’s like a real home now,” says Clem. “You hadn’t made much of an effort with it, Leif. I guess you’re the type that needs a woman to step in and sort things out.”
Ed hides a smile.
“Thanks for the feedback, Clem.” Leif salutes her with his bottle of beer.
“You’re welcome.” The woman can be blunt, but I like it. Fuck faux politeness.
Why do we do that? Why do we hide our thoughts and feelings from people? If we can’t trust who we’re talking to, then do we really even need them in our lives? Though if we’re likely to hurt someone with a possibly unnecessary comment, then I guess I can see the point. Or if they’re just an acquaintance, but someone who for one reason or another we need in our lives . . .
Huh. People are tricky. Relationships are hard.
Perhaps we’ll never really know what most of those around us are really thinking. Maybe that’s for the best. I don’t know. All my deep thoughts have given me is a renewed sense of confusion.
“I don’t think we should run away together after all,” Leif says to Clem with a teasing smile. “Let’s stay with my fool of a brother and make him move furniture around for the rest of his days. It’ll irritate him no end, my lovely Clementine.”
“One of these days when you’re flirting with her I’m going to hit you with something,” says Ed with a pained expression. “Like my fist.”
Leif just blinks. “So violent.”
“Your mom said you two used to fight constantly when you were kids,” says Clem. “I think I prefer you both having grown out of that stage.”
“Seconded,” I add.
“What are you thinking about?” asks Leif, joining me at the table. “What does that look on your face mean?”
My stomach grumbles. Talk about rude. “It means I need food.”
“In the mood for Mexican?”
“Always,” I say, pulling my cell out of my back jean pocket. “I’ll get it. To thank everyone for helping with the move. You guys will stay for dinner, right?”
“We’d love to,” says Clem.
“Great.” I ask for recommendations, and we settle on a local place with good reviews and get busy ordering a bit of everything. “Can’t believe you didn’t even own silverware or plates.”
Leif just shrugs. “I stole a mug from work. That’s all I really needed. Delivery places give you those bamboo cutlery sets all of the time. Seemed a shame to waste them.”
“Very environmentally conscious of you.”
“Nuh.” Ed snorts. “He’s just lazy and he hates shopping. If Mom knew he’d been using empty peanut butter jars as drinking glasses she’d have been over here getting his ass organized months ago.”
“You know, I think I prefer environmentally conscious,” confides Leif. “Makes me sound good.”
His brother just shakes his head.
“He’s right about Mom, though. I am her baby and proud.”
“I can tell you’re the youngest of the family,” I say. “That makes sense.”
“Because of my youthful good looks?”
“Sure.” I smile. “That’s exactly it.”
Clem laughs.
She and Ed have been married for about a year and are still firmly in the honeymoon period. It’s obvious in the way they’re always touching and looking at each other. They’re so in sync.
Ryan and I used to be that way. Before the accident happened, we were in a good place. We didn’t fight a whole lot because often it just wasn’t worth the drama. He could sulk for sustained periods, which was tiresome. I picked my battles. The things that were really worthwhile, that I was willing to dig in over and make my point be heard. I’m not sure if that’s healthy or not, censoring yourself in that way.
Love is such a strange thing. The whole idea of making a commitment to someone. There’s no guaranteed return, just the chance to give. And we throw our heart and soul into the situation, hoping for the best. It’s a giant leap of faith. Nice to see it can work out for some people. I don’t want to get jaded and bitter, but now and then it’s definitely tempting. In the far distant future I’ll meet someone who’ll be so far superior to Ryan and his hazy loyalties and wandering cock that my first marriage and its demise will all seem like a bad dream. One day. No rush.
“You’re an only child,” says Leif. “You can’t speak.”
“True. I was a late-in-life surprise. My parents didn’t really mean to have kids.”
“No?”
“No,” I say. And I don’t have anything to add to that. That information about my folks was kind of an overshare, actually. The sort of thing I’d normally only talk about with Briar and Celine. But something about Leif makes me a little too comfortable. Too trusting. Or maybe I just shouldn’t be so paranoid in the first place. Who knows?
“Well, I’m glad that they did.” Leif gives me a smile. He always knows what to say to make everything better.
“So are we,” says Clem.
It’s nice to make new friends.
“And when you’re ready to date again, I know this great guy,” she continues. “He works in a coffee shop across from the bookstore. Just a really pleasant person, you know?”
“Oh,” I say.
Leif makes a derisive-type noise in his throat. “I think Anna can do better than just a really pleasant person, don’t you?”
