Page 104 of The Fix-Up

I raised an eyebrow but didn’t call him out on his obviously fake plans. “Oh. Got it.”

I waited to see if he’d say anything else, maybe ask me about my date, or possibly snap, throw me over his shoulder like a tool-wielding caveman, and have his way with me. But he did none of those things. “Well, goodnight then.”

I tossed and turned, tried to read, refused to think about accounting programs and toolbelts and computer mice andjealous roommates at all. The minutes felt like hours as they ticked by. I tried counting sheep but started to wonder if sheep came in mini sizes like horses. They do, I googled it. After it led me down a rabbit hole into the world of miniature animals, which led me to the world of competitive chicken showing, I forced myself to put the phone down and go to sleep.

It did not work.

“Ugh.” I threw the covers off and shuffled to the bathroom. After I peeked in on Oliver who was sound asleep, two black balls of fluff curled up next to him. One kitten lifted its head but not sensing much in the way of danger, it fell back to sleep. I thought that was the one Oliver was calling Duck. The other one was Goose. At least for now.

Since sleeping was impossible, I crept quietly to the living room. Maybe I could work on Mom’s slipper. Mother’s Day was in a couple of days, and I wasn’t even half done. The curse of the unfinished project haunted me on the daily. The evidence was that hall closet I pretended to ignore.

Sunny and I had worked on the concept of finishing something fully. “If you did fewer things in a day, but finished them all, how would life be different?” she’d asked. She was eating one of my muffins at the time.

But my plans were waylaid when I realized someone was already in the living room. Gil was stretched out on the couch in a t-shirt and gym shorts, ankles crossed and an arm covering his eyes.

I stared down at him, enjoying the way the moonlight seeped through the edges of the curtains and highlighted tantalizing strips of Gil—the hand spread over his stomach, the slice of skin where his t-shirt had ridden up. Even his feet caught my attention.

There was something truly wrong with me when I realized I found his feet attractive.

“Should I turn over so you can get another view?” he asked, even though his eyes were still covered.

“Excuse me, I was getting a drink of water and couldn’t help noticing you.”

His arm slipped down to reveal his face. “It’s okay. If I came upon you laid out on the couch, I’d stop and take in the view, too.”

I flushed. “Couldn’t sleep?”

He shook his head, winced, and closed his eyes. “Migraine.”

“Oh.” I rounded the couch. “You eat something sugary?”

“I may have caved and eaten a muffin.” He cracked one eye open. “Strawberry cream cheese muffins? Who does that? Who makes those and leaves them laying around in the open?”

“So, it’s my fault?”

“Lately? Yes,” he muttered but I wasn’t sure I was supposed to hear it.

“Can I get you anything?”

“Nah. I’m fine.” He covered his face again. “Just waiting for the meds to kick in.”

“Okay then, I’ll get that water and get out of your way.”

He mumbled something that sounded like goodnight.

I bit the inside of my cheek as I made my way to the kitchen but halfway there, an idea hit me. “You know, when I was younger and any of us had a headache, my grandma swore by this little trick she did. I’m not sure if it actually works, but…I could try it.” I paused. “On you, I mean.”

“What does it involve?”

“Pressure points on your hands.” I shuffled back to the couch. “Like I said, I don’t know if it actually works, but I always felt better after.”

He sighed deeply. “Fine.”

A giddy feeling rushed through me for some reason. “Are you okay to sit up? That’ll make it easier.”

He pulled himself up slowly and settled on one half of the couch. I hesitated before sitting next to him. With a leg tucked under me, I faced him. “Come on then. Get a little closer.”

He did as I asked, until his leg pressed against mine. My eyes darted to his, and then away, afraid he might see how one small touch was affecting me.

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