I should look away. I don’t want to give him the wrong impression. But she didn’t. Ainsley stood with him in the kitchen, looking deep into his brown eyes, until someone behind her cleared his throat.
“Can you help me bring up some boxes of flooring to the master bath?” she asked Kyle, pointing over her shoulder.
“Sure,” he said, but he was looking over her shoulder now, and she turned.
“Hi, Pop. Need something?”
Her father was glaring at Kyle. “Nope.”
She looked between the two men, unsure how to break the weird, silent conversation they were apparently having. “Well, then.” She turned and went out to the trailer, climbing over all the stuff people had stacked in the middle to get to the flooring boxes. She passed them out to Kyle, who, predictably, had followed her out. Possibly, there’s a good reason I’m still single. And that reason is an overprotective ex-cop dad named Gary Buchanan.
Her planks had been cut when they came back down; the two of them placed the last pieces, then added the molding.
“You finally got to use a hammer!” Ainsley teased Kyle, and he scowled.
“I was trying to be nice, offering to bring a hammer. Won’t make that mistake again,” he said haughtily, carefully keeping his eyes on his fingers as he tapped in the finishing nails.
“I’m sure you won’t,” she said, using her soothing teacher voice.
“What are you doing after this?” he asked.
Ainsley’s nerves were starting to get raw. It was just too weird, having him here in her domain. “My dad usually takes me out for Mexican.”
“Ixtapa?”
“No, Muchas Gracias.”
“Ever been to Rico’s?”
Ainsley forgot she was nervous. Thinking with her stomach did that to her. “No, where’s that?”
“Sublimity. It’s a little farther, but it’s worth it.”
“Good nachos?”
“Yeah, they’re good,” he said, standing up. “But the breakfast burritos are my favorite. I like to grab one after I work a night shift.”
“Do you have to do that a lot?”
He nodded, placing the hammer gently on the island. They were gazing again.
“Well,” she said cheerfully, “thanks for coming today, it was great to have your help.” Ainsley stuck out her hand, and he shook it, half a smile on his face.
“You’re welcome. I’ll see you for Cooper pickup on Monday.”
“I’ll be there.”
He moved past her toward the front hall.
“Don’t forget to sign out,” she called.
“I never signed in,” he called back.
“Why not?”
Kyle smiled, then disappeared out the door.
CHAPTER SEVEN
KYLE DROVE TO HIS HOUSE and sat in his car in the driveway. He was tired. Yawning, he scrubbed a hand over his face and heaved himself out of the car to go inside. He’d just take a quick shower—building was surprisingly dirty work—and then head over to his parents’ house for dinner—
Ugh. Again? Daniel and Winnie were on the couch, trying to act innocent, but he could see the color on both their cheeks was higher than normal. And it wasn’t because Daniel had turned up the thermostat again. Their presence here was becoming a problem. Why weren’t they at Winnie’s apartment? Ainsley would be out most of the day, if he’d overheard her correctly. People made no sense sometimes. They just didn’t think things through.
From his bag, he pulled out the list he’d printed last night. “Here.”
“What’s this?” Daniel asked, taking the paper. “Grievances?”
“I considered nailing them to the front door, but you don’t usually come in that way.”
“Lack of dish-doing, that’s fair. Failure to contribute to the cleanliness of shared spaces . . . I know I was supposed to vacuum, but I got called into work. I’ll do it tomorrow, I swear. Poor hygiene? What?”
“You left dirty clothes on the bathroom floor. It’s unacceptable.” Kyle crossed his arms over his chest as Winnie gave them a bemused glance. “Look, I know you’re moving out soon, but in the meantime, you need to change your ways. Consider it practice so that Winnie doesn’t throttle you.”
“Kyle . . .”
“No.” He held up a hand. “This is my house. These stipulations were in the contract you signed. You either start upholding your part of the deal, or I’ll double your rent.” Kyle started up the stairs.
“You can’t do that!”
“Yes, I can,” he called back. “And read the fine print before you sign anything for your next place.” He shut the door behind him and breathed a sigh of relief. At least Daniel never came into his bedroom; he was safe from his brother’s slovenly chaos in here. He touched his bookshelf protectively; his football trading cards were still laid out in order. It made him breathe easier to look at them; a little visual stimulation when he was tired or stressed. When he’d lived with his parents, his siblings had found it amusing to move them while he was out, and it still annoyed him to think about it. They’d even timed how long it would take him to notice, like it was hard. Like anyone wouldn’t notice that immediately. He just didn’t get them sometimes. Neurotypicals were so weird.
Kyle took his shower and changed into basically the same clothes he’d just been wearing before he lay down on his bed and retreated into Twitter. Unlike other social media platforms, there were no real friendships here; he could lurk anonymously and leave without anyone knowing he’d been there. If people tried to DM him, he just ignored them. It was just the right amount of stimulation, little bites of all the stuff that interested him: sports, video games, politics. The politics was too much and got him fired up sometimes, but he seldom responded to the provocation. He did, however, answer a lot of questions for people stuck on a game level or unable to find the stat they were looking for, and it had garnered him a few thousand followers.
His favorite account had been active. Brad was a gamer in Massachusetts, autistic like him. SaveTheNeurotypicals was a close second; she helped him put his family and friends into context sometimes. Helped him see his own condition more objectively.
BrokenBrad: Anyone up to Minecraft this afternoon?
Yeah, he had time for that. He found Brad’s Minecraft server and began to build a library, losing himself in the creation. Kyle preferred games that were a little more low-key after the intensity of the emergency room. Stardew Valley with its little farm, Kerbal Space Program with its cute green alien astronauts, Minecraft with its infinite sandbox feel . . . He wanted to try Animal Crossing, but he didn’t want anyone to find out and ridicule him. He broadcasted his games on Twitch occasionally, but he didn’t have many followers. He didn’t like the constant stream of chatter from the players and couldn’t emulate it, and his schedule was variable and strange enough that he couldn’t always log on at the same time.
His phone rang, and he answered it on speaker to keep his hands free.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Grumpy.” Maggie had dubbed her brothers Happy, Grumpy, and Bashful at a young age, and apparently, she felt the nicknames still applied.