“If we were in third grade, I would absolutely pony up on that.” Cal picks up his plate and starts toward the sink. “What do you need, Anya?”
She waves Zac off to the grill with a fresh beer and an admonishment under her breath that he should take his time, and then leads Cal downstairs to their basement, only half of which is finished. There are two rooms they’re using for storage, and in one of them are the still-packed boxes of some kitchen appliances from when they moved in together nearly three years ago. In one of those boxes, buried somewhere, is the ice cream maker.
Cal eyes the leaning stacks of brown cardboard dubiously, and then accepts the scissors she holds out, his expression resigned but game. “You have any idea which box it’s in?”
“Zac doesn’t believe in labeling things during moves,” she tells him, unfortunately not lying. “He says opening boxes when you don’t know what’s in them is like second Christmas.”
Cal laughs, and she notices again that he looks gorgeous when he laughs. His whole demeanor changes, gets easy and inviting. “That’s Zac for you.”
“It really is.” She braids her hair to keep it out of her face, tying it off with a ponytail holder from her pocket. “Going by the law of averages and mathematical chances, I’m going to say that the ice cream maker is definitely in the last box we’re going to open.”
“We should start with that one, then.”
“But that’ll make it the first box we open. Which is how we know it won’t be there.”
“This ice cream maker seems to be getting around,” he says, with an air of ah, I see.
“They’re tricky that way.”
He tugs the nearest box over and starts working on the packing tape.
“Don’t lose a finger, all right?” She takes up a box of her own. “I really don’t need my husband suing me because I’ve damaged priceless hands.”
“I’ll be careful,” he promises, smiling at her again. It’s such an attractive smile. Lots of white teeth. It is also 100% the smile that a man gives to his best friend’s wife when fucking her has never once entered his mind because he is Decent and Doesn’t Do That Sort Of Thing.
Damn it.
“Sheets,” he announces. “Uh. Should we reseal these as we go?”
She bites her lip. “I didn’t think of that. Do you think it’s really necessary?”
“You want to find a bunch of dust and dead spiders when you come looking for these sheets?”
“Gross. I think we have some tape somewhere. Maybe in the toolbox in the hall closet.” She gestures toward the stairs and he heads up in front of her. “Not packing tape, I don’t think. But the duck kind would work, right?”
He pauses with his hand on the banister, expression curious. “Sorry. What kind of tape did you say?”
“Duck.”
She can tell when he smiles that something about her words is wrong. Thankfully, it’s not that smug, condescending smile that some men (the assholes, coincidentally) tend to get when they’re feeling superior over a woman because she makes an honest mistake. Instead, it’s warm and almost affectionate, like she’s done something unbearably cute and he finds her endearing.
“That’s not what it’s called, is it?” she guesses, feeling sort of self-conscious. “What’s it actually called?”
“Duct tape,” he says, emphasizing the T. There’s no laughter in his voice, which she appreciates. He leads the way to the hall closet. “Here?”
She nods as he opens the door. The kitchen is quiet. Zac is still outside. Or he’s gotten bored and wandered upstairs to their bedroom to watch television. Either way, she and Cal are alone. “If it’s not in the toolbox, there might be some in that crate thingy in the back.”
He squats to look around. It only takes a minute, and then they’re working their way back down to the basement.
They’ve opened a few boxes in companionable silence when she says, “Thank you for not making me feel like an idiot.”
“It’s not a big deal. Everybody makes mistakes like that.”
“Kind of an obvious one, maybe. Everybody knows what duct tape is.” The word feels weird in her head with a T on the end, even though it doesn’t sound all that different. She says it again, quietly, to herself. “Duct. Duc-T.”
“There are lots of words I get wrong. I thought cicadas was pronounced kick-a-das for a long time.”
“You’re very sweet, Cal.”
“Oh.” He immediately turns bright red, and now it’s her turn to find him endearing. “No. I’m—Anyone would say that.”
“No, anyone wouldn’t. Anyone would tease me. The anyone upstairs working on the grill would tease me mercilessly and you know it.”
“He can be kind of a jerk,” Cal agrees, but he doesn’t seem all that unhappy about it.
“We must be masochists.”
“I think so.” He opens another box. “Blender. We’re getting close.”
A sign that it’s time to get to work, she decides, and abandons the boxes altogether in favor of turning to face him. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“You’re a great guy. You’d make someone very happy. Why aren’t you seeing someone?”
He straightens, fingers fiddling with the roll of tape. He doesn’t look at her. “Why?”
That’s a reply she hadn’t expected. “Well, married women, traditionally, are the kinds of monsters who want to set up all their single friends. You qualify, pal.”
It’s only when the line of his shoulders relaxes that she realizes how tense he’d gotten at her question. She continues, watching him more carefully. “But it occurred to me that you might be single for a good reason. Hence the asking before I start lobbing my single girls in your direction.”
“You don’t know duct tape, but you know hence.”
“You don’t know how to effectively change the subject. You don’t have to tell me if it’s private. You can tell me to butt out. But...we’re friends, right?” She pauses, decides that he’ll appreciate honesty, and corrects that to “We’re friendly. Potential friends. I feel like I don’t actually know you that well, which is a bit weird, considering how much a part of my life you’ve become since I met Zac. I’d like to know you better. Will you tell me?”
Cal’s been watching her all through her explanation, his dark eyes steady on her, making her a little self-conscious. Now he sighs, more thoughtful than exasperated, and takes a long minute to consider. It seems to stretch out for ages, but she’s learned the trick to getting Cal to open up by now—she waits as patiently as she can.