Page 2 of The Man of the House

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The crackleof the fireplace fills the massive living room, the orange and gold embers casting flickering shadows on the vintage wallpaper. It’s beautiful, cozy, and relaxing, and watching it never gets old. It’s my favorite place in this house, and I often spend hours just staring at it, quieting the chaos in my head.

I cradle the steaming mug of tea between my hands, welcoming the warmth bleeding into my fingers, my three-year-old tabby—a stray I picked up at the hospital and whom I named Clawdia—sprawled by my feet. She likes the fireplace too. And despite the fact that cats are mostly known for being cold, unsympathetic creatures, Clawdia seems to pick up on my moods. She always stays with me when my emotions are either down or chaotic.

Everything that happened today was a blur, except the moment with Elena.

I go over the short conversation, the skin contact, and I close my eyes, letting the feelings wash over me. I knew I was in love with her before today—hell, before we even met a year ago—but I didn’t realize how strong the emotion was until I almost pulled her to me. The need was overwhelming. I thought, for sure, I would move on and get over her, but it only got stronger. It’s as if no time has passed since the last time I saw her. It could’ve been yesterday for all I know.

People like to say, “Out of sight, out of mind.” Lies, lies, big, fat lies.

I open my eyes and exhale deeply, the thin ribbons of steam curling before me. The house is fairly quiet, and I assume Elena is already asleep upstairs. The only thing I can hear is the occasional pop of the log splitting in the hearth.

“Jesus,” I mumble, mentally punching myself for how I behaved today. Odd. I’m forty-two years old. Too old for these feelings. Too old for acting like a lovesick schoolboy meeting his longtime crush for the first time.

A faint shift in the air prickles the back of my neck, and I feel her before I even see her. I cast a look over my shoulder and watch as she steps closer and sits on the recliner beside me. I note, with amusement, that there’s no hesitation.

That’s a relief. The last thing I want is for her to feel unsafe around me.

“Are you up for company or do you prefer to be alone?” she asks as she tucks her legs under her and leans back, her eyes on the fireplace.

“I’d prefer you here.” Not the most appropriate words, but I can’t do anything about it now. My mouth works faster than my brain, I guess. “You want tea?”

Elena scrunches her face. “No, thanks. I hate tea.”

I chuckle without thinking. “I know. You prefer a double-shot espresso.”

She swings her head to me, one eyebrow raised. “How do you know that?”

“Your mom. She always told me things about you.”

Elena buries her face in her hands and groans. “God, I hope she didn’t say anything embarrassing.”

I don’t reply, just sip my tea, thoroughly enjoying this weird turn of events. She turns to me, peeking through her fingers. “Please tell me she didn’t say anything embarrassing.”

I nod, a smile tugging on my mouth.

“Evan…”

I jolt at the sound of my name on her lips, almost dropping my cup to the floor. Yes, she has that kind of effect on me. A thousand people can call my name, and I can pick out her voice in three seconds flat.

“Evan, what did she tell you?”

“Nothing.”

Elena smirks. “You’re an awful liar.”

My gaze briefly drops to my cup, trying but failing to resist the urge to smile. “Nothing much. She told me when you wanted to come as a prune at a school event.”

“No!” Her face is a mask of horror, and I burst out laughing. “But that’s it, right? She didn’t say anything else? Right? Please tell me she didn’t.”

“No. Well, maybe just when you misheard your teacher saying you should wear your favorite food instead of bringing a picture.”

“Oh God. My classmates all stared at me when I showed up looking like a hot dog sandwich.”

Our gazes meet, and we both laugh. A much-needed relief from the heavy atmosphere earlier. Suddenly, visions flood my mind, scenes like this playing out in sharp detail. Scenes of me and her sharing moments of our lives, drinking our favorite drinks, chatting about our day, and just being with each other.

I want those things so badly that I feel a pain in my chest. A sharp stab of knowledge that I will never have any of those. I can only dream.

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