Page 24 of Whirlwind
“Sure. But I promised I’d help when I got back from the road trip. I keep my word,” he says, holding up the shovel I keep leaned against the side of my house for scooping poop. “I think I got it all. Sorry, if it woke you up.”
“Did you promise?”
“Didn’t I?”
“I don’t think you did,” I say, leading Nightmare a few steps away as he sniffs out the perfect spot for his morning wee. “It’s appreciated, but it wasn’t necessary.”
“You’re welcome,” he says with a teasing roll of his eyes.
“Thank you,” I say, laughing.
“What are you up to today?”
“I’m installing a security system. Especially now that I know I have such nosey neighbors,” I tell him. “Then, I have a date with Henry.”
“Oh,” he says, a small frown on his face. “Want some help with the security system?”
“Do you know much about installing a security system?”
“Nothing at all. How about you?”
“I’ve read the instructions, so I guess I know more than you.”
“Only until I read the instructions.”
“Fair point,” I agree. “Come on in, you can read them while I make coffee and get dressed.”
“Don’t do that on my account,” he says under his breath.
“What? You don’t drink coffee? Are you one of the twenty-nine percent?”
“Twenty-nine percent of what?” He tilts his head, looking at me oddly.
“Twenty-nine percent of people who drink coffee have the urge to shit within thirty minutes.”
“No, I’m not one of those,” he says, his frown now a wide grin. “I wasn’t talking about coffee.”
“Good, so my toilet is safe from you, at least. Come on in,” I say, opening the front door for him. “Hope you don’t mind…busy.”
“Busy?” he asks, then pauses, looking around my living room that opens into the kitchen at the back. “Oh.”
I’ve been an active decorator this week. While my bedroom and bathroom are still rather bare, my main living space is done, mostly. I’ve painted the walls dark blue with a little hint of green. The furniture is an array of different jewel tones, and I’ve placed all my favorite quirky things around. Including my collection of pinned moths in shadow box frames, and my lamp that is a 1940s-style woman blowing a bubble that is the lightbulb. She sits on the newly acquired giraffe table. There’s a lot to look at, and most of it is vibrant or weird.
“I like stimuli.”
“It’s not busy. It’s eclectic. I like it.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, why do you sound surprised?”
“Because I am surprised? How else should I sound?”
“No other way,” he says, shrugging. “Where’s this security system?”
I point to a box at the foot of the sofa. Then retreat to my bedroom to put on real clothes. Pulling off my sleep shirt, I realize I’ve had this entire interaction with Tyson while not wearing a bra. It’s late winter and not warm outside. While the chill doesn’t bother me, my body reacts to it in its own way.
Does that mean he was talking about my nipples earlier, not coffee?
