I pick up a rag and hand it to him. “I might in a few years.”
His jaw twitches. “A few years? Why not now?”
“I’m not busy enough. According to my plan, it should be in a few years.”
He laughs. “Which plan are we talking about?”
“The family one. By the age of thirty, I should’ve met my husband. We’ll date for a year to eighteen months before he proposes. We’ll get married by the time I’m thirty-three. A year later, I’ll have our first child—”
“Stop right there, before you tell me that number four will be popping before your fortieth birthday.”
I let out a breath and glare at him. “You’re going to ruin it, aren’t you?”
He’s always ruining my plans and adding logic to them. It’s not like I’m asking him to get on board with my schemes as he calls them.
Just leave them the fuck alone, buddy.
“I’m not trying to ruin”—he draws air quotes—“anything for you, but what if you meet him tomorrow, and he proposes in two months?”
Oh, but that’s exactly what I need—a miracle. Can this hypothetical guy propose two weeks later? Why wait a month? That should give me plenty of time to prepare him to meet my grandparents.
“How do I find this guy?”
He snickers. “You seem to be in a hurry to meet him.”
I laugh. “You have no idea.”
He tilts his head toward the working table. “Start cleaning so we can go home soon.”
“Thank you for helping me.”
“Always.” He smiles and gets to work.
I’m going to miss this so much—us. The way we just coexist, effortlessly. It’s like he’s an extension of me, or maybe I’m an extension of him.
What am I going to do without Heath Spearman?
For the first time, I want to ask him not to leave me.
Chapter Seven
Atzi
One of my favorite places in the world is Heath’s penthouse. The upstairs loft that’s converted into a television room might be my favorite area. When Aslan first mentioned he was going to move to his new house and Heath asked for it, I was thrilled.
We decorated it together. Well, most of it. I chose the couches. We agreed on the rest. It’s about compromising, more so when this isn’t my house. Though, it’s an absolute tragedy that Heath doesn’t appreciate it at all. He’s barely ever home because of work, and when he is home, he’s often just sleeping.
A total waste of the gorgeous bay windows that let in perfectly filtered sunshine.
“When you leave, you should rent this place to me.”
He snorts, not looking up from the wok he’s supervising that’s full of sizzling onions and chopped peppers. It smells incredible, and he just got started.
“Thought we could try some yellow curry tonight, if that sounds good to you,” he says as he adds in the neatly sliced chicken to the wok.
“For someone so busy, you sure do have a lot of time to find new recipes,” I say with fake suspicion. “What’s your secret?”
He winks at me. “You’ll never know. Why don’t you prepare a salad?”
I wrinkle my nose at him.
He snorts at me, barely looking up from the wok. “Greens are your friends. You should eat them more often.”
“You sound like a doctor,” I say mockingly.
“Oh, but I am a doctor and you should do as I say.”
I groan. “Do you know eating strawberries is better than eating greens?”
“In your world? Probably. And knowing you, you’ll want to cover them with chocolate. But if that’s going to get you to eat salads. Add some fruit to it.”
I sigh with resignation and begin to pile ingredients for the salad. “Just remember, we’re having chocolate fondue for dessert.”
He makes a noncommittal sound.
“What are we watching tonight?” I ask.
“I sent you the list earlier. You didn’t see it?”
“Nope.”
“Let’s finish cooking, and then we can choose what we want to watch.”
“That’s one option,” I say, pulling out my phone. I pull up the trailer for the first suggestion—a bro comedy with a lot of goofs. Not today. I quickly move on to the next, which looks like a cool urban fantasy. The third is a romantic comedy. “Are we watching dragons and warlocks today?”
“Is that what that movie is about?” He sighs as he carefully picks something out of the mixing bowl where he just added coconut milk.
The man splashes sauce on the kitchen tile. He pointedly looks down at the mess and then points to the paper towels. I purse my lips at him but slide off my stool to clean up the trail of sauce.
“Look who’s the messy one,” I say with a snarky tone. Once finished with that, I stretch upward and crack my back. “I’m totally done for the day.”
“Stop stalling and do the salad,” he reminds me.
“Oh right, I was helping you with that. I forgot because I’m famished.”
“Stop complaining,” he chuckles. “Everything’s almost ready. Finish the salad so we can sit and eat.”
“You’re not going to let that go, are you?”
“I’m trying to take care of those imaginary children you plan to have at…” He cocks a brow. “Was it thirty-seven? I can only imagine how you’ll be giving them specific timelines to be born, walk, and talk.”
“I don’t think I like you.” I stick my tongue out and get to work.
After we eat and clean the kitchen, I prepare the popcorn bowl with chocolate chips. Heath may complain about my sweet tooth, but he never says no when I offer him my creations.
When I arrive at the TV room, it already has my favorite blanket, a fuzzy lavender fleece, draped over the back of the couch, and I pet it fondly as I reach for the remote. I’ve just completed the purchase of the movie and started the download when Heath comes in behind me with the wine and glasses.
We make ourselves comfortable.
“How will we do this when you get the fellowship?” It’s not even really a question, more of a lament. I don’t want things to change. Even when I’m trying to accept that his leaving is inevitable, a part of me wants to fight it—him.
“Don’t borrow problems from the future,” Heath says around a mouthful of popcorn. “And start the movie.”
I pout at him. “You should tell your family soon.”
“Atzi, let it go for now, please. I don’t even know if they’ll accept me.”
Of course they will. He’s smart, a hard worker, and everyone in the hospital adores him. We could argue that he’s wrong. Actually, we’re due for a discussion as to why he couldn’t apply for the fellowship his mentor offered.
He was offered a position—just needed to apply. And most importantly, it’s here in San Francisco where his family lives.
It’s not too late, is it? I have to intervene. “I think—”
“Atzi, please,” he begs in such a way that I can’t argue anymore.
He needs to shut down and enjoy the day. I comply, and he hits the light dimmer on a small white remote while I press play and settle in for the movie. I glance at Heath while the opening credits are still unfurling colorfully on the screen, and I’m a little startled when I see him looking back at me. I give him a small smile, feeling a little wobbly, then turn my eyes back to the screen.