Page 46 of Comeback
He clears his throat and breaks eye contact first, then moves back to the vacuum. We work for the next hour in silence. Despite my arms aching and the sweat and dirt covering me from head to toe, it’s not a bad time.
Archer is a hard worker, not that I’m all that surprised. But he works without complaint or stopping, except to empty out the vacuum. I give up on trying to keep up with him and instead enjoy watching him while I follow behind scrubbing the walls. He sings along to nearly every song, some louder than others.
“You have a nice voice,”I tell him at one point, and after that it takes a few songs before he resumes.
When he finally finishes, I’m grateful for an excuse to stop.
“Oh, thank goodness. I think my arms are going to fall off.” I drop the mop and take a seat on an old wooden chair I found in the back office area.
Grinning, he takes off his hat and wipes his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt.
“Did you know the walls were blue?” he asks as he glances at the area that has been scrubbed clean.
“Not for long. Painting is next on my list.” Although I may need a week or two to recover the use of my arms.
“What color?” he asks and then heads over to pick up the mop where I left it.
“I’m not sure yet. I think an off-white. I don’t want to detract from the architecture, but maybe that’s too boring.”
“Nah, I can see it. I think a light, neutral color will really brighten up the place.” He rinses out the dirty mop and then wets it again, continuing with the last wall.
I stare at him for a moment while he works. His back muscles flex and strain under the white material. He’s turned his hat backward now and it gives him a boyish, playful look. Mystomach flutters and my chest tightens in a way that has nothing to do with my asthma.
With some effort, I force myself back up and help him finish.
When we’re done, Archer and I stand in the middle of the studio and turn in a circle together to take it all in. It’s clean. I’m in shock.
“I can’t believe we got all the walls done. I thought this was going to take me weeks.” It would have without him.
“Now you don’t have to wear this just to be in here.” He taps at the respirator covering my nose and mouth again.
“Sorry,” I say, lifting it. As considerate as I like to think I am, sometimes I still forget that he needs to read my lips.
“I could hear you fine,” he says, “But I like your mouth. The way you talk is beautiful.”
He makes a face, reconsidering his words. “That probably sounds creepy. It’s just, some people don’t really move their lips much when they speak and it’s harder for me, but I can read yours so well. I like it. It makes me more sure that I’ve understood you.”
As compliments go, it’s one of the better ones I’ve received.
“It’s not creepy and I’m glad. It has to be annoying trying to learn every new person’s habits and idiosyncrasies in order to communicate with them.”
“It’s like anything else. Some people you have better chemistry with.”
“So you’re saying we have good chemistry?” I don’t know what makes me ask it. Maybe I just want confirmation that he feels this too. The past two days we’ve gone from despising each other to something else…something that has me thinking a lot about kissing him.
He grins, but says, “I’m saying that talking with you is nice.”
He goes over to his phone and turns off the music, then pockets it.
“Thank you for today,” I say.
“You’re welcome.”
“Are you heading out?”
“Yeah. I need a shower and food. What about you?”
“I have to work at the club.”
