He raises his eyebrows. "I thought you weren't judging?"
"I wouldn't have run out screaming if you had a pile of James Patterson over here, but I'm not going to lie, I'm glad you don't."
"Are you surprised I read?" he says.
"No, I figured you were literate," I say sarcastically, then pause. "But I guess I'm a little surprised at the range. Not everyone reads that widely."
Seth plugs his cell phone into the charger and takes his wallet out of his back pocket, setting it on the dresser. I'm getting a ridiculous amount of pleasure watching him go through what looks like his nightly routine. The fact that we still haven't kissed yet is making me ache inside, but in a good "delayed gratification" kind of way.
"There isn't much to do in the evenings out here besides read. I guess I could watch Netflix, but I've been enjoying the quiet of summer nights on the porch." He looks around the room like he's going to find a mess I've made. "Did I miss the part where you rifled through my underwear drawer?"
"Yes, and I was surprised about all the thongs.” I’d love to do some actual snooping now that he's here to watch me. "Let's look around some more, shall we?"
I wander over to a huge armoire and run my hands over the wood. It's over six feet tall and about five feet wide. The wood is stained a pretty walnut color, and the design is simple and classic.
"I wish I could make things," I say, gripping the handles on the armoire. They look antique, like he found them in the dusty back room of a hardware store and polished them to a shine.
"This was my first major project in the woodworking class I took years ago.” He comes to stand beside me. "It's not perfect, but it has sentimental value to me now."
I pull on the handles and the doors to the armoire swing open. I have the slightly hysterical feeling that I might find something frightening inside it, and I do.
"Wow, you really want the full tour," he says nervously.
There's a hanging rod across the inside, and arranged on it are about thirty tops. They're separated into categories—button down dress shirts, casual flannels, and t-shirts—and then arranged in color-coded order. Each section is its own perfect rainbow, except the plaid flannels, of course.
"Whoa," I say. "This is serious."
"You can take a man out of the Marines..."
"They did this to you?" I ask. "You weren't this freakishly organized before the military?"
"Hell, no," he says. "I slept late, left dirty dishes in the sink, threw my clothing on the floor. But they don't tolerate that in the military. Plus, I like it this way now. I like knowing where things are and coming home to a clean space."
Above the hanging clothing is a shelf of neatly folded wool sweaters and hoodies. I stop myself from pressing my face to them to see what they smell like. Then I say to hell with it, and do it anyway: fresh air and cedar. It hits me like a punch to the stomach: I won't be here to see him in his winter clothing. Not unless I come back down here for the holidays. By then, he might have a girlfriend, which is an even more troubling thought. A guy like Seth won't stay single forever.
"Is my neatness that distressing to you?" he asks. "And why are you smelling my sweaters?"
"What?" I ask, coming back to the present moment.
"You look sad all of the sudden."
I force myself to smile mischievously, reaching out to caress the sleeve of a blue flannel shirt.
"What if I just moved a few things around when you weren't looking?"
"You wouldn't," he says in a mock horrified voice.
I slide my hand toward the hanger, and he grabs me by the waist and attempts to hoist me over his shoulder, forgetting about his stitched-up finger.
"Ow! Dammit!" he says, cringing in pain.
"Are you okay?"
"Yeah." He looks at me with chagrin. "Picking you up with this bum hand was overly ambitious."
"We'll just pretend you did.” I charge toward the bed and shake my fists in the air. "Put me down! I will destroy you and your organizational madness, you man-beast!"
I leap onto the bed dramatically then roll onto my side and pat the empty space next to me.
