text rambling. It was his way of looking out for me and being supportive.
He’d always done that, no matter how hard I’d made it for him.
I tried, for about the hundredth time, to actually focus on the music I was supposed to be listening to. I was down to the last band on Summer Sorensen’s top three, Twenty One Pilots, and I had two albums left to go. I was on the opening track from Blurryface, but I was far too distracted by the fact that there were people in my yard to really listen.
Taylor. Taylor was in my yard.
I checked my phone, but still no text from anyone outside.
I considered just going out there—you know, into my own yard—to say hi to my best friend and the woman I’d just hired and basically pressured to move onto my property. But I didn’t. I told myself I just had to get through this album. Finish up with the Twenty One Pilots discography today, while I finished getting some shit organized for Monday. The studio control room was kind of cluttered and disorganized right now. I was usually pretty neat and organized in general, but the idea of having Taylor walk in here made me see it with fresh eyes.
I had to at least clear some work space for her and unpack the office chair I’d had delivered for her to use. Maybe clear out a drawer or something? Try to look like I at least remembered what it was like to have another human being inside my bubble.
And thinking about it just made me anxious to get it done.
Yeah, maybe I should get on that shit.
I put the music through the house-wide system and went looking for a knife in the kitchen to open the ridiculously stapled and tape-sealed box the chair came in.
But then someone rang the doorbell.
I figured it was Xander, coming to try to drag my ass out of the house. But when I went out to the foyer and looked through the front window, it was Taylor, and she was alone.
I opened the door.
She was wearing a little black cotton dress and a pair of pastel-pink Vintage Nikes that had been doodled on with black marker, her hair in two little pink braids. I didn’t realize an almost thirty-year-old woman could look so hot in braids until this moment.
Yeah, I knew how old she was now. I’d discerned that from the birthday party photos she’d posted last November.
And yeah, I’d been snooping through her social media again.
“It’s just me,” she said quickly, as I stared at her. “Everyone’s in the backyard.”
“Hey.”
“Good morning.” She glanced down—at the utility knife I was holding in my hand. It was pointed at her. The blade was out and I’d forgotten I was holding it.
I dropped it to my side. “Uh—”
“Wow. That is one way to welcome a woman to your house.”
“Sorry, I was opening a box.” The knife clicked as I retracted the blade, and I tucked it in my back pocket. My face must’ve actually been turning red, judging by the heat level under my skin.
Holy Christ, was I rusty with women. I couldn’t think of one word to say to her.
Good morning. Just say good morning, idiot.
“Uh, good morning.”
She smiled tentatively and handed me a takeout coffee. And a packet of paperwork. “Black coffee. Employment contract and NDA, signed. Tax documents. Direct deposit info for my bank account… My rider’s in there, too.”
When I just looked at her, the smile fell.
“I’m kidding,” she said.
“Thank you.” I glanced at the paperwork but didn’t really see it. “If it were in there, what would be in it?”
“A rider? For me?” She kinda laughed. “Uh, I’m pretty low maintenance. Salt and vinegar chips? Coke? Jolly Ranchers?”
“Coke… like, the drink?”
“Yeah. Coca-Cola. I wasn’t planning to hoover blow on my coffee break or anything.”
“Good to know.”
“I do eat chip sandwiches and Coke every day for lunch, though. Just mentally preparing you. Every adult human I’ve ever met makes fun of me for it. But if I never changed the menu for anyone else, afraid I can’t do it for you, boss.”
“I see. You’re telling me you put chips on bread and eat it?”
“No.” For the first time since I met her, she actually looked at me like I was crazy. “You just make a regular sandwich with whatever on it and then add chips to it. Makes it salty and crunchy.”