Page 50 of Rhodes

It's a Monday. I'm getting dressed for a class I could sleep through, not going to a fashion show. I put on the first green shirt, the jeans, my boots, and I don't let myself touch the pile again.

Last night I told myself the kiss changed nothing, and that's still true today. It was one strange thing at the end of a good day. So it's genuinely stupid that I'm in here strategizing how to walk into my own kitchen.

It's bad sleep and no coffee yet. That's all this is.

I roll my shoulders back, square up to the door like it's a boat I'm about to jump for, and go get my coffee.

The kitchen smells like coffee and toast, and Rhodes is barefoot at the counter in sweatpants and an old gray shirt, hair still wet from the shower.

He doesn't look up when I come in. He doesn't do a single thing I braced for.

"There she is." He pops the toast and drops it onto a plate. "You made grinding noises last night that would embarrass a chainsaw. You know you snore, right?"

"I do not."

"Okay, Tallulah."

That's it, that's the whole opening. There's no careful tone, no strange little pause where he decides whether he's allowed to joke with me. He's just already halfway through giving me a hard time, same as any other morning this month.

He fills a second mug, adds the splash of milk and the half spoon of sugar without asking, because he's watched me do it enough times to have it memorized, and slides it down the counter toward me.

For a moment that's a relief. The floor is solid, and nothing detonated overnight. Except my snoring, apparently.

Then it lands wrong. He's not managing this or carefully performing normal to keep the peace. He is normal. Yesterday happened to me and apparently just happened near him.

I wrap both hands around the mug.

"Guys are coming over tonight," he says, biting into his toast. "It's our poker night and my turn to host. You want in on the pizza order? I'm calling it in this afternoon."

"Don't order extra for me. I'm going to the library after class. I may meet up with some people later."

I watch him. I don't know exactly what I'm watching for, some flicker, some beat where he wonders who I'll be with, where I'll be, when I'll come home.

"Cool." He chews. "Might do three pies, anyway. Deuce eats like it's his last day on earth. If you're around and there's pizza, help yourself."

"Oh, I'm always stealing a slice. That's not up for negotiation."

"Noted."

He reaches past me for the milk still sitting by my elbow, and it's nothing. It’s a normal reach. His warm skin brushes my arm, and I get a lungful of clean soap. The air shifts around me like a door opened somewhere warm.

I notice it. I'm not going to lie to myself and say I didn't. Bodies do dumb things. I file it where it goes and pick up my coffee like nothing happened, because nothing did.

He gives me the rundown of the crew and what to expect if I get back while they're still here. I'm half listening, half running through what I have to do today.

"I'm heading out," I say. "Meeting Jo before class."

And I'm gone, out the door, before I can waste another second measuring how completely fine he is.

Jo already has a table by the window when I get there, two café au laits in front of her. The ceiling fan overhead pushes the thick morning air around without actually cooling it. It's always warm in here with the steamers and the crowds, regardless of the weather outside.

Through the glass, the live oaks throw green shade over the sidewalk, and a streetcar rattles past on St. Charles a block over.

I drop into the chair across from her and pull the chicory coffee toward me.

"So I kissed Rhodes yesterday."

Jo's cup stops halfway to her mouth.