“I’ve been off the tit for some time, Koti. I can handle it.”
I took immediate offense. “Yeah cause most people can, right? They don’t need a silly routine when they get home to cope with everyday stresses.” I stood abruptly. “I need to go shower.”
“Shit,” regret was clear in his features as I glared at him over the counter. “I didn’t mean that. I’m sorry.”
“Rule number one of friendship, don’t ever use something against someone that they tell you in confidence, especially a weakness.”
“You aren’t weak at all.”
“Well, then you have a fucked-up way of delivering a compliment. Backasswards way, friend.”
Stomping down the hall, I heard Ian whisper under his breath, “Swallow your tongue, asshole.”
I kicked off my shoes in my bedroom and glared into my closet. My shower lasted fifteen minutes longer than usual, and I knew I was wasting water. I brushed my hair and threw on an old T-shirt sundress. When I rejoined Ian in the kitchen, another apology, in the form of a glass of wine was waiting for me.
Ian’s eyes flit over my face before he snatched a towel off his shoulder. “It was insensitive.”
“It’s fine. I’m used to it.”
He picked up the glass and held it out to me. “Well don’t get used to it from me, all right?”
I nodded, taking his offered wine, while he grabbed the chicken out of the oven.
“This is really nice of you.”
“Least I could do, since you’re putting me up.”
Ian plated up our dinner and took the cushioned seat next to me on the island. We sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes as we ate.
“This is delicious.”
“It’s the dish my mother taught me to make for my dates,” he confessed.
“And here I was thinking you had skills,” I said with the nudge of my elbow. “Still, it’s impressive.”
“My mother was always thinking of things like that. She made me a cookbook for quick reference in case there was a second date.”
“Wow.”
“She trained me well. She said she always wanted her children considerate more than any other characteristic.”
“I think I love your mother,” I said with a mouthful. “Rowan is good people.”
“So tomorrow, will I get a rain check on the dinner I missed?”
“Oh, I get it. This is a favor thing?” I turned to face him and felt the awareness of him shoot through every cell, every pore. He was temptation, his smell, his smile, his beautiful voice.
“In a way. But I was wondering what that dinner might have tasted like.”
“Well,” I said as I took the last bite of chicken off my fork. “I’m not a modest cook with truly mad skills. The fish will be dry, but the wine will be delicious.”
We clinked glasses. “I look forward to it.”
“I’ve got the dishes,” I said grabbing his plate.
“I’ll let you.” He grabbed Disco and nodded his head toward the door. “Going for a walk.”
I nodded as my hands shook in the dishwater.
This is not good, Koti.
Half an hour later, I was browsing through a painter’s magazine of canvas templates and accompanying paints while Ian set up his computer.
“Shit, the Wi-Fi here is barely catching with next door.”
“Waiting on a call from your daughter?”
“Yeah. I may have to go elsewhere.”
The glowing blue light flashed in front of him and I saw his eyes light in recognition. He waved at the screen.
Uncomfortable with the intrusion, I gestured toward my bedroom. “I’ll just go.”
“You don’t have to.”
He signed fluidly at the screen. “Stay.”
“Okay.” I sat back down in my seat and he began talking with his hands. I watched fascinated.
“I’m telling Ella,” he said as he flicked two fingers out and closed them at his heart, “that I’m staying at my neighbor’s as the paint dries at her grandmother’s house.” He twisted the computer and I saw his daughter wave at me excitedly. I straightened in my seat and waved back.
Ella waved a hand over her face and closed her fist before she began frantically signing.
“She wants to know if you’re my new girlfriend.”
I shook my head and wound my index finger next to my ear and pointed at her father to let her know I thought he was crazy. She laughed on screen. Ella was a beautiful little girl with long blonde hair and deep-water eyes. I assumed she favored her mother. And then she spoke. “Dad, what have you done to her?” Her English was clear but tainted in the way where she sounded as if she spoke through her nose.
He mocked offense and then spoke. “Nothing. I’ve done nothing to her.”
“Does she read lips?” I asked.
He looked between us as Ella spoke up. “Yes, Koti, I read lips.”
I moved in so she could get a better look at them.
“He’s lying to you. He’s an awful neighbor. I only let him come here because of this.” I lifted Disco up and heard her loud squeal. Though her voice wasn’t completely clear and she had a slightly off point tongue, she had mastered her speech. “Oh wow. Please, Daddy, tell me that puppy is for me!”
“She belongs to Koti and you’ll meet her when you come,” he signed as he spoke.
“What’s her name?” Ella asked animatedly.
“Disco,” Ian and I both answered before sharing a smile.
“I love it,” Ella said, beaming.
“I’m going to give you some privacy. It was nice meeting you.” I told Ella directly.
“Nice to meet you,” she waved. I was close to leaving the room when she spoke up again.
“Dad, she’s so pretty. Is she why you haven’t come home?”
I looked over my shoulder to see him jerk his head to cut her off. I made my way to my bedroom and plucked a book from my shelf. I was curious as to why his daughter would be encouraging him to date. And after meeting her, I was curious about far more than that. Ignoring the constant clench in my stomach and the new warmth that spread through me, I successfully immersed myself into the pages.
An hour or so later, there was a soft knock on my bedroom door.
“You decent?”
I was tangled in my body pillow. “Yep.”
“Sorry, I don’t want to make you feel like you have to retreat in your own house.”
“This isn’t my house,” I said with a wink. His gaze moved from the book I was holding to the bare leg that gripped the pillow.
“Trust me, I’m good here.”
“What are you reading?”
“Outlander.”
“Ah,” he said with a smile. “My daughter loves those books.”
“They’re amazing,” I said, sitting up.
“Well, I just wanted to say goodnight.”
“Thanks for dinner.”
“No problem.”
“There’s some extra pillows in your closet.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“Goodnight.”
THE NEXT DAY AFTER WORK, Ian wasn’t home when I got there so I did the twenty-minute prep for dinner. Foil, almonds, salt, butter. Simple and delicious. I went to my bathroom and disrobed before I realized I was out of shampoo. Knowing my hair would be a rat’s nest if I used soap, I wrapped a towel around myself and crept down the hall to Ian’s room and knocked out of consideration, which I was sure he would appreciate before I walked into the bathroom to grab the extra bottle. On my way back through the bedroom, I saw an open letter on his bed. Against my better judgment, I peeked. It had Ian’s signature on the bottom. I glanced around briefly before I picked it up.
Tara,
I used to be the guy that gave the other guys hell. You know the guys who whined about home. I was the ballbuster, so to speak, and the perfect wingman, but hell on the family man. I was the one who swore the metal in his hands and his country were all that mattered.
In the mess hall tonight—if you want to call a tent in the middle of hell a hall—I finally figured out the issue with those sad bastards. They weren’t sure if they would get to see the faces of the woman they decided on.