Clem frowns, obviously thinking it over. “It didn’t sound like such a bad idea until I said it out loud. He’s very nice.”
“Boo,” says Leif. “Nice and pleasant.”
“You think he’d be a dud in the sack?” asks Clem.
“Bound to be.”
“You could always set her up with Rahul,” suggests Ed. “He owns a tattoo parlor in town. Good guy. I have no idea nor do I want to know what he’s like in bed, however.”
“Not Rahul.” Leif crosses his arms over his chest. “Tattoos aren’t really her thing.”
“I don’t have anything against tattoos,” I say, my gaze narrowed.
“Yeah, but you’re more traditional in your tastes generally. And there’s nothing wrong with that.”
My chin goes up. “And yet I’m pretty sure it wasn’t a compliment.”
“Just stating a fact, Anna. I’m not trying to hurt your feelings or anything.”
Ed and Clem watch us, heads turning this way and that as if it were a tennis tournament.
“Yeah, but you kind of have anyway. Guess I’m sensitive when it comes to this sort of thing,” I say, settling into the argument. Discussion. Whatever.
Leif’s mouth opens, but nothing comes out.
“Since the way I approached life didn’t wind up working out for me so well, maybe altering my view of things or previous tastes is a good idea.”
“Maybe it is.”
“I could date someone outside of my immediate experience without the world ending. Someone with tattoos might be fun.”
“If you wanted to,” he says, sounding a bit tense. “Sure.”
“It might even be good for me to try new things.”
A nod. “Yeah. I just didn’t . . .”
“You just didn’t what?” I prod.
His gaze slides over me, assessing. Lines furrow his forehead and his lips are thin. “I’m not trying to cage you in, Anna. Do what you like. I was just looking out for you is all.”
Clem and Ed share a look. No idea what it means.
A small smile lights Leif’s face as he steps closer. “That felt weird. Hug it out with me.”
“It was just a small disagreement.”
His arms open, enveloping me in heaven. There’s no other word for it as he rocks me gently from side to side. “You’re right and I’m wrong. There. Done.”
I wrap my arms around his waist. How can I resist?
“You’re very cuddly,” he says. “This is nice.”
“It is.”
“Now that we live together, we can do this all the time. Isn’t that great?” he asks.
“Very.”
Clem makes a noise in her throat.
Leif turns his head. “What?”
“Nothing,” she says with a smile in her voice. “Nothing at all.”
And she’s got a point. I step back, covering my chest by crossing my arms for various secret reasons. Fine. Because of hard nipples. Ye Lords, the embarrassment. Leif is a consummate flirt. I’ve already seen it many times. It doesn’t mean anything when he acts sweet and I’d be a fool to lose touch with that fact. A fool with a hopeless crush on her roommate. A silly individual whose lady parts need to cease and desist. Surely I know better than that?
I do not know better than that. This is made clear in no time at all.
It’s about one in the morning on my first night of sharing the condo. I don’t know what woke me. A disturbance in the force, maybe. Either that or some small noise caused by Leif doing push-ups on the living room floor like his life depends on it. That he’s doing them in only a pair of gray sweatpants is something I’m just going to ignore. The way they adhere to his butt is a thing of beauty, though. How the dim lighting and sheen of sweat on his bare back accentuates the long, lean slabs of muscle and dips of his spine. This really is something.
Being sexually aware of other men in my life is no big deal now (mostly). The rush of guilt and longing to hide it all away is fading. Since I’m no longer attached to Ryan, save for some paperwork that’s in the process of being filed, I’m making my peace with the situation. I’m done with any and all forms of suffering due to my ex’s bad choices. Feelings and hormones and all of those things can come back on line. Weird how it only seems to happen around my new roommate, though.
“Hey.”
“Hey.” He pauses, sucking in a deep breath. The muscles in his arms tremble with strain. “Sorry. Did I wake you?”
“No.” I don’t actually know what woke me, so it’s not exactly a lie. “Can’t you sleep?”
“Nightmare.” His voice is clipped. All ease, he climbs to his feet and heads into the kitchen for a glass of water. His hair is tied back from his face, his cheekbones stark. There’s something raw and real about him. Like with the flirtatious behavior and his usual joie de vivre stripped away, the bare bones of the man are exposed. “Want a drink?”
“I’m fine, thanks. Was it about the accident?”
A nod.
“So you wear yourself out physically to get back to sleep?”
