In the Middle of Somewhere (Middle of Somewhere, #1)(98)

I’ve learned a lot about Rex this week too. He really is shy. I can see how hard he works to be polite to strangers, but years of saying as little as possible to avoid stuttering has made him terse. It’s clearly made people intimidated by him.

He’s also incredibly healthy. He exercises and eats well and stays hydrated, but he’s not obnoxious about it. It’s like his body is the only thing he can depend on, so he tries to make it run as well as possible, like customizing a luxury car.

There’s something about Rex that makes me feel calm. As if I’m scattered until the moment I see him and when he touches me I fly back together in a configuration that makes sense.

And ever since he told me about his dyslexia, things feel more settled between us or something. It makes sense, in that it must have been weighing on him, trying to keep it a secret. At first, I was surprised it didn’t come out sooner. I mean, how many times might I have asked him to read something to me or look something up? Then, when I thought about it, it became clear how hard he’s worked to make sure those situations didn’t arise. How much thought he must’ve put into avoiding them. How on edge he must have been, wondering if he’d be forced to out himself every time we were together. I hate that he felt like he had to do that, but I’m glad he can just relax now.

He’s worked incredibly hard to educate himself. Partly as a reaction to people thinking he was stupid due to his dyslexia, and partly because he’s just interested. He’s taught himself vocabulary and listened to books on CD.

He keeps trying to teach me to cook, but I’m hopeless, mostly because when he starts moving around the kitchen all I can do is watch him. He’ll be explaining how to mince something or how long it takes to make a hardboiled egg, and I’ll be watching the way his muscles bunch as he wields the knife or the way he blows his hair off his forehead. When he’s trying to show me how to roll out pasta dough or knead bread, I’m looking at his huge hands and strong forearms (which I’m basically obsessed with).

Once, I was so distracted by the thought of him kneading my ass the way he was kneading the bread that I was shocked to find cheese in the bread when I bit into it. Rex thought that was quite amusing, but I think he knows how hot I find watching him in the kitchen and milks it on purpose. Jesus, no wonder I can never re-create anything I see him do.

I’m cutting up pears for some delicious-sounding dessert when Rex comes up behind me, slow so he won’t startle me into cutting my finger off. He learned the hard way that I zone out sometimes when he came up behind me while I was making a fire and I almost clobbered him with a large piece of kindling.

“Sweetheart,” he says against my neck, “you don’t need to make everything so exact. You can just chop it up. It doesn’t need to be so much work.”

“I am just cutting it up,” I say. He’s said this to me before, but I’m not sure why he wouldn’t want it done perfectly since it’s about the only thing I can do when it comes to cooking.

“Here, look,” Rex says, easing the knife from my hand but keeping his arms around me. Hmm, it really shouldn’t be so hot to have Rex around me with a knife….

In a few easy, practiced movements he takes the pear apart. He knows exactly how deep to cut to miss the core, just how much force it takes to rend the flesh. It’s effortless.

Everything seems this effortless for him. He just has this way with objects, like, at his touch, the world becomes manageable, falling into place to be taken apart or put back together at his will.

“Got it,” I say, my throat suddenly thick with something like jealousy at Rex’s ease. Except I know it’s not that simple. Hell, I know just how uncomfortable he often is because of his shyness, his dyslexia. I still can’t help but feel like a major failure for not noticing his dyslexia earlier.

He puts the knife down and picks up a bit of pear, holding it up for me. I eat it from his hand, then kiss him, knowing he can taste it on my tongue.

“I know you think you have to be perfect at work. Out there,” he says, gesturing with his shoulder while keeping both hands on the counter, trapping me against his body. “But you don’t have to try so hard here. Not with me.”

I open my mouth to protest. But… is that what I’m doing? I never thought about it like that. I suppose I have been… on my best behavior around Rex. But that’s just because I don’t want to scare him off. I look down at Rex’s big feet, unsure of what to say.

“I just meant, you don’t have to think so much about everything you do.”

Yeah, I’ve heard that before. I challenge you to find someone who went to grad school who hasn’t.

“You know, it’s not actually that easy to just change the way you think.” It comes out a little more bitter than I meant it to.

“Daniel.” He cups my chin and forces me to look at him. “I get it. The self-consciousness? Believe me.” He huffs out a breath. “But I’ve seen you try so hard to figure out what someone was thinking about you that your eyes about crossed. You’re thinking about things all the time. How people react to you. If they misinterpreted what you said, understood your joke. You’re so used to feeling like you don’t fit in that you’re always trying to be one step ahead. Figure out which Daniel’s called for in the situation. But….”

He trails off, stroking my hair like he doesn’t want to hurt my feelings.