Room-maid(48)

“We should watch it.”

“You want to watch TV with me?” I asked, a little alarmed. What if he hated my shows? Then I wouldn’t be able to maintain my crush. Then again, this could be a good thing. Friends weren’t really your friends until you’d forced them to watch your favorite TV programs.

And that was even more true for boyfriends.

“I like television. I used to watch it a lot when I was younger. But I went to college on scholarship and spent all my time working or studying. Then I got this job and most of my time is dedicated to working. I never really take the time to relax.” He put his emptied plate onto the table, near his feet. Again I had that feeling that there was something more than what he was saying, a whole subtext I wasn’t getting, but I didn’t want to push or pry because I had the sense he didn’t like it. That while he was very good with people and getting them to talk about themselves, Tyler wasn’t the kind of guy who would tell you things about himself until he trusted you.

I hoped someday he would trust me that way.

“My parents forbid me from watching it and you know what happens when people say you can’t have something and it makes you want it more?” All too late I realized that this also applied to him and me—I suspected that a tiny portion of my attraction was due to the fact that he was completely off limits. “Anyway, it kind of turned me into an addict. So allow me to be your guru to effective TV relaxation. And if we’re going to start you off with reality television, we’re going to do the granddaddy of them all. The Bachelor. Your life will never be the same again.”

“I’ve heard of that one but I’ve never seen an episode.”

I grabbed the remote and began clicking on the controls. “We’re going to rectify that right now.”

Tyler picked up one of the packages of tissue paper. “Hey, do you want some help?”

I nearly wept with gratitude. “Yes! I would love some! Bless you!” I had the show queued up, but I gave him a quick run-through of how to fold and then fluff out the pom. He seemed to grasp it pretty quickly and then I explained the premise of the show we were about to watch.

It was easier to focus on the show instead of on the way he was making me feel. Bringing me presents, being interested in my shows. It almost seemed like another one of my daydreams. Only better. “Okay, so there’s a single guy—”

“That’s the bachelor?”

“Yes. And there’s, like, thirty women who are competing to end up with him. Each week he eliminates some of them until we get to the finale and then he proposes!”

“How long does this show film for?”

I shrugged. “A few weeks, I think.”

“And they get engaged in the end? That’s what they win?” He looked dubious.

“What did you think they’d win?”

“I don’t know. All of America’s sympathies when this goes south?” He laughed as I pushed him on the shoulder. “It sounds to me like the real winners will be the divorce attorneys in two years.”

“Okay, Mr. Cynic. Don’t you believe in love?” I’d meant to say it in a teasing manner, but suddenly his answer seemed very, very important to me.

Instead of joking around, like I’d half expected him to, he seemed to be taking my question seriously. “I’d like to think that true love is real. I’ve never been in love, so I can’t personally testify to its existence. What about you?”

“I thought I was in love once.” But I’d discovered that it was hard to be in a loving relationship when only one of the people felt that way. “I’m not sure that I really have been, either.”

When he asked, “Having problems with your boyfriend?” I realized my mistake. My living here was predicated on the belief that Brad and I were together and everything was fine between us.

“It’s not really worth discussing.” Not only because I didn’t like thinking about Brad when the vastly superior Tyler was sitting next to me, but because I didn’t want to give Tyler any reason to throw me out. I hated lying to him, especially when he was such an honest person. “Let’s watch the show instead.”

“Done,” he said, holding up the perfectly constructed pom he’d just finished.

“What . . . how . . . why did you . . .” I couldn’t form a sentence. On his first try he’d made a better pom than the example Mrs. Adams had given me, and in a fraction of the time it took me to put one together. Of course he’d do this just as well as he did everything else. “How are you so good at that? You should have seen my first one. Here! I took pictures to send to my friends.”

I handed him my phone and he laughed as he handed it back to me. “If this investing-money career doesn’t work out for me it’s a relief to know that I have pom making to fall back on. Plus, you’re forgetting that I had a really good teacher.” His praise sent my heart fluttering faster than a hummingbird’s wings as he grabbed some more tissue and floral wire and started on another one.

I started up the show and despite his initial teasing, I could tell he was getting caught up in it. We were making comments back and forth about the contestants and the ridiculous things they were doing to catch the bachelor’s attention.

“Is that a pool of Jell-O being wheeled out?” he asked.