I take the seat opposite him. I can’t seem to tear my eyes away from his form. He looks incredibly tall even while seated. I just know he’s probably well over six feet tall.

His rich, dark brown hair is the color of dark chocolate. It has tumbled forward in a way that screams that he rarely ever bothers to style it.

He reaches up and pushes it back from his face with a casual grace. It’s a simple gesture, yet it makes me weak in the knees.

“Hi, you must be Mr. Johnson?” I ask, finally finding my voice.

“The one and only,” he replies, reaching out for a handshake. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you in person, Nancy,” he says, his gaze lingering a beat too long.

“Likewise.” I clear my throat, forcing a smile.

“I didn’t think you were going to be this early,” I blurt out, trying to make conversation.

“Oh no, I’m a sucker for punctuality. I don’t like keeping people waiting. Can’t stand people who do that,” he replies.

“Exactly! Oh, finally someone else who gets it. I don’t play with people’s time. My time is valuable, you know?” I smile. It feels good to finally meet someone who gets what it means to betimely. I’m relieved that this is going better than I expected it to. We’re starting off on the right foot. That’s great.

“Right,” he agrees.

“So, food first? I’m starving.”

“Sounds good.”

He picks up the menu and begins to peruse it quietly.

And although I already have what I want to order in mind because I’m a regular here, I pick up the menu from the table, pretending to scan through it as he does the same.

Finally, he settles for an English muffin and a cup of black coffee.

I look at him in surprise. He gives me a questioning look, but I say nothing.

Of the plethora of things to order on the menu, he chooses a boring English muffin and a boring coffee. I don’t comment and keep my thoughts to myself.

I place my own order of French toast, with a side of scrambled eggs and sausage and a vanilla latte.

We speak for a bit about my rates and I tell him a little about myself and my last gig.

“My last clients just recently moved out of the city.” I explain, “Their kids were lovely and so well-behaved. It was easy working with them.”

“Yeah, I saw the review they left on your website. That’s one of the major reasons I reached out to you. They seemed incredibly impressed with your work,” he says.

We are still on the topic when our food arrives, but then a comfortable silence falls between us, only interrupted by the clinking of silverware as we dig in to savor the food.

Once we both finish eating, he reaches down for his napkin and fiddles with it for a moment with both elbows propped on the table as he watches passersby walk across the street.

“So…” he begins, pausing slightly before continuing.

“I have a proposition. This might be a bit out of the usual for you…” His voice is a deep, smooth baritone.

It feels like he’s picking his words very carefully as he speaks. His face is difficult to read but from the flicker of hesitation in his voice, I think he’s weighing his options while also gauging my reaction because he’s uncertain about how I will take what he’s about to say.

I straighten in my seat. My interest is piqued and I’m very eager to hear what he has to say.

“Uh,..what is it? Tell me,” I ask when he isn’t forthcoming.

He takes in a deep breath. “The thing is, right now I’m overly swamped with work. And as I’ve read from your website that you don’t usually do this but I’m left with little to no options. So, I’d love for you to…” he hesitates again. “…to come live with us,” he bites out finally.

Wait, what?My eyes widen as soon as he finishes his sentence.Is he serious?“You mean live with you? As in, move in?” I ask, my brows raised.