One shoulder lifts a little. It’s a half shrug. As much as he can manage, apparently. And it’s the arm that wasn’t injured in the accident, so lord only knows how bad the other is hurting. “The idea is to keep pushing until exhaustion and lactic acid burn crowd out everything else. Sometimes it works.”
“Do you want to talk about it?” I don’t think he does, given his body language, but it seems only polite to ask.
A brief shake of the head as expected.
“Okay.” And I just stand there in the living room doorway not sure what to do. The overexertion can’t be good for his arm, but I’m neither his mother nor his keeper. I know what it’s like to have people getting in my face about issues relating to the accident, so I’m not about to do the same to him. Though it’s tempting.
Worrying about him also means that my mind is now wide the fuck awake and going at about a billion miles an hour. Poor Leif. Poor hot, half-naked Leif. It basically just goes on and on like that. Sex thoughts inundating my mind. All of the inappropriate in all of the land is mine.
Since I won’t be sleeping anytime soon, I figure I might as well do something constructive with the time. Also, there’s the happiness I’m feeling, yet again, that I’m in a space that’s fifty percent my own. Within reason, I can do whatever the heck I like without Mom butting in and asking what I’m doing, and getting anxious about me using her things and making a mess in her perfect house. Getting a glass of water was enough to make her run for the kitchen to check on things. I come by my neurosis honestly.
“I think I might bake something,” I say.
“You’re going to bake?” He tilts his head. “Now?”
“Yeah.”
“Huh. What are you thinking of making?” He leans against the kitchen counter, arms crossed over his still very much bare chest. Leif has a little more chest hair than Ryan. I don’t think I ever had strong opinions on chest hair before, but let’s take a moment here and get introspective. There’s not a ’70s porn star excessive amount of chest hair going on, just enough to make things interesting. Enough to make me want to stroke my fingers over his pecs and flat nipples. To curl my fingers around his firm biceps and lean in for a sniff.
Is it wrong to want to smell your roommate? It is. I know it is.
I’m objectifying him again, dammit. I am the actual worst. Leif is just a friend. That’s all he wants and I’m going to respect his decision, if it’s the last thing I do. This may involve me donning a chastity belt, or something, but such is life. My hormones will have to calm the fuck down. Because having him for a friend is pretty damn awesome all on its own. Think I might have to pluck my eyes out to stop with the staring, though. Nothing less will do. Me and my surprisingly dirty one-track mind are an issue.
“Um . . .”
He waits.
Right, baking. We were talking about baking.
“Well, what have we got?” I head over to check out the pantry and fridge. Given Leif keeps scotch, beer, ketchup, and not much else, I’d brought groceries with me. Just the basics. Enough to get started. “No bananas, so we can’t make banana bread. No blueberries, so we can’t make pie or muffins. I know, how about brownies?”
“Brownies would be amazing.”
“Okay. Done.”
“It’s weird having someone in this space,” he says.
“Weird bad or weird good?”
“The latter.”
I smile.
First, we both wash our hands. Next, out come the butter and eggs from the fridge. Then the flour, sugar, baking powder, and cocoa from the pantry. Excellent. We’ve got everything we need for a chocolate fix in the wee hours of the morning while sleep has left us high and dry. Though maybe not dry in my case, because he still hasn’t put a shirt on and he is right there and his sweat is apparently a beckoning call to my overactive hormones and lady parts.
Meanwhile, Leif starts rifling through cabinets, searching for something. “I’m sure I had a bowl somewhere. Not sure about a big spoon.”
“I didn’t see any while I was unpacking. My mixing bowl is in the bottom right cabinet.”
I tie on my apron. “Could you please preheat the oven to 350 degrees?”
“On it.” He does as told, casting me a curious look over his shoulder. “Anna, does everything you own match?”
“No. Not everything. Though I do kind of stick to a color scheme. And I like things to look a certain way.” Oh dear. It’s a little odd seeing my French navy-and-white-colored cooking set in a new space. But since Leif only owns a bed and one cool black linen sofa, everything basically coordinates. I’d cope if it didn’t. But my obsessive-compulsive tendencies, inherited thanks to Mom, are happy. “So the real answer there I guess is maybe a yes?”
“Right,” he says. “Are you going to freak out if I’m being messy and leave something lying around?”
“That depends. What sort of something?”
“I don’t know . . .”
“You probably should have thought of this issue before inviting me to move in, by the way.”
He sighs. “What if my laptop is lying around?”
I shrug. Care factor nil.
“Okay.” He taps a finger against his lips in thought. “How about an item of dirty laundry?”
