Don't Look Down

fourteen: don't fool yourself

It's late by the time Seth walks through the door, and, at the sight of him, I grin. I'm no longer alone. Realizing what I'm doing, I drop my lips and attention back to my laptop so he doesn't see it.

"There you are." He sets two bags on the island across from me. "Marsha told me about this terrifying creature constantly hunched over her work, obliterating authors' hopes and dreams. I was wondering when you'd surface."

"Very funny."

"Great. I can already tell you're gonna be a blast tonight." He rolls his eyes. "I picked out some fresh ingredients at the farmer's market for dinner and even splurged on a bottle of this thing you women drink called wine." He pulls the bottle from one of the bags and shimmies it in the air. "I'm not sure how I feel about this red color, but the lady assured me it'll knock your socks off. I figured it was okay as long as we drink it over the sink. Can't risk any spills."

I smile at his effort, feeling its effects concentrate beneath my rib cage. "Thank you, that was-" the word tip toes on my tongue, "-nice. But I'm swearing off alcohol for a while."

"Because you turn into the Ms. Hyde version of yourself? Yeah, probably a wise choice. We'll just put this under here for a special occasion then." He sets the bottle in the cabinet below the sink and begins unloading his ingredients. Some are foreign to me while many are bright, wonderful colors. I'm hypnotized by the selection.

"Be honest, how many times did you check every nook and cranny of this apartment when you got home?" he asks, yanking me out of my trance.

Tucking a few strands of hair behind my ear, I answer honestly. "Once."

"I'm impressed. You really are starting to trust me." Pulling a wad of bills from his back pocket, he rifles through them and throws a stack in front of me. "This might help the process along a bit."

"What's this for?"

"Rent."

I pick up the cash and count it. Holy mother, it's one-thousand dollars. Plus, whatever he's shoving back into his pocket. "You really weren't kidding about that face of yours, were you?"

"Nope," he replies, popping the p. "The middle-aged women can't seem to get enough of it."

I shake my head and roll my eyes, but a smile tugs at my mouth. "Your modesty is commendable."

Leaning his slender frame over the island, he taps my nose. "I've missed that bark of yours today."

I want to tell him I've missed our repertoire, too-especially his funny remarks and the sound of his laugh in response to mine. But it's more than that. I've missed the shuffle of his feet along my hardwoods, the fluid motion of his actions, and the way his presence fills the entire apartment, making it less stuffy. The truth is, I've missed everything about him today.

I swallow that response down and glance at the fish on the island. "Is that salmon?"

"Look at you knowing quality ingredients."