Second First Impressions

“Because the list won’t be about you?” The way he blinks tells me yes. “Teddy, you are skating very close to gorgeous narcissist territory.”

I tap the page with my pen. I’m going to ignore the sensation of his eyes on me and the way his energy tugs like a hand on my sleeve, asking me to look up.

“Gorgeous?”

“Your Honor, I rest my case.” His legs are snuggling closer around mine. I’m trying hard to not smile. “Choose something to watch, please. You’re driving me nuts changing that channel.”

“Put on Heaven Sent. I know you have it, I can hear it through the wall.” He begins singing part of the theme song: “‘Whenever you’re alone, I call your name, whenever you’re lost, you know you’ll get home—’”

Is he teasing? Blood makes my face hot. “Did you actually press your ear on the wall? I kept the volume so low I had to put subtitles on.”

He nods and continues singing in a lovely voice (of course he can flippin’ sing, what is he even bad at?). “‘Life’s got ups and downs, we play that game, but when will you learn?’”

Even me, with my heart of stone, cannot resist singing the last line with him. “‘When will you learn, you’re heaven sent?’” We even harmonize. I grin at him. “You think I’m a huge loser, right?” Please just tell me you do. Pop this helium feeling.

“If you’re a loser, then I am too. I fucking love that show. Put on the one where Francine goes bra shopping.” He keeps humming the theme song, tapping his toe against my hip. I look at the blank worksheet. I feel like I’m not going to like anything I write, either. If I don’t get ahold of myself, it could easily look like this:

Turn-ons

Tall

Tattoos

Those magic eyes

That insanely good hair

Quick smile/perfect teeth

Talented hands that give and take

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Turnoffs

Anyone who isn’t him

I’d better use a pencil and an eraser.

I haven’t answered him. “I’m three seasons behind that episode. I always watch them in order. And I wouldn’t let you watch that one anyway, you perv. Francine’s supposed to be in high school.”

He shrugs. “Hey, I was in high school, too, when it aired. My sisters and I never missed an episode. That was one thing I could count on in my week. So where are we up to? We wouldn’t want to mess up the special Heaven Sent system.”

(Little does he know that, thanks to the worldwide rewatch hosted by my forum, there literally is a special system.)

“I only do an annual viewing, and if I watch them in order, it makes it more satisfying. The bigger story arcs build up so well.”

“I’m sure, Tidy Girl.” He grins to himself. “Only an annual viewing. Such restraint. Is this what you want to do with your dream man? Snuggling up, watching a churchy TV show? Does it remind you of home?”

We’re interlocking our legs like this is normal. Sort of snuggling, now that he mentions it. The feel of another person, resting against me, warm and heavy? This is genuine heaven. “This was what I counted on each week, too. This routine of mine? It goes way back.”

“How far?”

“Since . . .” I trail off but he nudges me with his foot to keep going. “My mom picks up produce from supermarkets and restaurants in the evenings. She’s been doing it since I was around eight years old. A local business donated a van, it’s all pretty professional. The food is distributed to soup kitchens and community organizations, and she doesn’t get home until midnight.”

“She was gone all night, then. But your dad was home.”

“This is going to make me sound like a bad person.” I hesitate. “I hated her being gone. After his day, Dad’s tired, mad, distracted. He recharges himself with silence, and it wasn’t comfortable between us. He’d usually be in his office at night.”