Page 115 of Turnabout Is Fair Cosplay
“A silver lining.”
“No. You smell nice.”
“Yeah? You like fresh paint and sawdust?”
“No, but I like you.”
“Ten times harder.” I swear his hand glides gently down my head, across my cheek, to my shoulder.
Sunshine streams into the room along with the steady rhythm of the waves. I don’t have my phone, so I don’t know what time it is. I do know that I slept well, better than I have in ages.
I pad in my socks—well, Mike’s socks—down the hall to the kitchen. And that’s when I start to take in the rest of the renovation. This place is incredible. The views of the ocean are breathtaking. The vibes are modern but with cozy vintage touches, like the hutch in the hall and the painted wood paneling, without being gimmicky. Bright whites and neutrals. Warm wood and textures.
I search the cupboards for a kettle but turn up short.
“Looking for something?” Mike says from the hall. His hair is a work of art—disheveled and tousled to perfection. His face is warmed over by sleep. If he had an imprint of his pillow on hischeek, my knees might buckle and give out. Instead, he has some very pronounced stubble on his jaw.
“Teakettle.”
“I don’t have one. I’ll add it to the list of everything this place is still lacking.”
“Mike, this house is beyond amazing. To get a piece of home back that you thought was lost forever is…” I shrug. “I’m guessing it must feel really special.”
“Special?” Mike fills a coffee mug with water and places it in the microwave. “It’s everything. You don’t realize that part of your heart was walled off and aching offstage for ages. You don’t realize that you were holding your breath, fighting against that ache, until you get it back.”
I trace the intricate vintage pulls on the kitchen cabinets. Mike must have salvaged them from the old kitchen, because they’re more decorative and pretty than pulls have any right to be. Charming. This entire place is charming.
“I wish…” He holds on to that word like he’s considering its taste before proceeding. “I wish it was done.” The microwave beeps, and Mike takes the mug out and adds a bag of tea to it before handing it to me.
“Thanks.” I should say something in response to what he just said. I should reassure him that it was all worth it. That I’ve caught his vision for this place. That I’m not just charmed, but impressed. “You can’t be that far from the finish line.”
Mike adds a second mug of water to the microwave. “It’s all the hundreds of little things at the end. Grout the shower, get some patio furniture, buy a lamp, install the blinds, add a TV and nightstand in the spare bedroom.” At the beep, he pulls the mug out and adds a bag of tea.
“You could knock that out in a weekend.”
“I’d need the funds to do it first.” He rubs his thumbnail across a spot on his backsplash. “Go on, say it.”
“What?”
“That pithy line you’re biting back. The one that’s equal parts wit and insult.” He opens the fridge and pulls out blackberries and a tub of yogurt.
“Raise my rent. Ask me to pay for the next quarter upfront.”
“That’s illegal, and even if I had the money now, I don’t have the time.” He grabs a box of granola from a cupboard.
I forget he’s still a student. “You know, I’ve never cared much for blackberries.”
“Are you serious? You inhaled the blackberries off my lemon-curd pancakes when I got takeaway from Sugar and Scribe the other week.” He ticks the memories off on his fingers. “You pick them out of my salads and eat them exclusively. You ended any hope I had of sampling the blackberry gelato at the Art and Wine festival. You have made trips down to my fridge and absconded with fistfuls of my berries.”
“Can I help it if you have acquired tastes?”
“If you keep this up, I’m going to start making inferences about our friendship.”
Maybe that’s the point, dummy. “Careful, Mike. Those multisyllabic words can be tricky.” I take a berry from his bowl and eat it.
“If you gave yourself even half a second to figure out who you are and what you like, I wouldn’t need to keep you in blackberries.”
“Maybe I only like them because you buy them for me.”