“I’d probably just throw it back in your room so I don’t have to look at it.”
He contemplates this answer. “Fair enough. I think the cushions and throw you put on the couch are nice.”
“Great!” I smile. “You know, I’m not as anal as I used to be. But I do like things the way I like them. I’m going to survive if they’re not perfect, however.”
“Perfect is hard.”
“Perfect is impossible and unattainable,” I correct him with a smile. “Life isn’t perfect, Leif. Neither of us are perfect either. Nor do I expect us to be. It’s hard enough just figuring out who you are and being yourself in this world. Why heap on the expectations and make the whole thing that much harder for yourself and everyone around you?”
“Good point.”
“Thank you. I’ve got a bit more perspective these days. Having your life upended gives you a certain kind of wisdom, apparently.”
“Well, I for one no longer live in fear of clashing with your color scheme,” he says.
“Excellent.”
“I did, however, expect something more like silk for your nightwear.” His amber gaze runs over me from top to toe. It’s quite thrilling. He’s never really shown anything beyond a casual interest in my appearance before. “Something . . . flowy,” he says. “You know?”
“Something flowy?” I look over my pale blue men’s pajamas. “These are flowy.”
“No, they’re baggy. There’s a difference.”
“Yes. Well. They’re comfortable. Thanks for the feedback, and I’m sorry I let you down on the risqué lingerie front.”
“That’s okay,” he says, all magnanimous like. The idiot.
But if he was having horny thoughts about what I wear to bed then I don’t feel quite so bad about my continued and ongoing objectification of the man. So there.
While I never asked Leif if he wanted to bake with me, we just kind of fall into sync in the small kitchen. His energy is back. His happy vibe. Guess distraction can work wonders for dark moods and thoughts. Same goes for the promise of chocolate and sugar. While he doesn’t seem to have much experience, he is eager to learn. Something I heartily approve of. Mom liked the idea of me learning to cook, just not the actual me-being-in-her-kitchen part of things. Mostly my grandma taught me. She didn’t get as cranky if I dropped flour on the floor. She used to make the best Mexican wedding cakes I ever tasted.
“What next?” he asks.
“Would you mind greasing the pan while I melt the butter?”
“Sure.” First he picks up his cell, putting on some music. An old Nina Simone song about feeling good. Perfect for kitchen shenanigans at odd hours of the morning. While I’m a great believer in kitchen safety, a bit of hip swaying in time to the beat never hurt anybody. Probably. I’m not actually much of a dancer. It requires a level of coordination I never quite managed to achieve. Nor was I blessed with a decent singing voice. But I do love music. The way it sweeps you up and fills you with emotions. The way it tells a story and takes you on a journey. The art of it all.
Which is when I realize my heart is light. Being here, doing this with him, feels right. That’s nice. It’s good. I choose to take it as a sign that I’m clearly on the right life track.
“It’s always about you,” he says out of nowhere, voice subdued and dark gaze fixed on the pan. “The nightmares, or flashbacks. I’m not sure what they are, but they come at night. You being stuck in the car and me not able to get you out in time before something worse happens. Like it catches on fire or a tree limb crushes it or another vehicle slams into you and . . . there’s not a fucking thing I can do. I just watch you die over and over again in all these fucked up violent ways and I hate it. I hate that I let you down.”
My fingers tighten around the wooden spoon.
“Hope I’m not freaking you out,” he says in a gruff voice.
“No. It’s okay. I asked.”
“Yeah, but . . . shit.”
“It’s okay, Leif. Tell me.”
And he does. He opens his mouth and lets it all out. “I’m always standing there with my stupid arm all messed up and blood leaking out of me and the pain just about bringing me to my knees. And you’re stuck. You’re trapped. And I’m fucking helpless. There’s nothing I can do and no one will stop and help. Cars keep right on streaming past. No one giving a fuck. And I just want to scream.”
I lick my suddenly dry lips. “That’s awful.”
“Yeah.”
“It wasn’t your fault, Leif. You did all you could do,” I say. “Mom told me, they had to cut me out of my car. There was no way you could have—”
“I know.”
I take a deep breath. “Your subconscious just needs to get the message.”
“Yeah.”
“I’m sorry.”
He just looks at me. “Anna, it wasn’t your fault either. That car lost control and swerved into your lane. There was nowhere you could go. Nothing you could do.”
“I don’t like that you’re still hurting.”
“Yeah, well . . . a few night terrors won’t be the end of me.” He turns away. “And here you are, safe and well and all in one piece. Life is good. Most of it.”
