Page 12 of The Deadbeat DILF
“What can I say? I’m a sucker for sweet scents.”
Robert held his hands up. “Fine by me. Let me grab the rest of my stuff from my car.”
I went down the elevator with him, intending to help out, but he managed to carry the rest of his luggage by himself. I was surprised that he had so few possessions — a single suitcase and a few boxes — but it was a relief too. It made him seem like the clean type, unlikely to leave clutter around.
I couldn’t stand living with slobs or hoarders. Growing up, my parents’ house was always a mess. Mom left stacks of celebrity magazines all over the place, Brandon left his shoes and socks on the floor, and Dad never cleaned up after himself in the kitchen. We could never afford to fix anything either. I never invited any of my friends from school over because I was too embarrassed of the house’s damaged furniture and stained carpet.
Once Robert and I were back in my apartment, I showed him his bedroom. It was already furnished with a queen-sized bed, a dresser, a standing lamp, and a flat-screen TV. Whenever I had a friend stay over, they usually slept in this room. The floor to ceiling windows faced the west, so they had a gorgeous view of the sun setting over the city.
Robert set his things down and walked over to the bed, his hands drifting over the soft sheets. “It’s perfect,” he murmured, and I wasn’t sure whether he was speaking to himself or to me.
“Here’s the heating and cooling settings,” I explained. “You can open the windows if you like, and the bathroom’s just down the hallway.”
He smiled at me. “You’ve been so generous, Brooke.” Despite being a big, masculine man, his words were so gentle. “I’ll pay for all the utilities and cook for us,” he continued.
My eyes widened. “Oh, you don’t have to do all of that. The rent you’re paying is more than enough.”
During the week, I’d drawn up a formal rental contract for him. I wanted to make sure this arrangement followed all the landlord and tenant laws, and I suggested he get another lawyer to look over it to make sure I wasn’t screwing him. He’d shaken his head and said he trusted me. As a lawyer, I should have admonished him. Instead, my skin went warm, and I couldn’t think of anything to say.
“I insist,” Robert said now, in a tone that suggested he wouldn’t hear otherwise. He took a step closer, and I could smell the clean, woodsy scent of his clothes. “It won’t take me long to unpack. What do you say about going grocery shopping afterward?”
“Sure,” I said. “We can, if you want to.” I didn’t have anything else planned for the day, but I wasn’t super enthusiastic about visiting a supermarket. I found shopping for food tedious and had recently started getting groceries delivered, since it saved time.
Half an hour later, we were walking down the aisle of a supermarket. Robert was pushing the cart, and he’d rolled his sleeves up to reveal toned forearms dusted with brown hair.
“Are you kidding me?” I asked. “Apples, oranges, and bananas are the most boring fruits. They’re not even that sweet.”
Robert raised an eyebrow at me. “You’ve got a sweet tooth, have you?”
“You should’ve guessed the moment I mentioned Cotton Candy Paradise.”
He laughed, a deep rumble that vibrated from his chest. “Touché,” he said, and his smile was so big and wide, it made my heart squeeze.
I’d always thought grocery shopping was boring, but maybe that’s because I always did it alone. Somehow, Robert being here with me made it fun.
We left the fruit and vegetable section and moved down a different aisle, discussing what foods we liked.
“How do you feel about pasta?” Robert asked. “Everyone likes pasta.”
“I do like pasta,” I admitted. “Lasagna too. Ooh, and pizza!”
Robert chuckled, pushing the trolley toward the shelves where the noodles and sauce were located.
“So, you cook often then?” I asked, picking some packets of spaghetti off the shelves.
“Yep. I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t know how to. Giving you food poisoning wouldn’t be a very nice way to pay you back for your generosity.”
I smiled. “How’d you learn?”
“Trial and error, mostly,” he said, grabbing a couple of jars of pasta sauce. “I only learned relatively recently. After I…” he paused. “After I started living by myself.”
After his divorce?
I nodded, changing the topic because I didn’t want to pry. “Well, I’m pretty excited to try homemade lasagna.”
“You’ll love it,” Robert said, and we wandered out of the aisle and down the next one, which was dedicated to breakfast food.
“Are you a breakfast kind of woman?” he asked.
