Whispering With You

13. How very old people romantic of us.

Sutton

THE AIR IS STILL THICK WITH STICKY mugginess as I pull into the driveway of the house Kelly is currently flipping, the summer heat clinging to the end of August with a tight grip. A quick glance in the mirror tells me the level of humidity without needing to check my weather app, my frizzy hair an unfortunate victim. I grab the plastic to-go bag with our food and crawl out of my car at the same time Kelly emerges from the house, his body shaded under the large porch.

Holding up the bag, I announce myself, "Got the food. Hope pasta is ok. If not, blame my hormones. They get extra bossy this time of month."

His groan carries across the yard as I make my way to him. "Pasta is fine, but I could probably do without the girlie shit, Sutton."

"Girlie shit? Do you mean ovulating? Because that's what I meant. I'm hardcore PMSing this week. I'm a woman. This 'girlie shit' happens every month. I'm normalizing periods one dude encounter at a time. Live with it."

He groans again, but I ignore it when I climb the stairs onto the porch and see the new addition. "Rocking chairs!" I squeal as I shove the food bag at Kelly and cross the porch, immediately falling into the closest wooden rocker.

I rub my hands over the armrests as I rock back and forth. "You listened to me." I smile up at him. He's standing where I left him, clutching the bag of food to his chest. "These are just like the ones at your house."

"Actually," he says, looking a bit sheepish, "I brought them over from my house."

"Wait, what? These are yours?" I inspect the chairs more closely and realize they do have a worn look to them. "Why didn't you just get new ones? Won't you miss these at your house?"

He shrugs, and I study him. The color of the day is navy blue, apparently, and it looks good on him if the way his signature plain t-shirt hugs his broad shoulders and stretches across his chest is any indication. His clothes carry a layer of dust and debris from whatever manual labor he must have done today. I only briefly glance at the snug jeans, forcing my eyes back up to his face, which is shadowed under the ever-present ball cap.

He removes said hat, brushes a hand through his wavy hair before placing it back on his head. "You hungry? Ready to eat?"

I pat the rocking chair next to me. "Let's eat here, yeah?"

"You're easy to please, baby girl. You know that, right? Just some old rockers on a porch and you're smiling like it's your birthday." He eases by me and sinks into the open chair, handing me the bag of food.

"I'm seconds away from being even happier. My ovaries apparently require carbs to do the hard work this month." I laugh when he groans, and I begin pulling out food containers. I hand one to him and I take the other. "I wasn't sure what you wanted, so I got two dishes. I like both, so you can pick between the two. Or we could share both."

Kelly opens the lid on his pasta bowl to reveal traditional spaghetti and meatballs. "Not sure I want to share this." He looks at the tin takeout bowl in my lap. "What's that one?"

I open it up, showing it to him. "Chicken tortellini alfredo. Both are my comfort foods. Plus," I say, pulling out a skinny tinfoil-lined paper bag with a flourish. "Breadsticks!"

"Fine. I might be persuaded to share," he says, already shoving a meatball into his mouth. I hand him a breadstick and he immediately dips it into the marinara sauce before tearing off a huge bite.

"Someone's hungry. Was it a long workday?"

He shakes his head, a mouthful of noodles hanging out of his mouth. After chewing a bit, he finally answers. "So-so. I can't do much here until I settle on colors. Which is where you come into play. Did you bring the swatches?"