Page 42 of The Two of Us

12

NOW

Aweek has passed since the night I thought Ambrose would kiss me.

The night I wanted him to kiss me.

He holds true to his word and continues working on the house when he isn’t handling business at the zoo. I flew through the projects Helen set aside for me and now I’ve resorted to crossword puzzles and reading endless recipes on Pinterest as a method to stop ogling him like he’s the cabana boy. Today when I offered to install the porch stairs myself after he brought over the materials, he laughed in my face before returning to his work. I didn’t fight him on it.

Otso accompanies him, lounging near his feet. In Ambrose’s presence, the beast is a far cry from his usual temperament. He’s relaxed and at ease. So much so, he could be considered a lapdog if not for his size and I wonder how he came to be that comfortable around Ambrose. I still have to brace myself every morning when I leave my room in anticipation of being tackled by him.

Ambrose has been slaving away outside in the heat for hours on what was supposed to be my project, so I figure the least I can do is bring out a pitcher of lemonade. I incorporate my secret ingredient, clover honey, and slip into a pair of cutoff shorts and one of my dad’s old band tees before heading outside.

“I come bearing gifts,” I say, lowering a tray with a pitcher and two glasses onto a nearby toolbox.

Ambrose uses a small rag to wipe the sweat off his face and downs the entire glass in silence. Then another one. And another one.

“Wow. Either you’re on the brink of dehydration or I make better lemonade than I thought.”

Returning to the stairs, he grunts, “Both.”

I sip on my lemonade for a few seconds, unsure if I should go back inside. We haven’t spoken much since that night at the bar. I felt something shift in his car and although he’s been at my house every day for the past week, he feels further than ever.

“The stairs are looking great.”

“Thanks.”

“Really. Better than what I could have done. I bet your work on the house alone will be enough to get the realtor to raise the asking price.”

He hums in agreement.

“You know, I’m sure—”

Ambrose cuts me off. “I should really get back to this if I’m going to finish by this afternoon.”

Receiving the subliminal message loud and clear, I duck my head in a nod. He’s already shown me more kindness than he should—of course he’s reached his limit.

Stupid, stupid, stupid girl.

He’s here as a favor to my dad and if I think it’s anything more than that, I’m naive. Because I don’t deserve anything more than that. Not ever.

I’m collecting the pitcher and glasses in my arms when a scream rings out across the street.

Otso raises his head and barks, immediately alert. Squinting my eyes, I follow the sounds to the house next door to Ambrose. Anya and Matty’s house. Anya stands in the driveway with a man holding her forearms in a tight grip. I can’t make out what he’s saying to her and watch in confusion until she yelps again, clearly in pain.

Ambrose sees it all and drops his tools, speed walking toward the pair. I follow closely at his heels after quickly tying Otso’s leash to a column on the porch.

“Anya! What the hell is going on?”

Anya whips her head around, still in the man’s clutches and searches Ambrose’s face for understanding. I don’t bother searching the car for Matty. I already know he’s spending the day with Laura at the park.

“Nothing, Ambrose. We’re fine, we’re just having a little discussion.”

I move out from behind Ambrose. “Then why is he grabbing you like that? Doesn’t he know how to use his words?”

Shifting her focus to me, Anya’s face melts into anger, but it fails to overshadow the fear she has of the man holding her. His detached gaze lands on me. His greasy hair is slick on his scalp like he hasn’t washed it in weeks and although the bones jutting out of his skin make him look malnourished, he’s at least six feet tall, causing him to tower over Anya like a predator.

“I can use my words,” he slurs. “I can do lots of things with my mouth. Wanna see?”

---