steaks, broccoli, and mixed berries. In the fridge I find eggs, two bags of kale, a head of cauliflower, romaine lettuce, a bag of organic apples, some Havarti cheese, deli sliced turkey, and milk.
I open the pantry to find a box of something called keto couscous—whatever the hell that is—two jars of marinara sauce, Mediterranean olives, marinated mushrooms, packets of tuna, coconut oil, applesauce, two bars of ninety-nine percent cocoa dark chocolate, and liters and liters of Perrier.
So the girl doesn’t own a single carb, but we won’t starve.
On the top shelf of the pantry, I hit the jackpot and find a working flashlight and a packet of tea candles. I open and close cabinets until I find a decent-sized pitcher, and I fill it with water. I store it in the fridge and go in search of the bathroom.
Iris finds me filling the tub. “What are you doing?”
“Just a precaution,” I say, straightening up. “In case the storm contaminates the water supply and they shut it off.”
She looks at the bathtub and wrinkles her nose. “We’re going to drink that?”
Sputtering a laugh, I shake my head. “No, it’s for flushing the toilet.”
She jerks her head back, surprise in her eyes. “I was not expecting you to say that.”
“Hurricanes are educational.”
She crosses her arms, leans against the bathroom door sill. “If you have the right teacher,” she quips, chafing her hands up and down her arms. “What else do we need to do?”
I nod toward her arms where her goosebumps are clearly visible. “Change into dry clothes, charge our phones, and make lunch.”
It’s only after we eat lunch and clean up the kitchen that I start to worry. Not about the storm. There’s no point in worrying about that. We’ve done everything we can do at this point, and now we just have to wait and watch.
But it’s what to do during the waiting and watching that has me concerned.
I should probably find a way to give Iris some space. And get some space for myself. I held her in my arms. I comforted her while she cried. But I can’t fool myself into thinking this is something it isn’t.
After I load the last dish from our cheese omelets into her dishwasher, I grab my bag that I set in the hall after I changed. “Where should I put my stuff?”
Drying her hands, Iris turns to me like I’ve taken her off guard. “Oh… um… Ramon’s room I guess.” She hangs the towel on a decorative hook over the sink. “C’mon. I’ll show you.”
I follow her to the front hall. She leads me to a bedroom at the front of the house. On a nice day, the windows would overlook her yard, but today, wet screens and driving rain obscure the view.
The double bed is made and other than a few hand weights in one corner, the room doesn’t look like it belongs to anyone.
“Ray’s been sleeping upstairs in Sally’s room since they got back from New Orleans,” she says dryly. She wears a smirk. “Good thing since this room shares a wall with mine.” Iris points to the wall behind the bed’s headboard.
I drop my bag with a quick nod. I don’t need to be thinking about banging headboards while standing this close to Iris. I need space.
“Look, um.” I swallow, my throat suddenly dry. “I’m going to hang out here for a while. Check the weather and call Nonc. Get out of your hair.”
I hear my own words and my gaze unconsciously sweeps over the messy bun she constructed when she changed her clothes. Her dark waves swirl into a knot and still-damp tendrils spill around her face. I’d like nothing better than to get into her hair. Run my hands through it. Bury my face in it.
“Oh—Okay,” Iris stammers, her posture stiffening. She steps backward and hits the doorframe. “Ow—”
I wince as she blushes and rubs the back of her shoulder. “I—um—I’ll just go look over my scenes for next week.” She hooks a thumb behind her. “I’ll be in the living room if you need anything.”
I nod. “Thanks.”
She turns and disappears and then immediately pops back in. “M-maybe we could hang out later or—” She stops, lifts her shoulders and drops them, staring at me at a loss. “I have no idea what people do to kill time during a hurricane.”
I grin. She’s adorable even when she’s awkward. Especially when she’s awkward. I want to tell her that killing time with her during a hurricane sounds