I can’t help but grin at her.
Savannah scoots the stool back further and steps away from the counter, leaving the rest of her meal uneaten. She turns and heads for the door.
“Running away?” I taunt her. “So very anti-heroine.” I’m not sure why I’m goading her, but I’m enjoying this moment.
“Not at all,” she replies smoothly as she picks up her purse. Her voice is even and without anger. “As it so happens, I have a job to get to that starts in about half an hour. Thank you for dinner. It was… enlightening.”
“What job are you going to?” I ask curiously, because all of a sudden, I kind of don’t want her to leave.
“I work part time for a photographer as an assistant,” she says as she turns to look back at me.
“Have an interest in photography?”
“That’s actually my main job. I have a BA from Carnegie Mellon with a minor in photography and digital imaging. Unfortunately, I just got laid off from my job as the photographer for the local newspaper, so I’m taking whatever kind of work I can find right now.”
“You’re kidding?” I ask, absolutely surprised for some reason.
“What… blowing your image of the passive, little house cleaner? Didn’t think someone of my mettle could finish college? Have a real career?”
“No, that’s not what I think at all,” I tell her, although… if I’m honest, I probably assumed she didn’t have much ambition.
“Well… sorry if that puts a kink in the anti-heroine character you’re writing. If it’s any help to you, I haven’t started looking for another photography job yet. That should keep me firmly in your narrow little box you have formed around me for the time being.”
Okay, I deserved that.
“Why haven’t you looked?” I ask, because I’m stalling so she’ll stay for maybe just a moment more and continue to fascinate me. “Clearly, you didn’t go to college to clean houses or be someone’s assistant?”
“Because… I’m probably going to have to relocate to find something, and I haven’t decided where I want to go yet. So, I’m just surviving right now.”
It seems sweet Savannah, who is definitely still on the shy and timid side, may have a bit more to her than I originally suspected. Before I can say anything though, she turns to the door. “I need to go, so I’m not late. Thanks again for dinner, and if you don’t mind rinsing the plates when you’re done, that would make my job a little easier on Friday.”
She’s out the door before I can even say goodbye.
I finish my meal, ruminating on our conversation. It hits me hard that it was probably the longest conversation, sober anyway, that I’ve had with someone in a long time. I didn’t think Savannah Shepherd held much for interest me, but I’m finding she has layers that I had overlooked.
Maybe she’s not quite the Milquetoast I thought she was.
This, of course, does not bode well for the character I just introduced. My muse apparently has a bit more resolve than I originally thought, and my mind starts spinning on how I can work this into my story.
8
I fumble putting the key in Gavin’s front doorknob, blinking my eyes to clear my vision. I’m so exhausted I’m practically asleep on my feet, and I’m not sure the last time I ate. I’m going to have to sneak a few veggies out of his fridge or something just to stop the rumbling of my stomach.
I’ve gone twenty-six hours now with no sleep. Yesterday, I cleaned two houses, and then hit the road for a contract assignment for the newspaper. It was in Charlotte for the opening of a new restaurant by an Outer Banks local who has a sister restaurant in Nags Head. That turned into a twelve-hour trip, ten of which was driving in one day. I got back to the Outer Banks less than thirty minutes ago and headed straight here to clean Gavin’s house. When I’m done with his cleaning, I’m going home, where I’m going to collapse into a coma and sleep until tomorrow morning when I’m scheduled to volunteer at The Haven.
Finally, the key slides home and I open the front door. I can hear Gavin moving around in the kitchen. When I walk in, he’s pulling a bottle of water out of the fridge. As he straightens and closes the door, my stomach gives a little flip because holy hell, he’s standing there without his shirt on and his chest is just as magnificent as I remembered it. He’s wearing nothing but a pair of track pants and silver and black running shoes. His chest and face are covered with sweat, his hair plastered to his head, and it’s clear he just worked out or something.
Twisting the cap off the water bottle, he gives me a smile and says, “Good morning.”
“You’re an ass**le,” I tell him with a straight face, fulfilling my promise to call him that without any provocation. I stifle the yawn that wants to burst out of my mouth, which would totally dilute the power of my message.
He smirks at me briefly, and then starts drinking his water. The way his throat moves is freakin’ sexy as hell, and I use the opportunity to stare at him unnoticed.
When he finishes the entire bottle, he sets it on the counter. “I just got done with my run, and I’m going to hit the shower before I start writing. Can you go ahead and start with the vacuuming so it doesn’t interfere with me later?”
I roll my eyes at his thoughtful gesture and walk to the counter to pick up his empty water bottle. Pulling open one of the bottom cupboards, I toss it in the recycle bin. “Sure. Anything else special today?”