Page 68 of The Fix-Up

“Sounds like you miss him.”

“I do. He was the best,” he said softly. “He was a janitor at the elementary school around the corner from our house. He could have done other things, but after my mom died, he didn’t have anyone to watch us, especially my brother. The principal didn’t mind him bringing us with him in the evenings when he worked.” He blinked as though pulling himself out of whatever place his mind had gone. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to say all that.”

I nudged him with a foot. “That’s what friends are for.”

“Yeah.” He gave me a long, unreadable look. “Friends.”

I twisted and pulled open the drawer to the little end table. Inside was my bottle of heavy-duty, maximum-strength foot cream. This was not one of those bottles of floral-scented stuff. Nope.

“Udder Butter?” Gil asked, eyeing the bottle. “I’m scared to even ask what that’s for.”

“My feet.” I peeled a sock off. “They hurt after being on them all day. This stuff is industrial-strength. If it’s good enough for cows, it’s good enough for me.”

“Right.” He watched me squirt lotion on my hand, looking mildly uncomfortable. I liked making him a little uncomfortable. He cleared his throat. “We need to talk.”

I groaned. “This again?”

“Forget I said that.”

“Too late. I’m already on high alert.” I moved onto my second foot.

“Let’s start over.” He rubbed his forehead. I noticed he did that a lot around me. I also noticed something looked different about him.

“I can’t just forget. I’m not a machine.”

“Why am I always exhausted after talking to you?” he asked.

He wasn’t wearing his glasses. That’s what was different. Without them, his face was more striking, more handsome in the classical sense; it even made him seem less stern and more youthful. I sort of liked stern Gil. “Put your glasses back on. I like them.”

Surprisingly, he did it without argument. “I am going to have whiplash after this conversation.”

“It’s never calm up here.” I tapped my head and set my feet on the coffee table.

“I’m sure your brain is a scary thing,” he said and even though his face hadn’t changed expression, his eyes warmed. They were very nice eyes—all navy blue with inky-black eyelashes surrounding them.

I swallowed and dropped my gaze to the lotion bottle I had clutched in my hand. “It’s like fifty squirrels all running around shouting, ‘I have an idea,’ ‘No, I have a better idea’ and they’re all good ideas, but then I don’t know which one to pick.”

“Why squirrels?”

“What?”

“In your head. Why squirrels and not cats or octopuses?”

With a shrug, I tossed the lotion on the coffee table. “I don’t know. They’ve always been squirrels. Cute, non-threatening woodland creatures with a lot of energy.”

“Who like nuts.”

“Don’t squirrels seem like such anxious animals? Always in a hurry but never quite sure why? So, yeah, squirrels.”

“This has definitely become one of the weirdest conversations I have ever had in my life.”

“But not the weirdest?” I nodded. “Challenge accepted.”

“I have been warned.” He took a deep breath. Probably trying to reach a level of Zen he would never accomplish with me around. It was cute, though. “I wanted tonottalk to you about something.”

“Oh, smart. Reverse psychology.” I gave him my full attention. “Do go on.”

“Ollie’s room.”

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