Page 22 of Lessons in Love
Chapter Eight
5:35 p.m.
5:36 p.m.
5:37 p.m.
This is ridiculous.
Why am I a mess over a woman? Since when did I start losing my cool over a chick bringing me food?
There’s a knock on the door. I run to answer, then catch myself as soon as I grab hold of the doorknob. Fuck, calm down. I take a deep breath. Play it cool. Play it cool. I look down. My heart may be steadier, but someone else just woke up. Fuck.
I do ten quick jumping jacks and use a trick that’s never failed me.
Washington.
Adams.
Jefferson.
Madison.
Monroe.
Adams.
Jackson.
Shit.I’ve forgotten who comes next. I open the door, and ask, “Which president comes after Jackson?”
She waltzes past me like she’s been here a million times. “Van Buren and then Harrison.” Setting the glass dish on the kitchen counter, she looks up at me, and smiles. “This is fun. Let’s play more.”
“Tyler.”
“Polk.”
“Taylor.”
And in unison, we say, “Fillmore.”
She laughs, slipping her coat and scarf off. “So dirty.”
I hang her stuff up on the hook by the door. “I never thought about it, but now that you say it, Fillmore is dirty.” I join her on the other side of the bar, keeping the marble counter between us. Also, just in case Big Richard is still awake, he’ll need cover.
“Why are we reciting the Presidents?”
Shrugging, I play it off. “Just keeping my mind sharp.”
She opens a bag she set down with the lasagna, which smells amazing by the way. Pulling out a bottle of wine, she says, “I love brain games. My favorite is Memory.”
I sit on the barstool and watch her as she unpacks. Her expression is happy and carefree as she talks about the game. I like hearing about her favorite things. It tells me more about her, and feels personal, instead of the bullshit a lot of people talk about. She asks, “Have you played?”
“I played as a kid.”
“This is much more challenging than the card game when you were little.” She twists the cap off the wine, and adds, “Wine?”
“Yes.” I watch her work around my kitchen, making herself at home.
