His Temporary Live-in Wife

“Make eye contact, Dylan,” Eric said. “Talk to me man-to-man.”

The teenager fought it for a few seconds, then put his shoulders back and lifted his head. “I didn’t want to wake you up, so I went for a bike ride to kill time. I wasn’t running away.”

“Are you hungry?” Eric asked.

The boy looked startled, then he nodded.

“Even after eating a dozen chocolate-chip cookies?” Eric stepped back so that Dylan could come inside.

“Three dozen,” Marcy said, torn between hugging the kid and shaking him.

“They were good,” Dylan said, offering the barest smile. “Best I’ve ever had.”

She sighed. “Do you like omelets?”

“I’m not picky.”

“Go wash up.” She headed into the kitchen, ate the last few bites on her plate then went to the stove. She could hear them talking in the living room but, unlike the night before, she only caught words now and then. Soon Eric returned and sat at the table to finish eating.

“You didn’t look surprised to see him,” Marcy said quietly to him.

“Having taught for a long time has given me insight. But also, starting when I was twenty-two, I raised my four younger siblings. I got pretty good at reading teenagers.”

She stared at him, surprised, although after thinking about it, she realized she could see him in that role. Some people were born to be parents, were born protective and paternal.

“Is that what you meant when you said you’d raised one family?”

“Yes.”

“You had to know I would think you were at least fifty, if not sixty, years old.”

“I was having fun with you.”

And she’d started hunting for a woman for him, someone age appropriate, as he’d said. This changed everything—

Well, maybe not. There was still Annie, next door.

“Have you ever been married?” she asked.

“No. Have you?”

“Guess.” She smiled.

Dylan came in and took a seat.

“Grab yourself something to drink,” Eric said, refilling his coffee mug before Marcy could wait on either of them. Then Eric’s phone rang. He looked at the screen, grabbed Marcy’s notebook and pen and left the room.

“You can butter the toast when it comes up,” Marcy said when Dylan had poured himself a glass of orange juice.

He moved close to the toaster, leaned against the counter and gulped down the entire glass of juice then refilled it.

“Where’s your stuff?” she asked.

“Stuff?”

“Change of clothes. Toothbrush. Stuff.”

“In my backpack. Out in the yard, with my bike.”

“If you’d like to use the washer and dryer, now’s the time.” She slid the omelet onto his plate as he buttered the toast.

He dug into the food as he had the night before, barely tasting it, just shoveling it in.

She filled her mug and sat across from him.

“I’ve never seen hair like yours,” he said, catching her off guard, his mouth full. “Not red but not brown either.”

She ran a hand down it. She’d let it grow to the middle of her back, only occasionally pulling it into a ponytail when it was going to get in her way. “Is that a compliment?”

He shrugged. “It’s nice.”

“So you weren’t raised by wolves.”

He laughed, bits of toast flying.

“How did you know when to break in?” By watching me? she thought, realizing he had to have done so.

“There’s no curtains. You were always working. Cleaning. I only watched the house to see when you turned out the lights, then I waited a while before I came inside.”

“Where’d you sleep? There wasn’t any furniture until yesterday.”

“On the floor in the dining room.”

“When would you take off?”

“First light.”

“Why’d you take care of the cardboard and the other stuff? Why’d you do dishes?”

“I was paying for my keep where I could. You shouldn’t ever hire that drywall guy again, by the way. He should’ve cleaned up his own mess.”

“I’ll remember that, thanks. I’m Marcy, by the way.”

Eric returned. He set his cell phone and the notebook on the kitchen counter. “Change of plans. I’m starting work on Monday instead of four weeks from now. One of the professors had emergency heart surgery. They need me to fill in for the remainder of the summer session.”

“Teaching what?” Marcy asked.

“Vector analysis.”