I don’t know what to say.
On one hand, it sucks not being able to remember the accident. Not being able to dissect it inside my skull and know for certain that I did the best I could. No one has really been able to give me the right answer about that day. The one that will set my mind at ease. But on the other hand, if I did remember, I’d probably be having nightmares about it, along with the weird ones I don’t tend to talk about. Because talking isn’t going to help me. It’s just not. Though, now that I think about it, it might help Leif.
“I haven’t told anyone else about this,” I say.
His gaze jumps to my face.
“I’ve had this dream a couple of times since I woke up where I can’t move, but the light is slowly disappearing and the dark is setting in. I know something bad is in the shadows, but there’s nothing I can do.” I take the pan off the heat and measure out and mix in the rest of the ingredients. It’s easier to confess a weakness without making eye contact. To say the words aloud and let out my messy insides without exactly listening. “It’s so frustrating and scary. I wake up in tears, trying to get my body to move, feeling something creeping closer and closer and the dread is just horrible.”
“You think it’s from when you were in a coma?”
“Who knows?” I shrug. “It’s as good a guess as any. No one can tell me what the brain does and doesn’t process in that situation. Everyone’s experience seems a little different. How awake or aware they are. If they dreamed or not. How much time passed for them, if any.”
“You read about some cases?”
“Yeah,” I say. “Doctors and nurses at the hospital and rehab talked to me about them sometimes too. One woman had a car accident like me and dreamed the entire three weeks she was in a coma that she was driving to work. Couldn’t figure out what was taking so long. Another man dreamed he was happily married and had this whole wonderful life. But when he woke up none of it was true. It was all just gone.”
“That must have been fucking horrible.”
“Right? It would be heartbreaking. To expect to wake up to this beautiful life, but it’s all gone.”
His face stills. “That’s a little like your situation in a way.”
“Yeah,” I say. “I guess so. Anyway . . .”
“But you didn’t see anything in all that time you were lying there in the hospital?”
I shake my head. “No, not that I remember. I just woke up and all this time had passed. It didn’t feel real. Didn’t seem possible. It was the day of the accident and then it was seven months later. Boom. Time just disappeared on me.”
“So we’re both a little messed up,” he says.
“We went through a hell of a thing. Nearly got killed. Shouldn’t we be a bit messed up?”
He says nothing for so long that I finally look up. While I worked, he’d been stacking the dirty items in the dishwasher. I thoroughly approve. His expression isn’t haunted now, more contemplative. His gaze narrowed, and jaw set. “I think you’re right.”
I just nod. “Been meaning to ask, what did you read to me when you were coming into the hospital to visit?”
“Oh.” His cheeks brighten and he looks away. “Clem was in charge of buying the books. She didn’t want to plant any bad or dark ideas inside your head. We thought it was best to keep things reasonably light and happy. Your mom also made some suggestions.”
“Okay.”
He just nods.
“What was the book?”
He clears his throat. “I was reading you The Twilight Saga.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. I was worried it might be a bit dark, what with all the vampires. But Clem told me how they’re actually all sparkly and I figured it would be okay. At least, you never complained about it until now.”
“I’m not complaining.”
“How long do these need to cook for?”
“If you’d like to do the honors and spread the batter in the pan?” I carefully hand him the saucepan and spoon. “Around half an hour or so.”
“Who gets to lick the spoon?”
“Knock yourself out.”
There’s a childlike gleam in his eyes. “You’re too kind.”
“Leif, I loved those books when I was a teenager,” I say, a weird kind of warmth forming in my chest area. “Watched the films so many times. Listening to you reading them would have been like revisiting old friends.”
His smile is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever beheld. It makes me feel warm inside. “Good,” he says. “I’m glad.”
There are four people waiting at the front desk and Ed is on the phone when I arrive at the tattoo parlor the next day. A distinct vibe of chaos is in the air, the place is so busy. On one of the massage-type tables, a lady waits with her calves exposed for the inking.
Leif rushes to the front from out back, a tablet in his hand. “He’s got a few spots open in three or four weeks’ time,” he says to a young man standing at the front desk.
I take a seat on the velvet chaise and wait with the container of brownies on my lap.
The young man hems and haws over what day to pick. Asking twice if Leif is positive there’s nothing sooner. It seems weird to me that someone would be in such a hurry to do something permanent to their body. Someone needs to tell the dude that patience is a virtue.
In the end, Leif says with a strained smile, “You can go somewhere else if you’re in a rush, man. That’s all Ed’s got available in the next month. What’ll it be?”
