Page 32 of The Confidant

“Tell me you named them all.”

He walks inside and removes his jacket, focusing entirely on all the stuffed animals everywhere. He moves his arm as if he’s setting his coat on one of the dining table chairs and misses. I watch it drop to the floor in surprise. Poe doesn’t seem to notice, too busy doing something on his phone. It isn’t until I hear the faint snick of a shutter that I realize he’s taking pictures.

“I’ve named a few,” I raise a brow, and hang his jacket up for him.

I wasn’t anticipating this reaction at all. He’s not running for his life. He’s relishing in my crazy.

“Which ones?” He asks absently.

He moves the two on the table into the chairs and repositions the salt and pepper shakers. What’s left of his ice cream cone gets placed where it can be propped up by a fuzzy paw. He then squats down to take another picture while I admire his backside.

“You look good busy,cher,” I hum.

“Uh-huh.”

“You listening to me?” I test.

“Uh-huh.”

He isn’t. He’s really into his pictures. I’m a little jealous of the attention he’s giving them. Outdone by my own obsession.

He doesn’t even comment when I add my cone to the raccoon opposite and slide away. His finger never stops clicking the button.

I flick on the lamp, fall into the mass of plushies, and watch him work, giving up on seduction for the moment.

He must take a million pictures, posing them this way and that. He’s got his laser focus on, his mind miles away from me. He looks through a few photos with a frown and moves to reposition the ones on the couch.

I’m watching him pace around with a stern grace that seems martial in its intensity. No moves wasted. Quick, decisive positioning. He even plays with the lights to get what he needs for the photo. When he keeps frowning, I reach out and turn off the lamp next to me.

The frown disappears as he mutters, “Much better.”

Now I’m in the dark watching a madman play with raccoon plushies. His crazy turns out to match mine perfectly.

I imagine this is how I look when I tattoo. Complete, dedicated focus on the art in front of me. The things I need, the angles and colors. We’re the same in so many ways and so different too.

He’s too stiff all the time. Too intense. I’m lazy and like to make a joke out of everything. Yin and yang. We mesh so well it’s a little scary.

I’m comfortable watching him work with a smile.

A little later, I wake up to the sound of pictures snapping much closer to me.

I open my eyes to take Poe in as he stands above my head with his feet braced apart, taking photos of my groggy wake-up. I don’t bother getting up. One of the raccoons has its nose pressed against my cheek, so I push it back. It doesn’t work out because it falls right back where it was.

“You should have stopped me,” he grumbles, lowering the phone to stare at me. His intensity is gone, replaced by soft indulgence.

“Why?” I stretch my arms out with a yawn. “You were having fun, and I liked seeing it.”

“You liked it so much you fell asleep,” he raises a mocking brow.

“I didn’t sleep well last night. I’m catching up while you play.”

“What happened?” He tucks his phone away to give me all of his attention. That focus is back, his humor gone.

Thinking about it tries to take away all my enjoyment of my time with him, but I’m not having it. Not today. I just got him. I’m not driving him away with all my drama.

“It was trash pickup today. I had to hurry to get the cans knocked down in the cover of darkness,” I whisper with wide eyes.

“Really,” he deadpans.

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