She nodded. “There are days I wish someone would just sit in this kitchen without needing a reason.”
I tightened a fitting and smiled. “Sometimes I run my vacuum at night just to hear something moving.”
She laughed. “That’s why I play Elvis.”
When she handed me my coffee, our fingers touched. Neither of us pulled away right away.
I finished the repair and slowly turned the main valve back on. We both watched the pipes carefully.
No leaks.
“It should be fine now,” I said.
“Thank you for coming back,” she said quietly. “I was worried last night might have been a burden.”
“I’m glad you knocked,” I told her. “It reminded me I don’t have to live like I’m on my own island.”
She hesitated. “Would you like to stay for breakfast? I make a decent omelet.”
Normally, I would’ve gone home. Back to routine. Back to silence.
“I’d like that,” I said.
We sat at her small kitchen table eating eggs and toast while sunlight filled the room that had almost flooded a few hours earlier. We talked about small things at first. Then bigger ones.
She told me about road trips she and Patrick used to take. I told her about how hopeful I used to be before I started playing it safe.