Page 40 of Napkins and Other Distractions
“You don’t want me to toast it?”
“Nope. I’m good,” he mumbles, the dressing-slathered cold bread shoved in his mouth.
White creamy liquid drips from Kent’s lips, pooling in his beard. I slide a plate in front of him, hopeful he’ll use it. The man doesn’t have a single napkin. I grab the roll of paper towels and place it before him.
“There,” I say, stepping back awaiting his next move.
He takes the smallest piece from the select-a-size roll, and places it on the counter. One napkin. Half a napkin, really.
I take my plate with a piece of dry toast and sit, leaving a stool between us. Kent and that amount of dressing on dry bread doesn’t bode well for me. At least I have the roll of paper towels in reach.
“Tell me about that?” he asks, nodding to the dining-room table. My current build takes over the entire space. Identical white bowls pepper the perimeter. Each with bricks sorted by size and color. In the middle, the Eiffel Tower reaches toward the ceiling, surrounded by the rest of the under-construction city.
“Paris. The tower was my starting point, and I’m gradually constructing the surrounding areas.”
With half a piece of salad-dressing-covered bread, Kent walks over and circles my dining-room table, inspecting.
“Have you ever been?”
“To Paris? No. I’m not a big flier.” I shake my head. “Too many germs.”
“Then how do you know?” He points to the tower’s surrounding areas.
“There’s this amazing thing,” I say, moving next to him, “called the internet. It’s filled with maps, photos, and all the information your brain desires.”
Kent smacks my behind and quips, “Smart ass.” His palm connecting with my butt sends sleeping butterflies swarming in my stomach. “Well, this is amazing. The kids at school would eat this up. Truly.”
Kent takes a brick from a bowl. A classic blue. Eight studs and three tubes. He fingers it while scanning the construction zone.
“I don’t really like help,” I say. The muscles in my hand quiver and twitch, and I take the brick from him and place it back in the bowl, returning it home with the other blues.
“Sorry, I was just going to … ” Kent stammers and trips, grabbing for the table on his way down. His fingers catch on a bowl of orange pieces, sending them cascading over him as he falls to the floor. Lightheadedness swirls, and I catch my breath before moving to help.
“I don’t suppose you find this cute?” he asks, lying on his back, covered in random orange pieces.
“Here.” I offer my hand. Once he’s up, we collect the scattered bricks. “You don’t think it’s … strange?” I ask.
“Me falling? I’m fairly used to it by now.”
“No. All … this.” I motion to Paris.
“A grown man playing with toys?” He’s beside me, taking my arm and squeezing. “I think it’s kind of hot.”
The touching. The kissing. The flirting. Maybe we’re heading for a friends-with-benefits situation. Considering I can’t get past a first date, I should probably count my blessings.
“Anyway,” I say, returning to the island and my toast, “what are you up to today?”
“Brushing Sweetums. It’s kind of our weekend thing. And it takes a while.” He shrugs. “What about you?”
I shrug back. “Laundry. Cleaning. The gym.”
“What gym do you go to? I’ve thought about joining, but honestly, at my age, I don’t know if it’s a habit I want to start,” he says, grabbing his stomach and giving it a little jiggle.
“None. I mean, the condo has a small gym in the basement. It’s super basic, but it’s here and free. Nobody uses it much, so it’s usually spotless.”
“Gotcha.”
Kent finishes his dressing with a side of bread and puts the plate in the sink.
