Page 9 of Tear Me to Pieces
Simon comes in right behind me, squeezing past me. “Sorry. I forgot I turned the lights off.” He flips a switch and the space illuminates in a soft glow.
And my mouth drops open.
“Holy crap.” I don’t know where to look first. Standing next to the camper earlier when Simon first arrived, it felt big, but I assumed most of that was whatever made up the shell of the thing. I didn’t actually expect it to be big inside. But this thing is huge.
Simon moves past the kitchen—which contains a freakingisland— and plops onto one of the two sofas in the living room area. He angles a brow at me. “See? More than one sofa.”
Now that I’m seeing it firsthand, his home having more than one sofa is the least impressive thing about it. The kitchen is shockingly big, sporting a full-size refrigerator along with a pantry tucked into one corner. There are pendant lights hanging over the island, and the stove has plenty of room to craft a full meal. Across from the kitchen is a dining area. A set of four chairs flank the smooth wood surface, which is again surprisingly big.
Then there’s the living room. In addition to the two couches Simon promised, there’s a large television, end tables, and even what appears to be an electric fireplace.
“I had no clue campers could look like this.” I turn to peer down the darkened hallway behind me. There’s a door immediately on the left and then a small set of stairs. Stairs. In a flipping camper. “This place makes my house look like shit.”
“Just remember, your toilet goes into the sewer. Mine goes into a tank I have to empty.” Simon grins when I turn to face him. “So I’m going to say your house still wins.”
There it is again. Simon easily putting me in the front. Like he doesn’t give a shit whether or not people think he’s superior. The one in charge. In power. In control.
Still clutching my plate, I walk across the laminate flooring before lowering to the opposite end of the sofa Simon’s sitting on. I don’t really know how to deal with what’s happened since he showed up on my doorstep. How to catalog all the information I now have.
Luckily, it doesn’t matter. Simon is probably just being nice to me since we’re the only two single people on the block. I know what it’s like to hang out with happy couples all the time, and I don’t blame Simon if he’s simply having dinner with me to avoid having what he’s lacking dangled in front of his face.
“You better eat before it gets cold.” Simon tips his eyes, one eye squinting as he reconsiders. “Actually, I don’t think it matters. Cold spaghetti’s pretty damn good too.”
I scoot back a little, trying to look more comfortable than I am, as I twist a spool of pasta onto my fork. I’ve spent months fantasizing about the man who’s now only a few feet away. It’s surreal.
And awkward.
I force myself to relax, leaning back against the plush cushions in an attempt to get at least a little comfortable. “Does that mean you eat a lot of cold spaghetti?”
Simon finishes his mouthful, lips curving into a smile. “The amount of spaghetti I consume on a monthly basis is embarrassing.” He shrugs. “But my job takes a lot of energy, so I can use all the carbs I can get.”
I know a little about Simon. All of it gleaned from random conversations since I’ve made a point not to ask anyone about him. But part of the fantasy was he could be whatever I wanted him to be.
I do know he’s a welder like Shelly’s husband Shaun. One who travels around doing specialized jobs as an independent contractor. But that doesn’t really explain his claim about the energy needs of his profession.
“What exactly do you weld?”
Simon’s eyes move over me for a second before he answers. “I weld underwater.”
I gasp. Loudly.
“Underwater?” Why do I feel like I can’t breathe just thinking about that? “Why underwater?”
Again, Simon shrugs. Like his career choice is as uninteresting as it gets. “I like the water. I know how to weld. It pays really fucking well.” Something in his expression shifts again. Sort of like it did earlier. But again, it’s too fast for me to identify the difference. “I was looking for a reason to leave town, and I can make more if I’m willing to travel.”
“What happens when you want to get married and have kids?” The question is out of my mouth before I can stop it. I don’t even know why I ask it. Why it matters. It doesn’t. “I’m sorry. That was really invasive of me.” I try to backtrack, hoping I haven’toffended him with my probing questions that are probably more about me than him.
“You don’t have anything to apologize for, Myra.” Proving he’s just as easy-going in real life as he is in my mind, Simon smooths over my blunder like it doesn’t matter. “As far as marriage and kids? They’ve felt out of reach for a long time.”
My fork freezes midair. Halted by feelings that are very similar to mine. I slowly lower the bite I prepared to my plate, drawn into a conversation I didn’t expect to have. “Why do they feel out of reach?”
I hold my breath as I wait for his answer, wondering how close it might be to mine.
If maybe I’m not the only one with dreams that will never become reality because I can’t get out of my own way.
4
SIMON
