Her eyes lift to mine with a mix of surprise and longing.
“…we could make that happen, goddess,” I finish, my voice soft, trying not to scare her out of the idea. So many times I’ve offered such things. But every time, she tells me—
“Soon. Maybe. Whenever I have enough money saved.”
And as always, I reply, “You don’t have to wait. Just like my offer to pay for lessons so you can get back into your dance classes, you can go now, Astrid. There’s nothing stopping you.”
There’s a spark in her eyes. The one she gets when she finally allows herself to argue with me. “And as I told you, Neil, I don’t want to owe you anything. I know I live here in your home rent-free, since you won’t accept any of the payments I’ve tried to give you. But I do what I can to feel like I earn my keep. This house stays pristine, I cook breakfast and dinner and meal prep your lunches, and Scout boy is living his best life with nonstop attention—”
The sudden loud skid of my stool being pushed back as I stand cuts off her words and her eyes widen as she braces herself. I come around the island, my movements fluid, careful not to approach her too fast as not to scare her. But approach her, I do, and I get as close as I can without making her shrink away in fear.
I don’t stand over her. At six and a half feet and well over two hundred and fifty pounds of pure muscle, I know I’m an intimidating motherfucker, even if I am a therapist with a quiet and more studious demeaner. Instead, I kneel so she can look down into my eyes from where she’s perched on the barstool.
“You earn your keep here just by breathing, goddess,” I implore, reaching up to push her blonde hair back behind her ear. “You don’t and will never owe me anything.”
She closes her eyes at the touch, and my heart thuds in my chest at her slight lean toward my hand. The tiny show of her desire for physical affection makes me ache with need.
She opens her eyes, seeming to have come to a decision. “M—Maybe just one class. Just to see how it goes.”
My brows shoot up, completely taken by surprise. She’s never, not once, ever given an answer this close to a yes before. But I don’t want to seem too excited and freak her out. So I play it cool. “Just one sounds like a great idea. What were you thinking?”
At first, I thought she was talking about cosmetology classes, but as I recall from previously getting her to talk about it, that license doesn’t really work that way. From what I understand, you have to go to school for basically a whole workday while they teach you all sorts of things. Not like a normal college course, where you can sign up for one class and it’s an hour or two, two or three times a week.
She won’t meet my eyes, and I know that means she’s going to ask something of me, and it always, always makes her squeamish. So I soften my face and look as receptive as I possibly can. She could ask me anything, and I’d do it with no questions asked. I’d give this woman the world.
“So like… I haven’t danced in ages. Years. And like, it’s not something you should just jump back into as if you never stopped. You could… I could really hurt myself. So um… I found… I found this gym,” she gets out through stutters and pauses, but I wait patiently, not interrupting to even urge her on. She can take all the time she needs, and I’ll be right here. She nods to herself, her face getting a little stronger the more she speaks, gaining momentum, even as she trips over some words. “Yeah, so there’s this gym. And I’d… I’d never heard of these classes before, because I… I guess the fad caught on while I was in hiding with Twyla last year. Or umm… maybe it was before that, when B— Um… when he wouldn’t let me leave the house.” She blows out a breath and shakes her head. “But there are these classes called Barre. And it’s actually… actually a fitness class. Like a group exercise class, you know? Not like um… Jazzercise or whatever. Or maybe it is, I don’t know.”
I smile up at her from my kneeling position, understanding what she’s wanting, but this is something I’ve been working on with her. Voicing things she needs and wants. But I give her a little something to keep her going. “Like legwarmers and neon leotards?”
She scoffs with a little smile. “God, I hope not. They’ve been trying to bring the ‘80s back in fashion and makeup, but I’ll be damned if I ever use electric blue eyeshadow. Could you imagine my complexion with electric blue eyeshadow?” she asks seriously, finally meeting my eyes.