Page 38 of Capitally Unexpected

I continue to play along, like I have all meal. “A client who signed up for one of the spots I’m keeping open while we wait for the app works at the Arlington store. She mentioned it to someone, so they sent me some spices to try out. They’re interested in a meeting to see if we can work out a deal to have the spices default to theirs when the selected store sells them.”

“Hunter, that’s amazing.” Her energy picks up to the highest it’s been since she left this morning.

I shrug. “It’s pretty cool, and their stuff is high quality. We’ll see. I don’t want to get my hopes up.”

“Well, I think you should let those hopes climb a little bit. But I didn’t know you were doing clients here? I thought that would wait until the app launched.”

Shit, I forgot I planned on not telling her about taking on clients now.

“Just a few—I used referrals from my clients back in Holly Ridge, so I could keep it limited. Duncan keeps telling me to use some of his investment money for other expenses, but I’m trying to keep it limited to the app and company.”

“Do you need more money from me for groceries? Or adjust our rent split? I paid the whole rent before you moved in, and you’re saving me food money from my takeout habit, so?—”

“No,” I say, with more force than I mean to. “I mean, no, I’m okay. I still have my savings and what I got for my bike. I want to be sure I have a good amount of emergency savings.” I’ve also been putting out feelers for kitchen subbing gigs as I get more connected with the food scene in DC, but I won’t mention that either. I don’t want Michelle to worry she’ll be left on her own too much—I’m sure I can figure it all out.

She opens her mouth, ready to protest again about money, I’m sure. “Want anything for dessert?” I ask, grabbing her bowl that’s been empty for a few minutes now. I set them in the sink, debating whether I should do the dishes now or carry on with Mission Raise the Mood. I turn around and catch Michelle’s glum expression before she can fix her face. Mood mission it is.

“Want to watch a movie?” I ask.

“Oh, sure. I guess so.” She moves over to the couch and covers herself with a blanket. To keep the humidity down, the AC is at a frigid level, especially when you’re under a vent.

“Your choice,” I say, sitting at the other end of the couch. After handing her the remote, I swing her feet so they’re in my lap but still tucked in the blanket. Our dates the past few weeks have made us more comfortable with casual touch. One thing I’ve learned is Michelle loves a good foot rub, but hates her feet being cold. I worry she will pretend she doesn’t want a foot rub, trying to make herself as unbothersome as possible. Ridiculous, she couldn’t bother me if she tried.

“Oh, look, the movie with the Christmas stripper show to save the small town is in the top ten. I didn’t get enough Christmas in July time in,” she says, perking up again. After navigating to the movie in question, she presses play and nestles deeper into the pillows propped behind her back. Her feet wiggle in my lap, her signal she’s ready to take advantage of their proximity to my hands. I smile and rub my hands together to ensure they’re nice and toasty before sliding them under the blanket and working the arches of Michelle’s foot.

We lose ourselves in the story. There’s something comforting in the formula of boy meets girl, girl needs boy’s help but doesn’t want to ask, boy makes grand gesture to win girl’s heart, and they work together to save the day.

“Mmm,” Michelle says as the Christmas Revue scene begins.

“Is that noise sponsored by my excellent foot rubbing skills? Or that handsome man on the screen right now? Answer carefully,” I tease, my tone light. In reality, I’m glad to hear her make a happy noise.

“Why can’t it be both? I’m getting one thing I need from you, and something else I need from Mister Handsome up there.” She juts her chin to the screen.

“Psh. I can do that.”

The first laugh I’ve heard from her all day escapes. “You. Candothat?” She points to where the actor is essentially humping the floor, held up by one arm, before jumping right into a standing position.

“You wound me.” She laughs harder. “Okay, I’m not sure I can dothatexactly. But I’ve got moves.”

“I’m sure you do,” her voice teasing, but still laced with doubt.

“Okay, fine. You brought this on yourself.” I snag the remote from her hand, pause the movie, and hand her my phone. “You can choose the music. I need to prepare myself.”

I slide out from under her feet and stand up, moving the coffee table out of the way.

“Hunter, what?—”

“Less scoffing, more song selecting,” I say, directing her attention to the phone screen as I move one of the dining room chairs into the area I opened in front of the couch.

She scrolls, biting her lip in that way that drives me wild, before releasing it to laugh in triumph, the perfect song chosen. “Ready?” she asks. Her tone tells me she still thinks I’m bluffing. Little does she know the most convenient group exercise class for my schedule some days at the Winterberry Glen fitness center was Pole Dancing. My moves are for real.

Smooth saxophone starts to come out of the speaker. “Seriously?” I ask.

Michelle’s whole body is shaking with giggles. “It’s called ‘Santa’s Sexy Package.’ I can’t make this up.”

After a few more beats, I decide to lean into it. “All right, we can work with this.” I walk around the chair, sticking my ass out and shaking it in her face.

“Woo,” she half yells. “Shake that money maker!” Laughter coats her voice. In this moment, I know even if I’d never danced with a chair in my life, I still would have found myself here because it’s making her so happy.

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