Page 19 of Paradise in Progress
“But why aren’t you in the car?”
Is it hot out here? Why does my voice sound so breathy? What is happening right now?
“Because I’m not leaving you alone.”
Chest heaving, I reach for the keys in his outstretched hand, jumping as our fingers brush. Did I fall and hit my head?
Hoping it was a weird fluke, I glimpse and find a small smirk on his face as he stares at his feet. Turning around, I insert my key and twist it to unlock the beat-up white door. I'm met with silence when I step across the threshold. Lana must be working late tonight, which means I'm alone with Tristan in our townhouse, my emotions all out of whack, with the lingering embarrassment and memory of his gentle touch muddling my mind even more.
The door clicks closed behind me and my heart races. “Dinner will be here in about ten minutes.”
“What?”
“I ordered dinner in the car on our way here. I’m not leaving until I know you’ve eaten and you’re not going to pass out.”
“Tristan, this is ridiculous.” I roll my eyes and feel my body sway, but keep it together so he can get the hell out of here. “I’m twenty-five years old. I can take care of myself.” My hands land on my hips as my frustrations pour out.
His hands raise in defense. “I’m just making sure my competition doesn’t croak on me. What’s the fun in that?”
Clenching my hands into fists, I let out a very unattractive growl. “You drive me crazy.”
“That makes two of us,” he mutters as his gaze wanders, taking in the townhouse.
I found this townhouse on a whim.
Built in 1899, the 1,000 square foot two-story unit was newly remodeled with affordable rent. I couldn’t pass it up and, luckily, Lana was looking for a place to live, which made the decision so much easier. While I could have afforded the rent on my own, there’s an added sense of financial security by having a roommate–and it helps that your roommate is your bestie. Living in New York is expensive. I realized that real quick in college, but it’s worth it when my dreams get to come true.
I watch in fascination as the man who has everything he could ever desire takes in my humble space. The front door opens into our kitchen with white shaker cabinets and gray granite countertops. A long, rustic farmhouse table runs the length of the cabinets where it sits atop a neutral oriental rug. The shades complement the distressed brown shade of our table and the gray hues on the counters.
The space is spotless, since my obsessive mind won’t let me go to sleep or leave for work with anything out on the counters. Past the kitchen is a tiny living space with a cream-colored sectional and a few houseplants along the edge of the room. Across from the couch is a TV mounted on the wall with a skinny cabinet underneath it. Lana’s door is a frosted glass sliding door on one of the walls in the living room.
“Nice place.” There’s an air of comfort around Tristan as he makes his way deeper into the house, as if he’s been here a million times before plopping down on our couch.
“Make yourself at home…I guess.” I gesture to the couch and watch as his large frame envelops the space. Tristan looks comical in our tiny townhouse.
Turning toward the refrigerator, I pull out a cold bottle of water and then reach for a packet of electrolytes. Hopefully, the added electrolytes will help with whatever issue caused me to get so light-headed after our workout.
Leaning against the counter, the lemon lime-flavored water slides down my throat as I stare at the man in the next room.
Is this what it’s like to have a boyfriend?
A husband?
Someone to come home to at the end of a long workday?
Growing up, I was never one of those girls that wished for Prince Charming and their happily ever after. For me, life has always been about studying for the next big exam that will allow me the opportunity to fight for my dream. I’ve always wanted to put my career first. Even now that I’m living in New York with my dream job, there’s always something else I’m striving for. The next big project or proving my worth in corporate America where so many still believe women should be at home raising their children.
And there’s nothing wrong with that. Nothing at all. My mom left her job to stay home with us when Olivia was born. By having her home, she was able to spend more time with us to focus on our developmental needs while providing a stable and loving home. She worked hard, and anyone who thinks staying at home with children is easier has never done it. It’s a lonely and thankless job that left her exhausted while rewarded at the same time.
As much as I admired my mom, I never wanted to end up in her shoes. A tiny seed was planted in my brain at a young age, telling me I was strong, brave, and could conquer the world. And that’s exactly what I plan to do.
I take a seat opposite Tristan, tucking my legs underneath me, making sure I leave as much space between us as humanly possible. No accidental touches with the enemy, I remind myself, as I bring the water bottle to my lips and savor the taste of the lemon-lime mixture.
Hearing him chuckle, my head whips in his direction, casting him a long glare. “What’s so funny?”
“Nothing…just that you’re terrified to touch me. Afraid you’ll fall in love with me with only one touch?”
“As if,” I scoff, turning my attention back to the television. “You know, I could’ve just taken an Uber. Or, you know, you could leave now. I’m fine.”
