Page 11 of The ABCs of You & Me

I swallow once I’m sure choking won’t be a possibility. “It was,” I start to say and then realize I don’t care to sugarcoat the whole ordeal. “He’s a professor, a wunderkind basically, and we were together for five years. I lived with him.”For himgoes unsaid. “Until he told me to move out because he didn’t love me anymore and he didn’t want to be in a relationship.”

“He wasn’t in love with you anymore?” he repeats slowly, as if trying to make sense of the words.

“I’m not sure he ever was, but he sure moved on fast.”

“But he didn’t want to be in a relationship anymore…” The words trail off as his expression hardens. It’s not one I’m used to seeing on Foster. Anger and disbelief settle into his brows and his lips.

“Not with me. Apparently I was ‘too old’ for him.”

“You’retwenty-seven. Wait, were you dating Leonardo DiCaprio?” he asks, his face lighting up.

I snort. “No, definitely not Leo.”

“How old is he?”

“Thirty-eight.”

“And twenty-seven was too old for him?” His eyebrows arch so high, they nearly hit his hairline.

“Well, technically, twenty-six at the time of our breakup.”

His lip curls. “That’s…that’s gross.”

“The age difference? Because I was not opposed to that part,” I admit.

“No, how at twenty-six you were too old for him.”

“To be fair, he never actually said that, but his new girlfriend is four years younger than me. And I learned after the breakup that I was three years younger than his previous ex.”

“Well, he clearly doesn’t deserve you. There will be better things on the horizon,” he says confidently, despite not making eye contact with me.

Better things, like going to a gala with you?I want to ask so badly, but it doesn’t feel right yet. We may need a few more quiet lunches in this tiny space before I work up the courage. At least I know he’s not in a relationship right now. Doesn’t mean he won’t be by the time I bite the bullet and bring this favor up.

Foster takes off five minutes before the bell goes so he can head out for yard duty, but before he goes, he insists on bringing me lunch tomorrow. Apparently my sandwich made him sad. And I am not in the habit of making hot ginger men sad.

SIX

SOPHIE

“Messy cabbage rolls.” Foster swings the lunch bag back and forth as he enters my office three weeks to the day he shared lunch with me the first time.

“I love cabbage rolls,” I exclaim as I start shoving things to the side of my desk so we have room to eat. One day I’ll figure out a system where I’m not constantly having to do this. But clearing off my desk feels as ritualistic as Foster bringing me lunch at this point.

He never says anything about the mess or my perceived lack of organization, but I do know where everything is on my desk. No one else ever would, but I do, and that’s what’s important. My new pair of glasses on the other hand—well, those are lost somewhere between my house and this desk.

After a week of hiding in my office at lunch, I ventured into the staff room. It’s nice to socialize a bit, but I find that I can’t concentrate there if my life depended on it. So many conversations happening at once is a tad overstimulating, and my misophonia gets a bit out of hand in large groups between the smacking, slurping, and crunching. By the end of lunch, I find myself longing to be shut away in my broom closet. If Foster is closed in here with me, even better. He’s also a quiet eater, which is a bonus.

“Did you watchTop Cheflast night?” I ask, collecting cabbage and mince on my fork.

Foster nods but waits until he has swallowed to answer. “The blindfold challenge is one of my favorite ones.”

“Would you want to do a challenge like that? Be blindfolded?” His hand stops in mid-air, his food forgotten in front of his lips, and the words finally make their way to my brain.You’re asking for taste purposes. He’s not going to think you mean in bed.Right?Not that I’m thinking of him in bed, except I definitely am now. Is that something he’d like? Is that something I’d like? You can do taste tests in bed. Lots of tasting can happen between the sheets, or on the couch, or in the backseat of a car, or the shower—oh my god, I’m off in sexy Foster land and can’t seem to locate the exit.

“Truthfully, I’d like to do a lot of the challenges you see on cooking shows. Like…” He tips his head back, thinking and I zero in on his throat and the way it connects with a jaw sharp enough to cut glass. That’s new. His jaw wasn’t always that sharp. I wonder if he uses one of those jaw trainer things I’ve seen on infomercials at three a.m. “Boxes with ingredients. You know?”

Nope, I don’t because I zoned out of the conversation and directly into that jawline. I don’t need multiple conversations to distract me.

“I mean, they all sound fun to watch rather than to do,” I admit, assuming I’m even close to answering what he asked.

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