I heard him rustling in the cabinets and then the fridge as I said, "How is it that I didn't notice I had apple trees until now?"
"I don't know what to tell you other than you are extremely gifted with many complex things, and less gifted with a few basic things."
"Are you trying to say I'm some kind of savant who can't change a light bulb?"
"I'm saying you're some kind of savant who can't exit a rotary."
"I can, it just takes me a few tries."
"I know, babe. I know. It's what makes you special—and completely unreliable with the most random things." I heard him shaking the milk carton over my shoulder. "Wait a second. You didn't have any coffee this morning."
"Hmm?"
"The coffee. You were in the shower when I filled up before leaving for my appointment in Weymouth. You didn't drink any today."
I glanced up at him. "Oh. Yeah. I must've forgotten. I got distracted with emails."
Linden set the milk down as he leveled me with a stern stare. "You haven't touched the clementine marmalade all week."
I shrugged. "Haven't been in the mood."
"Is that it? Really, Jasper? You're forgetting to pour yourself a cup of coffee in the morning, not interested in the last bit of marmalade?"
I shot him the same disinterested look I used on anyone who skated too close to the truth for my comfort. "I can't imagine why any of this is an issue."
Linden growled something I couldn't make out and returned to the task of fixing his coffee. It seemed like we were finished with the topic of me leaving the last of the cold brew and Diana's homemade marmalade for him, and that was a relief. The only thing worse than worrying about taking too much was having a discussion based on someone noticing I worried about taking too much. Hell, that was almost as bad as someone noticing and talking about my constant need to arrive early.
Linden set a mug down in front of me, another one beside the stack of papers he'd been working on when I came in. I wasn't sure when he'd picked up more of the locally roasted, small batch, slow-steeped coffee he preferred, seeing as there'd been only one serving left earlier today.
He ran a hand over my shoulders before circling the table and dropping into his seat. "Let's get a few things straight, Jasper."
I eyed him, a brow arched up in an automatic show of defiance. I couldn't help it. Most of the time, I didn't even notice I did it. But I didn't take well to anyone else doing the straightening. I was the sheriff in these parts.
"There will be no more of you leaving the last few spoonfuls of marmalade, the last cup of coffee, none of it. You don't think I see you insisting on showering after me?"
"On the rare occasions in which you permit me to shower independently? That evidence seems insufficient to me."
He rested his forearms on the table, his shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows, and leaned in. "I don't usually go for it when you use that dagger-sharp, killer boss lady voice on me but it's working right now. It's working."
I couldn't stop the smile from tugging at the corners of my lips. "Perhaps it would serve you well to discard this nonsense topic in favor of one more mutually agreeable."
"You're so fucking cute."
I replied with a playful shrug and took a sip of the coffee he'd fixed for me.
"You're cute but I'm not letting you shrug your way out of this," he said. "I don't want to see you leaving the last of anything for me, you understand?"
I studied him for a second. His beard looked thicker than usual today, as if he'd let days pass between trims. I liked it. I liked him slightly overgrown, slightly wild. It suited him.
As uncomfortable as I found this conversation, a small, fragile piece of me also liked when he took charge. When he insisted. I didn't want to like it, I didn't want to feel seen and protected because he noticed me leaving the coffee—and the hot water—for him. I didn't want to be needy in this way. And that was why I pressed my hands to my eyes and let my shoulders fall, saying, "But I can't. Okay? I can't."
"That's tough shit, Jas, because you're going to have to. I'm not putting up with these pointless restrictions of yours anymore."
"You're letting me stay here. The least I can do is make sure you have a hot shower in the morning."
He reached across the table, pulled one hand away from my face. "Why do you think I can't handle a lukewarm shower? Or a cold one, for that matter."
"I know you can handle it," I replied. "But you'd be in there, grumbling and growling about how you could've had hot water if I hadn't used it all."
"Ignoring for a moment that I have a tankless water heater that can accommodate two long, hot showers without a problem, I don't give a single fuck if you use all the water. If you drink all the coffee, eat all the marmalade. I don't give an actual fuck. But I do give a fuck about you forbidding yourself from living here the way you should."
"But I don't want to be a problem or take up too much of your space. I know how protective you are and how you don't like anyone encroaching on you and—"
"Yeah, you're right. I have to be pretty damn sure about letting anyone in."
I couldn't determine whether we were having a small conversation about coffee and showers or a big conversation about the relationship that had sprouted in the space between my personal disasters and his preference for all things casual and detached. I didn't know what this was so I nodded like I understood and hoped that was the right answer.
"I don't hate you, you know," he continued. "I don't hate you one bit and I don't want you limiting your marmalade intake because of me. You're going to eat all the marmalade you want and you're not going to apologize for it, you hear me?"
"But it's the last jar of the clementine! And you like the clementine more than any of the others!"
"The only time I want you saving marmalade for me is when you want me licking it off your tits. Got it?" he asked, his voice raised.
"I will never ask you to do that because I hate my skin feeling sticky," I shouted back.
"That's good to know because I don't like mixing food and sex, and your tits don't need anything to make them more appealing to me."
"Okay, then why are we yelling?"
Linden rolled his eyes. "Because you think it's a crime to take up space even though I want you to take it. I want you to take as much of me as you want."
There were so many layers of discomfort for me in this conversation. I never wanted to admit to keeping myself small or tiptoeing around people. I never wanted to acknowledge that the confidence that entered a room ahead of me was paper thin and dependent upon situations where my role and power were clear. I never wanted to be weak, helpless, voiceless.
I took a sip of the coffee at the center of this debate. "Can we discuss my apple problems now?"
Linden stared at me with a broad grin that seemed slightly manic. "You're impossible."
"I've heard that a few times."
"Yeah? Ever in the context of someone trying to give you everything while you refuse to take hardly anything?"