Mr. Nice Guy by Belinda Williams

Chapter Five

The first thingChelsea did when they arrived home was jump in the shower and then find some real clothes—a pair of relaxed jeans and a favourite hoodie. She felt absolutely no pressure to dress up or put make-up on. It was Tom, for goodness’ sake. She’d lived with him for almost two years and he’d seen her at her worst, including that time she had a stomach bug so bad she couldn’t keep any food down for days. He’d been a total lifesaver and had ended up getting some anti-nausea medication from work to help her get better.

By the time Chelsea came out into the living area, the smell of frying meat and fragrant spices greeted her.

‘Mmm, what are you making me?’ she asked.

The question felt odd on her tongue. As already established, Tom regularly made dinner, but not specifically for her.

‘Thai green curry.’

‘Oh my God, your speciality. You don’t know how many times I’ve hungered for it when I’ve come home and smelled you cooking it.’

Tom cast a questioning glance over his shoulder. ‘Why didn’t you say so?’

‘Um, I don’t know.’ Chelsea seated herself on the stool at the kitchen bench. ‘It seemed rude, I guess.’

‘It’s not rude. We share an apartment.’

‘Yeah, I know.’ Then an interesting thought occurred to her. ‘You say nice guys are honest, right? Well, can I be honest back?’

‘Of course. Although I’m not sure why you haven’t felt that you could be honest with me before.’

Tom’s tone wasn’t offended, more surprised.

‘OK, here goes. You’re my big brother’s friend, so there’s that. But you’ve always seemed way more together than I am. I didn’t want to start asking you for dinner in case it gave you the impression I’m completely disorganised and not capable.’

Tom set the wok down on the cooktop, lowered the heat, and turned to face her. ‘Why on earth would you think that?’

‘Because I am pretty disorganised. You’ve seen my room.’

‘Chels, being messy doesn’t mean you’re not capable.’

Chelsea reached over and grabbed the bottle of wine Tom had put on the bench for her. Beside it sat a single glass. Tom obviously wasn’t drinking because he had an early start tomorrow and he usually preferred beer anyway.

The gesture struck Chelsea as both simple and thoughtful. And nice. So bloody nice it gave her the hint of a warm fuzzy in her belly mixed with the hunger pangs from smelling Tom’s cooking.

Chelsea poured herself a small glass of wine and decided to keep going with the honesty. ‘Let me clarify. I’m capable enough to be an adult—just. You’re capable capable.’

Tom leaned against the edge of the bench, his expression amused. ‘Capable capable?’

‘Yes. You’re a paramedic. Plus, you’re fit and dangerous—I’m referring to the jujitsu, not your moral code. You own this apartment and you’ve managed to have more than one long-term relationship. Me? I barely make a living looking after kids. I have an attention span of a three-year-old, which, to be fair, is probably why I’m good with them. It also means I can’t stay interested in anything for very long, and that includes a relationship.’

Tom shook his head at her. ‘I never realised you were so down on yourself before now.’

‘I’m not down on myself. I’m realistic. And I thought we were being honest.’

Tom regarded her thoughtfully, then came over to stand on the opposite side of the bench. ‘Seeing as we’re being honest, here’s my read on things. Yes, I’m capable and responsible, but I’m also five years older than you. I’ve had time to build up to buying an apartment. You’re great at what you do, Chelsea. Just because it’s not highly paid doesn’t mean it’s any less important or valuable than what other people do.’

Chelsea played with the stem of the wineglass. ‘I suppose. It’s just that I never really had a plan, you know? I didn’t have a clue what I wanted to do after I left high school, and I sort of fell into childcare. Remember how I used to work casually at that local place near our house during the summer holidays? I didn’t go to university or anything like that.’

‘But you’ve done some training to qualify for what you do.’

‘Yes, but so many people I know have careers. As far as I can tell, I have a job.’

‘Which pays the bills, and you enjoy it. What’s wrong with just having a job if that’s what suits you?’

‘True. But now that I’m nearing thirty, I’m starting to wonder if I’ll still want to do this when I’m forty. Or fifty. Eek, I can’t imagine ever being fifty, but I assume I’ll be more together by then.’

Tom chuckled and turned back to the stove. ‘You’re only twenty-eight, Chels. And for what it’s worth, I have no idea if I’ll still be a paramedic when I’m fifty.’

Chelsea paused with the glass near her lips. ‘Why not? You love your job.’

She heard him sigh as he stirred the ingredients in the wok. ‘My industry has a pretty high burnout rate, Chels. I try to take it day by day and not worry about the months or years. You never know if you’ll turn up to a call-out one day and what you find will impact you so adversely that you might not want to—or be able to—do it anymore.’

Chelsea took a sip of wine because she felt like she needed it after Tom’s admission. ‘Wow. That kind of puts Michael’s level four poo today into perspective. It’s bad, but I know I’ll recover.’

Tom tossed Chelsea a smile over his shoulder while he served up the meal in two bowls. ‘I’m not sure what a level four poo is, but I think I can work it out. Sounds nasty.’

‘Not as nasty as what you face most days, I’m sure. Some of the stories Nadia tells me about her work in the ED are sobering. I have a bad day, a kid bites another kid. You guys watch someone die.’

Tom gestured to the small dining table they rarely used, and Chelsea followed him, wine in hand.

‘On our better days, we get to see people live, too. That’s pretty amazing.’

Chelsea registered the look on Tom’s face. It was a mixture of determination with a hint of pride. He had every right to be damn proud, as far as she was concerned. She blurted out a response without thinking.

‘Is it because of your mum’s cancer that you chose to be a paramedic? So that you could save people?’ Chelsea winced. ‘You know what? Forget I said that. Way too intense for first-date conversation.’

