Font Size:

Ihurry into my sister’s house, calling out, “Maggie?Rowan?”Isend all the thank yous heavenward whenIrealize that they aren’t home.BecauseifIsaid to my sister right now, “Jaceis in my apartment and needs a shirt to wear,” there is no way she won’t come out to meet him.

Ihurry into their bedroom, not even bothering to turn on the light whenIsee they have a laundry basket of folded clothes sitting on their bed.Good.Iknow they both would have no problem lendingJaceclothes, butIreally don’t want to rummage through my brother-in-law’s drawers.Igrab the t-shirt on top and a pair of gym shorts, and then hurry back to my apartment.Withany luck,I’llhave these returned before they even get home.

WhenIopen the door to my apartment,Jaceis standing in his dark jeans and socks in my hallway-ish living room, with his nicely-toned and shirtless back to me, looking at the books and spy movie trinkets on my shelves next to my couch.Fora moment,Ijust stand there, not really believing that thisAdonisis here in my little apartment.

Heturns as he hears me, andIput the small stack of clothes in his arms. “Youcan change in the bathroom.”Igesture to the door at the right. “I’lljust change in my bedroom,”Isay and give a somewhat nod toward my room on the left.

Weboth head down the short hall at the same time— a hall, by the way, that is definitely not big enough for two people to walk side by side— and amIreally to blame if, under the circumstances, my bare upper arm brushes against his bare back?

WhenIget into my room and shut my door,IrealizeI’vepushed it shut as if it weighs fifty pounds, likeI’mtrying to close the door on whatI’mfeeling.It’snot like the door is extra shut now.

Istart by rubbing my hands over my face and then actually mutter out loud, “Ican’t believeItold him all of that under the tree.”

ThenIpeel my soaking wet clothes off, grab the towel from my shower last night, which still happens to be thrown over the only chair in my room, and dry myself off, including my hair, which somehow still has water droplets falling from it.Iput on a gloriously warm, dry, t-shirt and sweats and rub my arms to try to get rid of the goosebumps covering them.

Ihear the bathroom door open, and that’s whenIstart wondering how scaryIlook.Andvery shortly after, cursing the fact that my only mirrors are in the bathroom.Whodoesn’t have a mirror in their bedroom?Thisgirl.BecauseI’mapparently not the “have a long mirror to check my outfit” kind of girl, either.I’mmore of a “when needed, stand on the edge of the bathtub to see more of my outfit in the mirror above my sink” kind of girl.

Iwork with whatI’vegot and turn the camera on my phone to selfie mode.Okay, soIlook likeI’vebeen dropped into a freezing lake, but when this is all over,I’mgoing to leave a glowing 5-star review for the waterproofness of this mascara.Irub my cheeks a bit because an undertone of frostbite blue just isn’t my color.ThenItake out my ponytail band and run my fingers through my soaked hair.It’snot pretty, but ifJaceis no longer interested in me whenIlook like this, then it’s better for both of us if we know that now.

Iwalk out to findJacestanding near the door toMaggie’s, holding his stack of soaking wet yet perfectly folded clothes, wearing a dark gray shirt with glittery pink text that readsRealMenWearPink… andGlitter, andIlaugh out loud. “Okay,Iswear to you thatIhad no idea that was the shirtIwas grabbing whenIgrabbed it.Butmy brother-in-law will be so happy to know thatIdid.”

“Ihave always thought that glitter went with my complexion.”

Itap a finger on my lip, considering. “You’reright.Itreally does.Youshould think of buying a few glitter ties for work.”

Hechuckles asIadd his clothes to mine.ThenIgo put them inMaggie’sdryer along with a couple of dry towels so it won’t take forty-seven years to dry them, and head back into my apartment.Jaceis checking onRoxy, who is sound asleep in her makeshift bed.

“Theyshould be ready before long,”Isay. (Lie.Theyareverywet.) “Ican make us some tea in my coffee maker.Oh!Andare you hungry?BecauseI’vegot some leftover taco meat and toppings—Ican make us some cornbread tacos in my waffle maker.”

Hefollows me into my kitchen and checks out my row of appliances at the back of my long counter. “Nostove or oven?”

Isometimes forget how strange my apartment is untilIsee it through someone else’s eyes. “Whoneeds a stove and an oven when you’ve got a rice cooker, a coffee maker, a waffle iron, and a slow cooker?Itell you,Ican make anything with these four appliances.”

Iput the taco meat in the rice cooker to warm it up, and thenIstart mixing up the cornbread batter, whichIdon’t even need a recipe for becauseImake it so often.I’vehad cornbread plenty of times in my life, butIdon’t think you can really gain a true appreciation for cornbread until you’ve had it cooked in a waffle iron.

Jaceleans against my counter and asks, “Sowhat’s the story behind this place?”

Iturn around, too, hugging the bowl against my middle asIstir it with my whisk. “Well, from the informationMaggieandRowangot from the previous owners, which she will undoubtedly pass along to the next owners, is that three owners ago, they wanted to turn their oversized garage into a party room slash family room.So, they added the kitchenette and bathroom so guests could mostly stay in that area.

Inod toward the wall we’re facing. “Twoowners ago, they decided to build the bedroom, which is basically three walls connected to that outside wall.Insteadof removing the big garage door and replacing it with a wall, though, they just built a bedroom with walls that don’t go all the way to the ceiling— whichI’msure is a building code violation— so that the garage door can still open.

“Andthen the owner right beforeMaggieadded that massive amount of fabric to the inside of the garage door so it looks likeIlive in a quilt instead of a garage.Theyalso added this faux wood flooring and the carpet in my bedroom.”

Jacenods, andIcan see that his lip is twitching up at the side. “Sowhat is your contribution going to be?”

“Youknow,I’vebeen pondering, andIthink maybe a tile backsplash along this countertop.” (Anotherlie.Ihaven’t pondered that until this very moment.) “I’mnot much of an artist, butIbetIcould hand paint these four glorious appliances on them, each wearing a chef’s hat.”

“Andif you’ve already got the paintbrushes out, you can paint the wordsMakingit gourmet, one plug-in appliance at a time.”

Hespreads his hands out like he’s picturing the finished project in this space.Ihad said it as a joke, but now thatI’mpicturing him picture it,Iget the urge to actually do it.EventhoughIknow that my landlord (a.k.a. my sister) will never approve it.

Hiseyes rove around the room, andIknow they’ve landed a time or two on my piles of bills next to my open laptop at my kitchen table, and the pile of kitchen towels that lay in a heap in the middle of the table, waiting for me to fold them. “Soyou could literally open the garage door and drive a car into your kitchen?”

“Well,Icould, but thenI’dhave to move the table, and as you can see, just getting it cleaned off would be a lot of work.Iprefer to spend my effort on making things like waffle-shaped brownies or waffle-shaped apple pie.”

“Isee that you’ve got your priorities straight.”

Thewater in the coffee pot is ready, soIpour it into two mugs, each with a sugar cube and a mint tea bag, and hand one toJace.It’sstill too hot to drink, whichIknow beforeIbring it to my lips, butIdo it anyway because the warmth feels so good in my hands and steaming up onto my face.Butthat cornbread batter isn’t going to pour itself into the waffle maker and my stomach is already growling just thinking about it.