Page 101 of Worst in Show

“I might need a nap after that,” he says, setting me down gently.

On the other side of the door, the doorbell jingles again. “Yeah, I don’t foresee that in your immediate future.” I smile and lean down to pull my panties back on. “You’d better not service your other customers like this, though.”

“Nuh-uh. Only you.” He zips himself up. “Do I look okay?”

I run my thumb next to his mouth. “You look like you just had sex.”

“Damn.”

His phone buzzes again in his pocket, but this time he ignores it.

Maybe it’s my spent state lowering my inhibitions, but the question is out before I can stop it. “Hey, you don’t regret moving out here, do you?”

His chin pulls back. “Why would you ask that?”

I shrug. “When we did those rapid questions, you said you preferred city over suburb. Wondering if there’s anything to what your dad is suggesting. That you belong there. Not here.”

He sputters something unintelligible. “I like it here. I’m happy here.” When I don’t respond, he reaches for me again. “I feel like good things are going on here, don’t you?”

I nod. Dog food order mishap notwithstanding. When he kisses me, he tastes like peppermint and chance. The faintly perilous undertones make me tighten my hold on his shirt. He’s right, we do have a good thing going, but I’m also very much aware that he never answered my question.

“Good.” He runs his hand over my hair, smoothing flyaways. “Did you get my flowers today?”

I practically hear Micki’s stern voice in my head telling me to nip that display of affection in the proverbial bud. “Yeah, thanks. About that, though.” I scrunch up my face while I search for a way to say what I need to say without hurting his feelings. “It’s sweet and all, but I think… I’m not…” Aargh, what are words? “I’m actually allergic, um, to many flowers.” My skin prickles at the lie spilling out of me.

“Oh.” His face mirrors mine. “Oh, shit. I’m sorry.”

Shame stings my throat. “Yeah… Yep. I had forgotten.”

“I wish I’d known. I guess I’ll have to think of something else.”

“Or not.” At his quizzical expression, I elaborate. “You’re sweet, but I don’t need gifts.”

His brow lowers. “Then what should I do?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, to show you how I…” He looks down. “That I care about you.”

Something warm and fizzy spreads through my limbs. He’s so dense sometimes. “I already know that, silly. You don’t have to do anything other than be you.”

He looks skeptical, so I kiss him instead. Maybe that will convince him that he doesn’t have to give me things to earn my affection.

This time, it’s my phone that interrupts us. Micki is wondering where I am.

Did you drown in his eyes or something? You need a lifeguard?

“I should get going,” I tell Leo. “Micki thinks I abandoned her.”

“Will I see you tonight?” he asks, his lips pink from my attention.

Desire coils tight in my belly again, but across the street are responsibilities that outweigh this want. “I need to work on Cho’s talent. The show is only a few weeks away.” It’s at least part of the truth.

Usually, Micki and I do Snacksgiving and movies at her place for Thanksgiving, but this year Harvey has invited us both to the holiday meal Dalebrook puts together for residents who aren’t going home for the weekend. When we arrive, the lobby is decorated with leafy garlands, turkey crafts, and pumpkins, and in the common room, two long tables have been covered in checkered, rust-red tablecloths with centerpieces in cardboard that spell out GIVE THANKS.

Micki and I help ourselves to some apple cider while we wait for Pop to join us. He’s changing into the button-down shirt and tie he insisted I bring him for the occasion. I also think he wants to show off his newfound independence. While he’s still using a walker, he is no longer requiring someone at his side when he moves around.

“Pretty festive for a rehab home,” Micki says, nodding toward the table.

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