Much Ado About You

Warmth spread through me. “That was a nice thing to do.”

“Aye, well.” Roane grinned as he pulled eggs out of the fridge. “I owe you.”

Somehow I thought it was something Roane would do for a friend even if that friend hadn’t saved his dog’s life. Watching him as he pottered around the kitchen making me a breakfast of scrambled eggs and toast (which I did not want to eat), I realized I wasn’t embarrassed.

Shouldn’t I be mortified to have this gorgeous man witness me drunk and then throwing up the next morning? There was no way I didn’t have mascara streaks on my cheeks and that my pallor wasn’t deathly pale.

All of this should have made me self-conscious, uneasy. Especially since he was a stranger.

And yet, just like last night, I felt weirdly comfortable sitting in silence as he made breakfast while Shadow waited patiently at his feet for any scraps.

“Thank you,” I said as he placed a plate before me. He took the stool beside me to dig into his own plate of food. “For everything.”

He gave me that boyish smile I liked too much. “It’s what friends do.”

“And you want to be friends, even though I’m leaving in less than four weeks?”

Swallowing the bite of food he’d taken, Roane nodded. “I do.”

Forcing myself to take a forkful of eggs into my mouth, I concentrated on keeping them down before replying, “Is it because I saved Shadow?”

“What?”

“That you’re going out of your way”—I gestured to the food, but the gesture encapsulated the entire night—“to be my friend?”

Roane shook his head. “It started with that. Now it’s because I like you.”

I snorted. “I got drunk, blurted out nearly my entire life story to a pub full of strangers, and then you had to babysit me all night and hold my hair back while I threw up. Yes, I can absolutely see why all of that would endear me to you.”

Chuckling, he shrugged. “You do have a certain charm, that’s true.”

Rolling my eyes, I pushed the food around on my plate. “I’m a mess.”

I hadn’t meant for those words to sound so melancholy, but they brought about my companion’s intense regard.

“Let me ask you a question.” Roane turned his body toward me. “Why did you really come here?”

My head was pounding, I still felt nauseated and irritable with it, but out of gratitude I indulged a question that had a very complicated answer. At least it felt that way. “If I stayed, I would have spiraled into a depression, and it’s harder to pull yourself out of that black hole than to fight getting sucked into it in the first place. So, I came here.”

“Why would you have been depressed? What are you avoiding feeling?”

“Feeling like a failure. I came here to find some meaning in my life. To find out what I want from my life.”

“Career-wise?”

“That. And . . .” I glanced shyly down at my plate. “And love.”

“In what way?”

Looking up at Roane, seeing the genuine curiosity in his expression, the shyness, the vulnerability I felt about my love life—or lack thereof—eased. “Am I really lonely, or do I only think I should feel lonely because society dictates that I should be in a long-term relationship?”

His brow furrowed and he gestured for me to continue.

“Sometimes after a long day at work where I’d been especially productive and useful, I’d come home, I’d order takeout, watch Netflix, and then I’d get in my big comfy bed that takes up most of my studio apartment and I’d switch on my e-reader. For an hour before bed, I’d sit there, warm, safe, and engrossed in a great story. And I’d feel content.” I turned toward him so our knees touched. “Because not everyone has that in their life. There is a lot of darkness out there, a darkness that some people don’t want to think about. Human trafficking, modern slave labor, extreme poverty, homelessness . . . Not everyone gets to spend their nights in a warm bed, enjoying books. Maybe some people think my life is pathetic, but my life would be a dream to some people. What right do I have to whine about wanting more from my life, when what I have is more than some people can ever imagine having? I’m privileged in a way that doesn’t have to do with great wealth. I’m privileged by comforts we take for granted, like education, having food in the refrigerator, a roof over my head, heat, clean water, and easy access to books. A life that has been blessedly free of violence.

“So why do I have days where I feel miserable and lonely?” I asked him, wondering if I’d ever work out the answer. “Is it because I’m genuinely lonely and looking for love? Or is it because all of my friends have found companionship, even love in most cases, and I feel their quiet pity for me because I haven’t? Is it because society tells me that’s what I should want out of life? Or do I really want it? Am I so spoiled by my upbringing, I’m conditioned to continually want more than what I have?” I shook my head and then immediately stopped when the room shifted off its axis. I gripped the counter and took a deep breath. “I thought if I came here and put some distance between myself and my life, I might figure out what I wanted so I could finally do something about it.”