There’s no sign of Tessa today. Just Ed and Leif. And Leif left the apartment in such a rush he forgot to take the brownies to share at work. Since my therapy session got cancelled this morning, I figured I’d take a walk and deliver them. Only doing this, stopping by his work this way, feels a little like pretending to be his significant other. Like when I used to drop things off for Ryan now and then. But sharing a place with Leif is temporary. This is a transitional time. And it wouldn’t make sense to forget that and get carried away. To get dependent on him, or the idea of him, somehow. I would be fine on my own. That’s the truth of the matter.
Meanwhile, thinking about the divorce works spectacularly well as a mental cold shower for when my thoughts run wild. Ryan tried to fight me over some potted plants I alone have kept alive over the past couple of years. He did not win. The idiot.
In front of me, the phone keeps ringing and the people keep coming and the two of them are obviously slammed. Waiting customers are given a personal information and medical form to fill out. Questions are asked and books full of examples of tattoos are looked through.
“Hey,” Leif says eventually, joining me on the chaise after things have calmed a little. “You brought the brownies. Thank you!”
“You’re welcome.”
He opens the container to take a peek inside. “Awesome. Thanks for keeping me company last night. But you don’t have to do that every night, you know?”
“You have trouble sleeping every night?”
In lieu of a response, he draws me closer and kisses my forehead. He probably means it in a friendship-type way, but talk about swoon. My knees go weak. On the inside, I have turned to goo. Also, my face is warm where he kissed me. I hope I’m not blushing. Only it seemed more sincere than his usual flirty wink. A more heartfelt showing of real-life actual affection. Now I’m just overthinking it. Not good. This infatuation needs to die a quiet death before I start putting pictures of him up on the back of my bedroom door. Carving our initials into some poor innocent tree or some other such nonsense.
The drill-type noise of Ed’s tattoo gun now accompanies the music. It’s Halsey, I think. Another song I don’t know that probably came out while I was in a coma.
“Still no receptionist?” I ask.
“Eh. Latest apprentice gave up and went back to art school.” He scratches his chin. “We’ll find someone eventually.”
“Is it always this busy first thing?”
“Tends to be, yeah.”
“My therapy got cancelled this morning. I can stay for a few hours and help out.”
He pauses. “Anna, you don’t have to—”
“I know I don’t have to. I want to.”
“Well, I’m not going to say no.” He stands, heading over to the counter. “Let me give you a quick rundown.”
And that’s how I start doing a couple of hours at Larsen and Sons Tattoo Parlor a few days a week. Ed is beyond grateful and Leif and Tessa are happy to have me around. Delighted to have some time during the day where they don’t have to juggle the phone. It’s a big change from my work at the inn. There, I was the woman in the office out back keeping everything running behind the scenes. But here I’m front and center. It’s a steep learning curve and I ask a lot of questions, but everyone’s patient with me and the extra bit of income is nice. So is feeling useful again.
In no time at all I can give the appropriate responses to all the basic questions, such as do tattoos hurt? Depends on the placement and your own pain tolerance. How much does it cost? Each tattoo artist has a different hourly rate and if you’re inclined to haggle, then please recall that you’ll be wearing this piece of art for the rest of your life. Don’t make me smack some sense and respect into you. Are they safe? We follow all recommended safety precautions, but please make sure you’re honest with regards to any medical conditions. What should I get? I can’t answer this question for you. Where should I get it? I don’t want to answer this question for you.
No one minds me being somewhat salty in response to the last one. Or if they do, they keep it to themselves. Leif raised his brows, but got on with his work with a smile. And this is the kind of reaction I can handle.
I am the no-nonsense woman on the front desk and I like it. I like it a lot. I like the control, and I like getting dressed and going somewhere that has nothing to do with the accident or its aftereffects. I like my new life.
“What’s with his face?”
“What do you mean?”
“Just look at him,” says Leif, hand waving vaguely at the screen.
Yeah. He’s still not talking sense. So in response, I shove some popcorn in my mouth. Popcorn is never not a good idea.
It’s around midnight and we’re watching a movie. The movie. Twilight. Blueberry muffins that we made earlier are cooking in the oven and all is right and good. Leif’s baking skills are improving with the almost nightly practice he’s had over the last week. Clem and Ed have declared me the best neighbor ever on account of all the delicious goodies they’re now getting so my ass doesn’t get too out of control. Cooking seems to relax Leif when he gets all wound up and over-awake at night, and I couldn’t say no to the possibility of a cookie if my life depended on it. Therefore, we keep on baking.