Tom lowered himself into the chair opposite her, not appearing concerned by the personal question. ‘First dates can cover serious topics, you know. In fact, it’s usually a good indicator of how well you get along with someone. If the conversation is shallow, the relationship is likely to be, too.’

Chelsea reflected on his comment. She could count on one hand the number of deep and meaningful conversations she’d had on a first date. Some were awkward. Others were fun. Quite a few involved a lot of flirting. But deep conversation? Not much. She wasn’t sure what that said about her. She hoped it said more about her choice of dates than her, at any rate.

‘Chels?’

She shook the thoughts away and focused on Tom again. ‘Sorry. Like I said, you don’t have to answer my question.’

Tom’s mother had passed away from cancer just before Tom finished high school. Chelsea still remembered her fondly. She’d been a bright, happy woman, so full of life and laughter. It had seemed impossible that someone like her could be taken so young.

‘No, I want to,’ he replied. ‘You’re right. I don’t think I would have become a paramedic if it wasn’t for Mum. The last time they arrived to take her to hospital the day before she died, they were lifesavers.’

‘In what way?’

‘They treated her with dignity. Actually, they gave her death dignity, if that makes sense. We can’t save everyone, but that still doesn’t mean we’re not helping.’

‘It makes sense.’ Chelsea speared a forkful of the curry. Despite the serious topic of conversation, she couldn’t wait any longer to taste his cooking. ‘Oh my God. This is just as amazing as I thought it would be.’

Tom winked at her. ‘Good to know I live up to my reputation.’

Something in Tom’s green eyes hit Chelsea hard in the chest, and she inhaled sharply without thinking. Bad idea. A piece of chicken got caught in her throat and she choked on it, coughing hard.

Her eyes widened as the food shot out of her mouth and onto the table between them. She clamped a hand to her mouth in horror while Tom observed the piece of chicken calmly.

Then she laughed and coughed some more because her throat still felt insulted after her attempt to breathe in the chicken, not eat it.

Tom stood and went to the kitchen. A moment later, he returned with a glass of water and set it in front of her. Chelsea took a gulp of the water gratefully.

‘Oh . . . wow.’ She took another sip, and it finally felt like her throat was clear. ‘I bet none of your first dates have ever done that before.’

‘Choked? Or spat out my cooking?’ he asked, returning to his seat. ‘Neither, as it turns out.’

Chelsea picked up the chicken on the table with a serviette and knew her face was bright red. ‘Sorry. Lucky you’re just my pretend nice guy.’

‘Lucky.’ Tom ate his dinner, his green eyes appearing to gleam at her from across the table.

What was with the lighting in here tonight? It must be the dusk or something like that. They hadn’t bothered to turn on the lights yet, so it made Tom’s green eyes more noticeable than usual.

‘Are you going to eat?’ Tom asked.

‘Oh, yes. Of course. Hopefully I can keep it down this time,’ she joked.

Chelsea was careful not to talk while she ate, but she couldn’t resist asking Tom something in between mouthfuls. ‘Does anything make you lose your cool? You’re always so calm. I think you’d barely bat an eyelid at Michael’s level four poo.’

Tom smiled. ‘We all have our moments. Bodily fluids don’t upset me these days.’

Chelsea couldn’t imagine much that would upset Tom in reality.

‘Well, I bet you’re very reassuring for the patients you treat,’ Chelsea concluded.

‘You’re pretty calm yourself,’ Tom pointed out. ‘You take level four poos, toddler tantrums, and the Dragon Lady boss all in your stride.’

Chelsea scrunched up her nose. ‘I tolerate the Dragon Lady because I like my job. As for the other stuff, I speak Kid, so it’s no problem.’

Tom’s eyebrows rose. ‘You speak Kid?’

‘Sure. A lot of adults forget how.’

‘They do?’ he asked.

‘Absolutely. They think they remember how, and they put on that cutesy, condescending voice that makes my skin crawl.’

‘Alright, I’ve got to ask. What voice?’

‘You know the one. It’s all darling and sweetie and cootchie-coo. Makes me want to vomit.’

‘I’ll keep that in mind in case I’m ever tempted to talk like that.’

‘I doubt you would.’

‘So, how do you speak Kid, exactly?’

Chelsea shrugged. ‘It’s easy. You just talk to them and treat them like a person, not a kid.’

Tom grinned at her.

‘What?’ Chelsea asked.

‘Did it ever occur to you that you speak Kid so well because you haven’t grown up?’

Chelsea rolled her eyes at him. ‘All the time. I prefer to think of it as a gift.’

‘It’s definitely a gift, Chels. You’re a kid-whisperer.’

There went his eyes again. All glowing and glittering at her intriguingly in the fading light. Chelsea stood abruptly and went to switch a light on.

To take her mind off Tom’s eyes, she spoke without thinking. ‘I’ve often wondered about running my own centre. But as you’ve pointed out, I’m a big kid and I’m hardly qualified.’

‘How can you not be qualified? You’ve worked in the industry for close to a decade.’

Chelsea sighed as she sat back down. ‘Technically, I can open my own centre with my diploma qualification, but I’d need to make sure I had a university qualified Early Childhood Teacher employed. If it was going to be my centre, I wouldn’t want someone more qualified than me, as egotistical as it sounds.’

‘It doesn’t sound egotistical. It would make sense for you to be the most senior person if it’s your business.’

‘Exactly,’ Chelsea said with a huff, and concentrated on scraping the last of the delicious dinner from the bowl because that was preferable to thinking about her dead-end job.

‘So, why don’t you enrol in university and get the qualification you need?’ he asked.

For the second time that night, Chelsea choked on her dinner. But for the first time that evening, Chelsea discovered she couldn’t breathe.