Page 71 of Surprisingly Us

I’m remembering when I told her that she needs to say no to a guy’s suggestion to hang out to leave them wanting more, but she’s not supposed to use it on me. Not seeing Lettie tonight has a sharp pinch forming behind my ribcage.

Rhys:You have plans? Should I be jealous?

Princess:Ha! I don’t think so. I’m making tutus.

Rhys:Are you sure? Making tutus sounds like code for something. Is that code for something?

Princess:I make tutus and then me and other dancers distribute them at the children’s hospital a few times a year.

Rhys:That’s cool. I’ll come over and help.

Princess:Are you sure? It’s not glamorous work.

Anything to spend time with you.

I stare at the screen, rereading my words before I press send. I’m going for casual and flirty, but that sentence has way too much truth to it, so I delete it.

Rhys:Got nothing better to do

Princess:Okay, how about six o’clock?

Maurice is spooning Maxine on the cat bed that I brought over to Lettie’s. When they were first introduced, she barely tolerated him, but she’s taken a liking to that bed, so if he climbs in, too, she doesn’t bother moving.

While the cats are snuggled up, Lettie and I are on the couch making tutus. I’d brought over tacos for dinner, but Lettie had already heated up her chicken, rice, and steamed veggies, so she ate that instead. Though I did convince her to take a bite of the churro I brought for dessert.

When I told Ramsey what I was doing tonight he looked at me like I’d grown horns, then he smiled and told me to have a good night.

I toss another finished tutu onto the pile.

“You make that look easy.” I motion to where Lettie’s tying another knot, then hold my hands up. “Maybe my hands are too big, it makes tying the knots harder.”

“Don’t worry about it.” She examines the tutu I finished before giving me a thumbs up. “I appreciate the help. That’s two more tutus than I had before.”

“I think my hands would be more useful doing something else.”

Her eyes drop to my hands and I swear her cheeks go rosy. I love that I can see every expression on her face. Every thought.

She’s surrounded by tulle, in her usual attire, a cropped tank and leggings, messy bun on top of her head and face free of makeup. I should be immune to the sight of her now. But unfortunately for me, Lettie isn’t the kind of woman you become resistant to. Where I’ve always found the allure of women to fade with familiarity, it’s the opposite with Lettie. Every time we spend time together, it only leaves me wanting more. At this point, I’d come over just to scoop Maxine’s litterbox to hang out with her. In hindsight, I should never have bought her that self-cleaning one. My mistake.

“How about a foot massage?” I offer.

She blinks before refocusing on the tutu she’s working on. “Um, no. You’d be horrified if you saw my feet.”

I laugh, because how bad could they be? “Try me.”

She lifts her brows in challenge. “Are you sure?”

I motion for her to extend her legs toward me. When she sets her feet in my lap, I pull off her slipper socks. I thought she was kidding, trying to scare me, but what I find is disturbing.

Her toes are curled. The knuckles bent, not by choice. Calluses line the sides of her big toes and pinky toes. Her toenails are purple underneath, housing blood blisters and bruises.

“What the fuck, Lettie?” I gently rotate her foot to get a closer look.

“What?” she asks. “You said they couldn’t be as bad as I was making them out to be.”

But they’re that bad.

“I was wrong. And they’re worse.”

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