Page 38 of Silent Is The Heart

There. Words. That should make him happy enough to forget about my stupid car.

Laughing like he knows I’m avoiding the topic of my car, he nods. “Yeah, actually.”

Does he know his voice sounds like sex when it comes out all soft and sweet like that? I never freaking stood a chance as a hormonal teen. He should have been barred from seeing patients between the ages of puberty and retirement.

Fuck. Focus, Easton.

Inside, I’m glad to see that none of my offerings have been removed or neglected. There’s an ass indent on one of the couch cushions, so I hope it means he sat on it.

Following him to the kitchen, my mind goes to a strange place, wondering what his house with Reider looked like. Did Reider ever buy him gifts, and if so, what kind?

Aaron chatters about how sweet and wonderful my staff and Wolf were as he gets glasses out of a cabinet. I pull the food out of the carryout bag and take plates from him when he hands them to me. It’s oddly domestic and quite surreal to be in a living space with him even though I was here once before. It’s just the two of us now, however, and I can’t hide behind text messages like I did all week again.

“Do you have any clients tonight or are you off today?” he asks, taking the seat next to me rather than the one on the opposite side of the table.

“Later,” I mumble just before stuffing my mouth full with a bite of a taco.

Our exchanges this week ranged from food to veritable nothings. He complained about an orderly who’s a close talker and has bad breath, whom I dubbed Mr. Itosis, first name Hal. Each time I got a laughing emoji from him felt like a prize until my old doubts crept in, and I’d force myself to sign off for the night. I’m not seeking approval. I know I’m not. It felt natural, is all. Maybe that just makes me a bit of a dork like him, too.

It even felt natural to pop by for dinner when I realized it was Friday night and he wouldn’t have to work tomorrow. It was a safe bet he wouldn’t have any plans, and hedidask to see me again, after all.

“Oh my God, this is amazing,” he exclaims, eyes slipping shut while he chews his food.

“You look like you need it.” It’s true. His college boy baby fat is gone. I can see it in his face.

“Thanks,” he scoffs. “I won’t read into what I know that means. I just haven’t had much of an appetite.”

“I’ll fatten you up.” Shoving the container of tortilla chips that came with our meals closer to him, I jest, “Quit whining and eat.”

Snickering, he grabs one and shakes his head. “Were you always this charming?”

It’s now that I realize what I liked about him so much. As calm and kind as he is, he was never afraid to rib me back, even if it was passively. People act like they’re wary of me, even Wolf sometimes. Aaron only acted like he was wary that he’d hurt me. Grinning, I nod around a bite. “Yeah, but I’ve had a little more practice.”

“Thanks for the warning.”

I doubt he meant that to sound flirtatious. I don’t think Aaron even knows how to flirt. He already seems to have written off our kiss at Pulse as a lack of judgment on his part, not giving any indication of what he thought my intentions were. I’m grateful for it. I’m not here to flirt. Fuck if I know how to make a new friend, but it’s not gotten too awkward yet, so I rifle into the shopping bag as a segue.

Pulling out the puzzle box, I set it so it’s standing on its side on the table. His jaw pauses mid-chew, forehead crinkling. I present my hand in front of the ridiculous image of a collage made up entirely of rubber chickens, soaking in his bafflement.

“That’s…quite the puzzle.”

“I got another one more to our taste.” Pulling the other box out, I waggle my brows, getting a laugh out of him when he takes in the giant dick mosaic. The way his ears turn red, I’ll take that as a no. I slice the chicken puzzle box open and dump the contents on the table in front of us.

“You remembered,” he murmurs, making my hand freeze.

Iremembernow that he didn’t mention anything about his love of puzzles in any of our texts this week. Shit. There are drawbacks to having a steel trap memory.

“Not your thing anymore?” I mumble, casually reaching for my soft drink cup.

“No. I still love them.”

Smiling, he starts flipping over the pieces so the image sides are face up. Part of me wants to run out the door for being so corny, but as the seconds tick by and I catch the serene look of his profile, the urge to stay wins.

Friends. This is what friends do. Dorky friends.

So, for the next two and a half hours, I dork out with Aaron Manicki over a rubber chicken puzzle.

I get up to use the restroom at one point and return to find him washing our plates. I guess he was just humoring me about still liking puzzles.

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