“Good soundtrack,” says Leif, holding the bowl of popped goodness closer to me. He’s a nice man. “But honest to God, Edward looks low-key tortured all the time.”
“You have to understand that her blood smells like the best food ever to him. She’s the ultimate temptation and he’s like a vegan vampire or whatever.”
“What? She smells like tacos?”
“Exactly. Bella’s blood is the best tacos you’ve ever had in your life.”
“Huh.” He contemplates this. “I had some really great fish tacos this one time in Mexico when I was twenty-two. They were amazing. Life altering, really. Served with just the right amount of lime juice.”
“That’s it then. Bella’s blood smells like the fish tacos from your vacation in Mexico when you were twenty-two,” I explain. “And Edward is mad keen on tacos with just the right amount of lime juice and he’s desperate to sample, but he can’t. Because if he starts, he might not stop.”
“Got it. Is that generally considered heroic, wanting to eat the heroine?”
“Not this kind of eating, no.”
We both look at each other and start giggling like idiots.
Then he stops. “Them being teenagers is a concern, however.”
“Well, yeah, but his character is over a hundred years old.”
“Pervert.”
“It is one hell of an age gap, I’ll give you that. I was a teenager when I first started watching this,” I say. “But a lot of adults are into YA. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. They’re good stories. No sexy times actually happen until she’s over eighteen in the second-to-last movie, so . . .”
“You’re going to make me watch all of these movies, aren’t you?” he asks, not sounding particularly worried about the prospect.
“Yes.” It’s the simple truth.
He just nods.
And then it happens. The sound of the vehicle skidding across the road makes some animal forgotten part of my brain react. Fight-or-flight coming to the fore. My heart hammers inside my chest. The sight of the vehicle careening toward her . . . shit. I jerk back hard in my seat as on screen, Edward saves Bella from being crushed by a moving vehicle. It hadn’t even occurred to me. That this sort of thing would come up now and then and freak me the hell out. Dammit.
“You okay?” he asks, gaze concerned.
Every muscle in me from top to toe is drawn tight and I’ve broken out in a cold sweat. “Yeah. I just . . . I forgot about that bit. But it’s fine. I’m fine.”
“We can change movies if you want.”
“No. It’s all right. Wait. Are you okay?” After all, I’m not the only one with issues relating to motor vehicle accidents. “Do you want to turn it off?”
He shrugs. “I’m fine.”
That’s it. That’s all he gives me. But somehow, I don’t quite believe him. There’s a certain tension to him too. Unless he’s feeding off of my angst. Fuck, I wish I had a psychology degree around about now.
“Are you sure?” I ask.
“Yep.”
“Okay.” I settle back, taking nice, deep even breaths. What am I going to do? Freak out every time there’s a car crash on TV? Nope. I will not let my fears rule me. Nor can I force Leif into confronting whatever may or may not be hiding inside his head. That’s his trauma to process in his own time.
On screen, Bella is surrounded by her concerned friends before being examined by a doctor. The bland walls and hospital beds and everything are an immediate downer.
“Yuck,” I say. “If I never see the inside of a hospital again I’ll die happy.”
He sighs and settles back into the couch without a word. More proof that the screechy vehicle sounds got on his nerves too. Leif is a chatterer. He always has something to say. Which makes me wonder if the violence upsets him also. Seeing his sister-in-law left bleeding out on the ground after a knife attack would have to stick inside your head. The sight of so much blood and pain must linger in the worst way possible. And it happened pretty much right outside our front door.
It didn’t even occur to me when I was choosing the movie to beware of blood and violence. I’m a lousy friend. Leif has been through a crazy amount in the last couple of years. I’m impressed he’s managed to hold himself together as well as he has.
“Do you think having your dad as the local sheriff would mean you were more or less inclined to get into mischief?” he asks.
“I don’t know. Depends on how deep your need to rebel runs, I guess,” I say. “We really can put on something else if you’d prefer.”
“Nuh.”
Okay.“Oh, they’re having their first fight slash mild disagreement. How dramatic.”
“Much tension.”
“Such romance.”
And because I’m watching him out of the corner of my eye, I catch his frown a minute or two later. “Is it really considered romantic to break into a girl’s room and stand in the corner watching her sleep?”
“Let’s remember that this is a fantasy,” I say. “We know that she’s fundamentally safe with Edward because he’s the hero. We can trust him to always do the right thing with her. Therefore we can imagine being wanted in that all-consuming way to such a thrilling degree by a hot dude while disregarding any and all real-life stalkers-breaking-and-entering concerns.”
