Page 19 of For You, Sir

You’ve already decided. Do it. Just do it.

I set my jaw in determination, sat upright on the couch, and opened my laptop. Fear twisted in my guts as I opened a new document file—the blank page and blinking cursor demanded perfection. I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and shook out my fingers.

Don’t overthink it. Just write whatever comes naturally.

A half-formed story had been simmering in my mind for a while. It whispered suggestions for an opening scene, but was immediately drowned out by a louder inner voice:“WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?”

Ugh. I put my hands over my eyes to hide that hideous pane of white. Why bother putting words on a page? The critics and haters would tear apart my work, no matter what I wrote.

Don’t think about that. Focus, Einar. You’ve pushed past self-doubt before. Do it, man. Do it!

I clenched my teeth and put my hands on the keyboard. Willed my fingers to move and produce something brilliant.

The cursor on the blank page blinked at me, incredulous.“You’re back again? YOU? Don’t you remember what happened last time?”

“Fuuuck.” I dragged my hands down my face, my chest aching. Why was I doing this again?

Because of Jun.

He believed in me, and he’d been right about everything so far. Too bad he was mistaken about my ability to write. Jun was smart, and a hell of a butler, but he didn’t understand the complexity and pain of creative work. For all his misplaced hope in me, I was never meant to write another script, and that was that.

I closed the untouched document.Sorry, Jun. I tried. If it’s any consolation, I wouldn’t have even made the attempt before you came along.

I opened a web browser to catch up on the news, but doomscrolling only made me feel worse. Jun’s keys rattled in the door forty-five minutes later, and my heart leapt. Something positive to focus on instead of my own miserable thoughts.

“Good morning, Jun.” I snapped the laptop closed as he stepped into the foyer.

“Good morning, Sir.” Jun glanced at my computer. A playful smirk curled the corner of his mouth like he knew something I didn’t. Maybe he thought I was looking at porn or something. “I’ll put on the coffee.”

“Thanks.” I remained on the couch, resolved not to follow him around like a puppy. But when I re-opened the computer to a page of government scandals and climate disasters, I changed my mind, and followed Jun into the kitchen, my computer tucked under my arm.

Too bad he wasn’t wearing the suspenders again that day, but he’d tied on the cute sunflower apron. He started working on a meat sauce recipe with a million ingredients in it, and I resumed working through my backlog of emails. Typing on my computer while he seasoned and chopped made me feel more productive. It felt pretty chill and domestic, too. Like we were a couple or something.

I’d given up on reining in my private fantasies about him. It was inappropriate to lust after my butler, but how could I help myself? He was sexy as a cover model, hard-working, and humble—a catch by anyone’s standards. How the hell was he still single, anyway?

Perhaps his quiet, tight-laced demeanor made him come across as kind of sexless. It was hard to picture such a composed, meticulous person getting freaky between the sheets, but that’s what turned me on about him. Like the stereotype of an uptight librarian who secretly harbored a wild side, I wanted to see what put-together Jun looked like when he was a sloppy wet mess. His perfect hair begged to be yanked, his button-up shirt demanded to be ripped open…

Jun’s phone rang, and his brow arched when he glanced at the caller ID. “Excuse me, Sir.” He turned off the stove and stepped into the backyard to answer. I focused on my emails and resisted the urge to eavesdrop.

Jun came back ten minutes later, looking pale and bewildered.

“Who was it?” I asked.

“The estate lawyer of my last client,” he said. “She was an older woman who passed unexpectedly. Apparently, she named me as a beneficiary in her will.”

“Oh, wow.”

Jun ran his fingers through his thick, dark hair. “Exactly. And it’s more than I would have expected. I mean,anythingis more than I expected, but this ismuchmore.”

I was surprised, but pleased he would share something so personal with me. “Aww, man,” I groaned in mock disappointment. “You’re moving somewhere tropical, aren’t you? You’d better not be putting in your two-week’s notice.”

He huffed a laugh and shook his head. “It’s notthatmuch. Besides, the money’s not even the best part.” That alluring hint of a smile was back on his lips.

“Yeah?”

“I’ve been fostering her cat since she passed,” Jun said. “I thought a family member might claim him eventually, but Mrs. Olsen officially bequeathed him to me.” His eyes sparkled with enthusiasm—it was the happiest I’d ever seen him.

Damn, Jun. You think taking in some second-hand foster pet is better than wads of free cash?

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