Chapter 20: "You what me?"

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This chapter is dedicated to @YouMetATerribleFate1. Thank u so much for reading & supporting the novel :-)! I really appreciate it!

She is an author as well & has a book on WP. Please check it out!

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Chapter 20: "You what me?"

Breakfast was a far cry from the ones Tom had whipped up so far: it consisted of porridge! He said that that's what his mother used to make for him when he was sick. Still, the almonds, raisins, thinly sliced apples, maple syrup, and half-and-half cream he set out as accompaniment, elevated it well above Chris's. (Mmm, she could also smell the cinnamon he'd added.) She didn't blame Chris, of course, for the bare bones variety they ate. Their budget wouldn't allow for anything more elaborate! Tom offered to make tea for her, stating, with a mildly amused grin, that he had a much better idea of how she liked her tea than he did before. (Yes, she recognized that her tea rigmarole was something to smile about.) But she declined ... politely. If there was ever a day that she needed her tea, it was today!

She'd arrived at Tom's having abandoned the idea of following through with her plan. But his super-considerate treatment of her last night had caused her to reconsider. Still, as she gazed at him across the table — what she wouldn't give to devour him, all of him, along with her porridge! — telling him to his face that she loved him seemed a daunting task. It would be so much easier if she could close her eyes and do it! But wait! If they went out this morning and worked on her stroke — not that it needed much work, anymore — she could do just that. Well, not close her eyes, but tell him without having to look at him! Her back would be to him! And it would be kind of romantic, too. She could just lean back against his glorious chest and whisper, Tom.

Yeah?

I love you.

The thought of what might follow made her stomach do flip-flops, but still, she thought she could do it.

In case things went badly, however, it wouldn't do to have dirty laundry that needed to be rescued from his place. Turning on the washing machine — Tom had cottoned on to the fact that she wasn't comfortable having him do her laundry, so had stopped asking — she wandered outside to talk to him. He was mowing the lawn. The moment she stepped out onto the deck, she quickly wheeled around and came back in. Tom had taken his shirt off for the occasion. Oh, God!

The briefest of glances at Medusa's hideous face — not to mention her 'hair' — had turned many a Greek warrior to stone. A look at Tom's chest threatened to turn a woman to mush, absolute mush! She could vouch for that. She was one of them! The feeling began with one's knees — they turned to jelly — and rapidly overtook one's entire body. She hurried upstairs and donned her sunglasses for protection. There was another reason that she wanted to wear them: she wanted to be able to look at Tom's chest without him being aware that she was doing so. The time might come — a hundred years hence, and that only in the West! — when women might feel entitled to ogle members of the opposite sex, as men now did. But it hadn't arrived yet!

As she set foot on the grass, it occurred to her that it was a good thing Tom only worried about a backyard-sized patch of it at the back of the house, as he could spend an entire month mowing the field which lay beyond!

Tom was unaware of her presence. The noise from the lawn mower drowned out her approach. That and the fact that his back was to her — she had no objections to his V'd back, either. Sigh. She walked up to him and tapped him on the arm; her finger failed to put a dent in it, even a minor one.

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