Page 35 of Fighting Spirit

“Rowan, no! You don’t need to do that!” I know I’ll be embarrassed later when I remember how I’m basically screeching into the phone, but there’s no way I can have Rowan showing up.

“It’ll be quicker for me to fix it.” I can hear the sound of an engine starting in the background. Is he already in his car? Why can’tnowbe the time when his roommate is out all night?

“There’s no way that’s true. Just turn around and forget I even texted you.”

“Ruth, stop freaking out. I’ll be there in twenty and I’ll get everything sorted.”

My gaze skitters around my bedroom, surveying the chaos. I really try to keep my natural mess under control, but it’s like every time I get into a rhythm of picking up after myself, three weeks blink by, and it’s once again looking like a bomb’s gone off in here. There’s no way I can let Rowan in. Georgie won’t evencome past the threshold anymore. She says the sight of it makes her anxious.

“I swear to god, I’m gonna bolt the door!”

“I’m hanging up now.” The line goes dead before I can respond. I give myself a single minute to despair over the clusterfuck my night’s turned into before I start moving like I’m on fire. I rush to shove dirty laundry into the hamper, and clean laundry into the bottom of my wardrobe, pausing only to give each item a cursory sniff before deciding its fate.

At least the cleaning gives me something to do other than stress. Rowan not believing me feels like an ice pick to the heart. I’m used to everyone thinking I just do stupid shit all the time, but he doesn’t know me well enough to know that’s usually a fair assumption. I was hoping he’d still give me the benefit of the doubt. Especially when I’m telling the truth.

The right drape had been hanging weirdly, and it was all I could think about. I’d tried just shuffling the fabric around to get them even, but it kept falling back into its position, so I’d started adjusting it from the top. The bracket must have been on death’s door because there’s no way that moving the fabric around should have caused it to fall off completely—I barely even yanked it!

By the time I hear the front buzzer go, the room looks pretty much acceptable, but I’ve managed to work myself up into such a state that I consider just ignoring it.

Maybe if I throw a shoe at him, he’ll go away?

The kitchen floor is cold under my feet as I approach the intercom like a startled animal. I have to make myself pick up the receiver, reminding myself it would be an asshole move not to let him in after he drove all this way to help me.

“You didn’t need to come,” I grumble into the line.

“Just buzz me in.”

“What if I don’t?” I’m being a brat, but I can’t help but want to wind him up, to hear one of those beleaguered sighs he throws out right before the edge of his mouth quirks up like he secretly finds me delightful.

He sighs into the microphone.

There it is.

I don’t want to admit it, but a part of me is thrilled to see him again. I’d thought that him dropping the gloves off would be the last time. I’ve been trying to put it out of my mind, but I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t been disappointed. Rowan’s nice to spend time with. He’s funny in a dry sort of way and kind of…solid. Like I can throw all my nonsense at him and he’ll just ask if there’s anything else I need him to take care of. It makes me want to do the opposite, to not ask him for anything, as if I could maybe be the person who takes care of him for once. I get the sense that it’s not something he gets a lot of.

I hear his boots on the stairs and open the apartment door before he has a chance to knock. “You really didn’t need to come,” I repeat half-heartedly.

“I’m here now, so you might as well put me to work,” he grumbles as he maneuvers around me into the narrow hall. His elbow brushes mine as he squeezes past, obviously making an effort not to crowd me too much, but unable to do much about how much of the crowded entryway he occupies. It’s further shrunk by an overloaded coat rack and several pairs of shoes spilling out of the basket.

Rowan moves further into the apartment and I trail after him. He stops in the kitchen, and I realize this is as far as he’s ever made it into my space.

“It’s this one,” I say softly, leading him into my room. The thought of Rowan in my bedroom has my insides tightening in a way that isn’t wholly unpleasant.

“Damn.” He assesses the damage and I cringe, wondering what he must think of me. “You’re sure you’re fine?” He looks me over with a frown, like if he glares hard enough, I’ll present some injury for him to attend to.

“Just embarrassed,” I admit, crossing my arms over my chest.

He frowns like I’ve said something stupid. “Why would you be embarrassed? It was an accident, right?”

I say nothing.

“Unless you were trying to do rhythmic gymnastics with the curtains or something?”

“I wasn’t.”

“Then it’s all good.” His half-smile almost makes me believe it. “I’ll get it sorted and it’ll be like it never happened, okay?”

“You’ve got a lot of faith in your repair abilities; you got a contractor’s license I don’t know about?” I mumble, trying to force some levity. He’s being nice, but he must be pissed, right?

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