Page 275 of The First Time
Chapter Twelve
Somehow, I get back into my dress long enough to get from the garage to the elevator to Blake's apartment. He says nothing until we're in the bathroom and then it's only to ask if I'd like anything to eat or drink.
He draws a bath. Half of me wants to screamI can do this myself. The other half wants to fall into his arms and let him take care of me forever.
There's something comforting about the surrender. About letting go of all the thoughts bouncing around my head. I want to be better at it.
I want to be able to let go. To let someone else take care of me. Someone I trust.
I'm just not sure if that's Blake.
I split the difference. He leaves to fetch me a snack, and I wait in silence until the tub is full enough, then I slip into the sudsy water.
It's perfect. Hot but not painfully so. Big bubbles that smell of lavender and peppermint.
One by one, my muscles relax. The day washes away. The pain of pretending washes away. Everything is perfect and warm and sweet.
Blake returns with a tray of snacks. Grapes, berries, crackers, cheese, and dark chocolate.
He's in jeans and a t-shirt. It's weird. But hot too. He wears cotton well.
I move to the edge of the tub. "You look normal."
"And usually?"
"You're in a suit. You wore a suit when we went shopping."
"I wore slacks and a collared shirt."
"Okay, you were business casual. Most people wear something like that." I draw a circle around his outfit. "Isn't that how programmers usually dress?"
"I don't program much these days."
I pop a raspberry into my mouth. I never buy berries. Too expensive. It's better than I remember. Tart, sweet, perfect. "Do you miss it?"
"At times."
"Did you love programming?"
"I love some things about it."
"Like…"
"There's this feeling of accomplishment when you get a program to work. A satisfaction. Nothing compares."
"You like being in control of the computer?"
"That's part of it. It's more the sense of accomplishment."
"What do you do now? Besides programming?"
"Lots of meetings. Executive-level decisions. It's important, but it's not as satisfying."
"You could let someone else run your company."
He stares back at me in horror. I think. "What do you love about art?" He takes a strawberry and sucks the juice from it. "We've never talked about it."
"We don't talk much."
