I hope.
* * *
"So, this is it," I say, holding my arm out and presenting my apartment. It's not much, but it's mine and I pay for it myself, which I'm pretty fucking proud of. I searched and searched to find decent secondhand furniture and made my place not look like a shithole. It's the first place that's ever actually been mine. I still kind of get a thrill out of waking up in a bed that I bought.
"It's nice," she says, looking around. I'm not big on knickknacks and clutter, but I have a few things up here and there. She gravitates toward some of my framed nature pictures.
"Did you take these?" she asks over her shoulder. I walk to stand next to her. Already her scent is soaking into the room and making it hard to think.
"No. Someone else did. But I hope someday I'll get to travel to some of these places." I haven't been outside of Maine yet, but I don't tell her that. It brings up other things that I don't want to talk about.
"That's cool. And it explains the tattoos," she says, pointing to my arms.
"I figured if I could never go to those places, at least I could have a memory of them anyway. A permanent one. I also went a little ink crazy when I was younger." Like, a year and a half ago.
"They're beautiful," she says in a quiet voice and then looks up at my face with those huge blue eyes. She's so gorgeous it's hard to believe that she's real and not a figment of my fevered imagination. I cough and step away from her.
"Food?" I say, heading to the kitchen.
"Yeah, food," she says, but drifts over to the small bookcase I have and tilts her head to the side to read the titles. Most of them are ratty secondhand books that I bought at library sales, but I have a few gems in my collection that I managed to find and get a good price for.
"Austen, really?" she calls as I wash my hands and start getting out everything I'm going to need.
"Yeah, why not?" I call back, setting down the box of pasta.
"No reason. Just surprised."
"Because she's a woman and I'm a guy? Because I'm supposed to only read books by writers who have dicks?" She straightens up and raises one eyebrow.
"Well, yes."
"Sorry to disappoint," I say, shrugging as I hold up two bags of cheese. This recipe requires four kinds and is expensive, but I let myself have it at least once a month.
"I'm not disappointed," she says quietly. "It's just a surprise."
I actually kind of like that I've surprised her. Maybe I can change her perception of me.
"If you want to turn on the TV, the remote is on the coffee table." She drifts into the kitchen instead.
"Need any help?" she asks, leaning on the counter. I refuse to let myself ogle her.
"Um, no, I think I've got this. I'm kind of an asshole in the kitchen, to be honest. I feel like if I'm not the one to do it, it won't be right." She smirks, and I see a little of the tension ease from her shoulders. I want her to be relaxed with me.
Things between us are so much easier at cheer because we have something else to focus on. Here and now it's just the two of us, and the awkwardness has started to creep in.
"Yeah, I can see that. It's cool. I'll just watch." She hops up on the counter and sits, as if she's been in my kitchen a thousand times. I'm going to have to work around her, and that's going to be . . . distracting.
She swings her feet a little bit and keeps glancing around.
"Your place is nice. Nicer than mine, anyway." I'm surprised she says this, after she was so weird about me dropping her off that one time.
"It's not the best, but it's mine and I pay for it myself." Her eyes swing back around and focus on me as I fill a pot with water to boil the pasta.
"Do you work? Or are you living off some trust fund?" I nearly drop the pot of water as I start laughing. Oh, if only she knew.
"Why is that so hilarious?" she asks when I finally get my breath back and put the pot on the stove, add some salt, and crank up the heat.
"No reason. Yeah, I work at the on-campus day care." I turn to get her reaction.
"For real?" She's gaping at me again. Score a second point for Rhett.
"Yeah. I like kids. Why else would I be a developmental psychology major?" She blinks a few times as if stunned.
"Wow, that's . . . wow."
"What?" She's looking like she's thinking real hard about something with her eyebrows all drawn together. It's painfully cute.
"I just . . ." she trails off.
"You didn't expect it. I know. That happens a lot." I know I'm not what people expect and that's fine. I don't care what most people think. It's not worth letting them into my life. But Freya is different. I want her to approve of me. I want her to like me.