A grunt from him.
I curl my feet up underneath me. So I spent the better part of my teenage years overthinking Twilight. It made me happy.
“You once commented that you thought I was hot,” he says.
“Did I?”
“Am I to therefore believe that you would find it thrilling for me to watch you sleep?”
“I’m pretty sure you have better things to do than watch me sleep.” My heart did not start beating faster at his words. It’s just still riled up over the car thing. “Like seeing to your belly-button lint issue.”
With a frown, he tugs up his T-shirt. Oh good God, what have I done? He sits there beside me, showing off his amazing body like it’s nothing. And of course I cannot look away. I’m so weak and wanton these days. It’s dreadful.
“My belly button is perfectly clean.” He sniffs with disdain. “Where are you getting your information from, lady?”
“It was a joke. Stop it.” I tug on his shirt with a scowl. “Cover yourself.”
“Why? What’s wrong with my body?” He smirks. Because he knows damn well he’s perfection. The asshole. I hate him and I keep having this insane urge to have sex with him, but we’re really just friends. Just. Friends.
For so many reasons.
“Nothing,” I say. “I made a joke and you took it too far.”
“Did not.”
“Did too,” I say, because mature competent adult.
“Did not.”
“I am rising above your petty and juvenile behavior,” I say, then seize control of the bowl of popcorn. Maybe if I keep my mouth full I’ll refrain from saying anything stupid ever again, or at least for a little while. A girl can dream. But first, “House rule number one. People in central areas of the residence must be fully dressed at all times.”
“But what if I’m exercising and I get hot so I have to take my shirt off and inadvertently show some skin?”
“I don’t see how that would be inadvertent.”
“Gleaming, sweaty skin,” he drawls. “I really do get overheated while exercising. Please consider my request.”
I think it over and sigh. He sort of has a point regarding getting hot while exercising. But he’s also sort of being the Lord of Mixed Signals.
And then he opens his mouth and says, “It’s not like you haven’t seen it all before anyway.”
“What? What are you talking about?” I ask. “I haven’t seen it all.”
“The other night you saw me without my shirt.”
“But that’s not it all.”
He lifts one shoulder. “Eh.”
I sigh. The man knows nothing.
“The upper body is usually the most interesting aesthetic part on most people,” he says. “Tattooing and other various activities has taught me that.”
I look to heaven. No help is forthcoming. “Let me guess, you’re a breast man? That’s where this idiocy is coming from.”
“Breasts are good.”
“So are thighs and asses and junk.”
The corner of his lip quirks in amusement like he’s gotten me to say a dirty word. Inside the heart of every man is a twelve-year-old boy. One who wants to talk smut and make fart jokes. And I’m reasonably certain that at least this time I didn’t start the sex talk. At least, not intentionally. Also he’s giving me a strange, speculative sort of look.
“What?” I ask.
“I was just thinking.”
God help me. “What?”
“You probably don’t want to hear it.”
“Okay.” This whole line of discussion feels beyond dangerous. “Shut up and watch the movie then.”
He holds his peace for all of approximately half a second. “I was just going to say that if you—”
“No,” I say, adamant. “You’re right, I don’t want to hear it. Because whatever comes out of your mouth next is guaranteed to make things even more awkward.”
“Yeah, but awkward is kind of what we do best.” He tilts his head, watching me out of the corner of his eye. “Think about it, young Anna. We’re always having strange little overly honest conversations. It’s refreshing. People clutter their talking up with so much nonsense these days. The cool thing to say. The smart thing to say. The polite thing to say. But never the honest and open thing. The thing that’s really on their mind. Why is that?”
“Probably because they don’t want to get hurt or hurt other people. They don’t want to look foolish or leave themselves open to being misconstrued,” I say. “I don’t know. Communication is tricky. There’s lots of ways it can go wrong.”
“Hmm.”
“Hmm, what?”
“I think there’s a level of trust and understanding here between us that’s beautiful, is all.”
I have nothing. He’s right and it is beautiful. Our irreverent conversations far and away eclipse the conversations Ryan and I used to have. Maybe it’s a passing thing. Maybe Leif and I will drift apart. But right here, right now is something special. Though I’m still not going to tell him everything. There are plenty of thoughts that I don’t need to share. All the same, I can’t keep the happy off my face.
“Don’t you think?” he asks.
“Yes. I do.”
And he just smiles.