Page 50 of Always You

“All right, you little escape artists,” I murmured, lifting Scout into the box, followed by Mischief and Rascal. “You've been giving me quite the workout with your antics, haven't you?” They mewled back, their tiny voices high and curious, as if replying.

I adjusted the blanket at the bottom of the box, making sure it was snug and comfortable for them. “You know, my old unit would laugh if they saw how easily you three have me wrapped around your little murder mittens,” I continued, my voice soft as I watched them settle in.

I chuckled when Scout looked up at me with wide, innocent eyes. “Yeah, I thought you might agree,” I said as if the kitten had offered profound agreement. “You have me whipped.” I paused, adding a selection of small toys for them to play with. “I might have to keep all three of you.”

Rascal batted at the toy while I leaned back on my heels, watching them. “There again, I guess I need to find somewhere to live first, right?” Anxiety gripped me at the thought of leaving Guardian Hall, and I forced it down. “But that's adult life, huh? A lot of guessing and very few answers,” I mused aloud.

A loud knock interrupted my one-sided conversation, and I scrambled to stand and opened it to find Marcus standing there. Tyler was with him, eyes still shadowed with the dark circles of recovery, standing a little too close to Marcus, as if his proximity could somehow ward off the ghosts that haunted him.

“We're the babysitters,” Marcus announced, gesturing toward the box.

“You're the what now?” I asked with a frown.

“We need to take them for a bit, and you need to head over to room seventeen. Alex is waiting for you.” Marcus’s voice was neutral, staying outside the room, respectful of my space. This room had become my sanctuary, a place they knew to treat with a gentle kind of reverence.

“Is something wrong?” A million different worst-case scenarios spun into confusion, and Marcus touched my arm.

“No. I promise. For real. Pass me the kittens and go find Alex.”

“Okay.” I hesitated, then exchanged a confused glance with Tyler, who shrugged. “I'll head over there,” I responded, collecting the box and handing it to them. Tyler took responsibility, his gaze lingering on the bundles of fluff.

“I've put their food and some toys in there, and they're used to the blanket at the bottom,” I instructed, handing over the kittens' care to Tyler and Marcus. “The cat litter tray?—”

“I got this,” Tyler murmured, his voice soft, but firmer than I had heard in a while. A small smile played on his lips as he stared at the kittens, and then they walked away.

With the fluffballs in good hands, I locked my door and headed to room seventeen, pushing away the lingering worries about what I was heading toward. As I walked, the corridor seemed unusually long, and the walls were lined with the muted colors and soft lighting that characterized Guardian Hall. I realized I was heading to a part of the large building I'd not seen before. When I reached the door, I paused, taking a deep breath before knocking.

The door swung open almost immediately, and there stood Alex. His presence alone stirred a mixture of anticipation and nervousness within me. His eyes met mine, and for a moment, all the unspoken things between us hung in the air, palpable and pressing.

“Hey,” Alex greeted. “Thanks for coming.”

I hesitated at the threshold, pausing to ask, “Is everything okay?”

He stepped back and gave me a reassuring nod, allowing me space to enter and get my first glance at his room in Guardian Hall.

The space was no more than ten by ten—smaller than my room on the floor under this—and dominated by a double bed pressed to the wall, neatly made with crisp linens and several pillows. Against one wall, a shelf groaned under the weightof numerous books, personal photos, and clutter, making the space feel lived-in and warm. Long drapes framed the window, offering a view of the backyard and the same old trees I could see from my room.

In the center of the room, Alex had opened a small camping table laden with takeout boxes and plates. He wore a smart button-down shirt and dark jeans—a different look from his typical Guardian Hall T-shirts and sweatshirts. He'd tidied his soft hair until it lay flat instead of with its usual flicks.

“I wanted us just to sit and eat together,” he said, a hint of nerves in his voice.

I frowned. “We already do that, Alex,” I said, reminding him of our regular meals in the communal dining area.

“Yeah, but that's in the dining space,” he added. “I was hoping you'd be happy for it just to be us here.” His voice held an earnest plea.

Now, it was my turn to feel nervous. I backed up against the door, taking in the details of the room. The distinctive packaging from Momma's down the road caught my eye, and the subtle fragrance of garlic, cheese, and Italian herbs wafted through the air.

Alex gestured at the food. “I know Italian is your favorite. Or it used to be. Did I get it wrong? Is this wrong?” Alex's questions filled the small space between us.

For a moment, I was overwhelmed by the gesture, the intimacy of the setting, the effort he had made. I closed the distance and hugged him hard. “It's not wrong,” I assured him, my voice muffled against his shoulder.

“I know I've already jumped the shark, and you might not even be interested, and we're not supposed to be kissing, but… I mean, I tried not to think about kissing you, and then, I wondered if I was pushing this on you, and you're not in the rightplace to… shit… am I fucking this up? Marcus thought it was a good idea and said we were grown men, and he said you're?—”

“Let's eat.” I stopped his nervous rambling—way too many questions and comments in there I didn't want to think about.

The tension seemed to dissolve with those words, and Alex relaxed in my embrace. We separated and set out the food, each movement feeling more natural than the last. As we settled down to our private dinner, him on the bed and me on a rolling chair, I didn't know what to say at first and focused on a carbonara to die for, but after a few moments of silence, I couldn't help the question that had been dancing on the tip of my tongue since I walked in.

“Is this a date?” I ventured, watching Alex for his reaction.

---