I sighed. “I did.”
His brow creased. “You sound sad.”
I’d taken a sip of my cappuccino and licked the froth from my lips. His eyes seemed to home in on that action, and I noticed them hood.
Mm.
“I don’t really like to think of those years.”
“Boarding schools can be sad, lonely places.” He nodded pensively. “I hated my experience there.”
Our eyes held longer than normal for a pair having a casual conversation.
Were we being casual? For me it felt like he was unravelling the straitjacket I’d been wearing for years, making me oversensitive to everything.
“What age group do you plan to teach?”
“Maybe little ones. It might be easier. Not too many hormones to deal with.” I chuckled.
He grimaced. “Wild teenagers. Not nice. They treat the arts as an excuse to mess around.”
A few minutes of silence followed as we drank our coffees, giving me time to consider his offer. I could use the extra cash, and who needed two days of rest?
“When were you needing someone to clean?”
“Whenever possible. I just need a few hours, here and there.” He sounded hesitant.
“Are things okay?” My brows knitted.
As he held my eyes again, he seemed a little lost. I saw a new face. Still striking, but like someone who’d struggled. The more I got to know him, the deeper he struck me. Considering he was a former soldier, I imagined he’d seen his share of battles.
“I’m kinda scattered at the moment.” His mouth curled at one end. “Since returning from my tour, I’m having trouble focusing.”
“It must have been horrible constantly having to look over your shoulder.”
He knitted his fingers. “Somewhat. Hypervigilance challenges one’s sanity. That’s for sure. You go without sleep and food sometimes. You find yourself in the roughest terrain, scaling mountains. One wrong move or decision and it’s over.”
“I can’t imagine what that’s like,” I said, noticing his face drawn and distant as though reliving something dreadful. I wondered whether he suffered PTSD.
“I’ll be fine. Once I get my projects up and running.” A faint smile warmed his face again.
“I guess I could come over today or tomorrow and do some cleaning if you like.” That spontaneous response had forgotten to consult my rational brain. Me in his personal space?
He studied me closely. “Only if you have the time. I’ll pay double what you’re getting at Merivale. And to be honest, I’d prefer to employ someone I know and trust. I don’t like strangers in my space.”
“I get that. I’m a very private person myself.” Those tiny places I’d shared with virtual strangers came to mind. “To be honest, this is the first time I’ve had my own living space. It’s really given me a new lease on life.”
He looked at me with a hint of sympathy. “I’m so pleased you saw fit to apply for the job. You were working at the family hotel, I believe.”
“Yes. I loved it there. The tips were amazing. But it’s nicer here.”
Another long pause followed. Our eyes met again.
“I’d like to clear out the space for an office. I’ve got a project to launch.”
“When would you like me?”
Oops.