Emersyn
Living with the guys for a week now has been like trying to navigate through a tornado. Fowler wasn't kidding about how chaotic their schedules are. They are almost never home or awake at the same time.
I'm learning that their jobs are incredibly demanding. Locke and Cruz, with their more structured careers, sometimes work super late into the night, leaving the house eerily quiet. Marx seems to live at his bar, only waking up in time for dinner and then heading out again. It's almost like he's a nocturnal creature.
And then there's Fowler. His work schedule is as erratic and grueling as Valarie's. He's often working multiple days in a row, pulling double shifts, and coming home utterly exhausted. His dedication to his job is admirable, but I can't help but worry about him. I know how much Valarie's job takes out of her and I know Fowler's is much the same.
This morning is one of those moments when the house is eerily quiet as I reflect on the past week. I'm sipping on my coffee, looking out the window, and marveling at how different life is now compared to just a week ago.
The guys may have unpredictable schedules, but they've quickly become more than just strangers sharing a living space. We've shared meals, laughter, and even a memorable day exploring the city with Fowler.
But as much as I've enjoyed these moments, the chaotic schedules have made it challenging to feel fully settled. The house often feels empty, each of us caught up in our demanding lives. Well, the guys, at least. I've still been moping around the house when I'm alone. My heart still hasn't fully settled from the loss of my job and relationship. Losing Lyle wasn't really that big of a loss, but losing my only long-term relationship was.
I've applied to probably two dozen jobs by now, but haven't heard a thing from any of them. The severance package from my old job finally deposited into my bank account, so I have that. It's a nice safety net, but I swear to God I'm going to lose my mind if I stay stuck in this house any longer.
The clattering sound of the back door startles me from my thoughts, pulling me back to the present. I turn to see Cruz walking into the kitchen, dressed in worn-out gardening clothes. His long curly brown hair is once again pulled into a low ponytail. I wonder if he ever wears it down. I bet it would look beautiful.
"Cruz?" I ask, surprised. "Why are you home? You're usually working on Fridays."
He offers a calm smile, his tall and lanky frame leaning against the kitchen counter. "We finished a project early, took the day off. Thought I'd use it to clean up the garden a bit."
His hands, covered in a thin layer of dirt, reach for a glass of water. I notice how strong and skilled they look.
"That sounds like a nice way to spend the day," I say, my eyes still on his hands.
He looks up, catching my gaze, and his eyes twinkle with a gentle invitation. "You want to join me? Could use a hand, and it might be a nice distraction from being cooped up in the house."
It's almost like he is reading my mind. His offer is tempting. The thought of being outside, working on something tangible, is suddenly very appealing. And Cruz's calm demeanor has a soothing effect on me.
"You know, that actually sounds great," I reply, setting down my coffee. "I haven't done much gardening before, though. You'll have to show me the ropes."
Cruz's smile broadens, and he strides over to the sink to wash his hands. "No problem at all. It's simple work, and I think you'll enjoy it. Plus, it'll give us a chance to chat."
I can't help but smile back, feeling a genuine connection with Cruz. He's different from the others, more grounded and peaceful. It's a refreshing change from the hustle and bustle of the rest of the house.
I finish my coffee and head to my room to change into more suitable clothes, my mind already focusing on the garden. I choose a pair of old jeans and a comfortable, loose-fitting T-shirt, knowing they'll likely get dirty. My worn-out sneakers complete the outfit, and I tie my hair back into a messy bun. As I dress, a sense of excitement bubbles within me, promising a day full of potential, a welcome break from the worries that have consumed me.
When I join Cruz in the garden, I'm struck by the orderly rows of vegetables, herbs, and fruit bushes. The green space is filled with the earthy scents of freshly turned soil and ripe produce, and the soft rustle of leaves whispers in the breeze.
Cruz looks up as I approach, his mustache twitching in a smile. "You look ready for action!"
I laugh, feeling excited. "I'm all yours. What's the plan?"
He hands me a pair of gardening gloves and points to a row of tomatoes. "We'll start with some weeding and staking these tomato plants. Ever done that before?"
I shake my head, pulling on the gloves. "I'm a total beginner, but I'm eager to learn."
Cruz's calm demeanor guides me as he shows me how to support the growing tomato plants, how to recognize weeds, and the art of careful pruning. We work side by side, our conversation naturally drifting from the technicalities of gardening to more personal subjects.
"So, Cruz, what drew you to gardening?" I ask, genuinely curious.
He considers, hands busy with a tomato plant. "I like the feeling of nurturing something, watching it grow. And there's something satisfying about eating what you've grown. How about you? How are you settling in with the guys?"
His question prompts thoughtful reflection. "It's been different but good. I feel like I'm beginning to understand everyone, including you."
His eyes meet mine. "That's good to hear."
We continue our work in the garden, moving from tomatoes to herbs, planting new seeds, and caring for the existing plants. Our conversation flows naturally, filled with shared insights, laughter, and even some deeper confessions.
Cruz tells me about his woodworking hobby, his dreams of building his own furniture, and his love for nature. He's really easy to talk to, and he has me opening up as well.
The hours slip away as we work together, hands covered in earth, the joy of creation evident in our faces.
Eventually, Cruz decides that it's time to harvest some of the fruits of our labor. We gather all the ripe vegetables, along with some herbs.
Cruz looks at our haul and grins, "I might use some of these for dinner. What do you say we cook dinner together after we clean up?"
I glance at our dirty hands and the sweat on our brows, and I can't help but laugh. "I think a shower might be in order first, but I love the idea of cooking together."
His eyes twinkle as he nods. "Agreed. Showers, then a home-cooked meal with our fresh produce."
"Sounds good," I agree.
He chuckles, his eyes warm. "Meet you in the kitchen in an hour?"
I smile and nod, feeling a new level of connection with Cruz. "It's a plan. See you then."
We head our separate ways, and as I make my way to the shower, I can't help but feel a sense of contentment. The day in the garden with Cruz has been more than just a distraction from my worries. It's been a chance to get to know him on a deeper level, to understand his passions, and to share a piece of myself as well.
As the warm water washes away the dirt and sweat, I reflect on the simplicity of the day, the joy of working with the soil, the pleasure of Cruz's company.
Toweling off and dressing in something comfy, I make my way to the kitchen, eager to cook with Cruz and enjoy the meal we'll create together.
The scents of garlic and onions fill the kitchen as I walk in, and I find Cruz already chopping vegetables at the counter. The sound of jazz music wafts softly from a small speaker on the shelf, adding a relaxed and warm ambiance to the room.
"Hey, you're early!" I exclaim, taking in his casual appearance in a t-shirt and joggers.
He glances up and grins, a hint of mischief in his eyes. "Or maybe you're late?"
I playfully swat his arm and head to the fridge to gather more ingredients. "What's on the menu, chef?"
"How about a baked herb and vegetable pasta casserole?" he suggests, eyes gleaming. "We can use all the produce we picked today."
"Sounds delicious," I agree, starting to chop a bell pepper.
We fall into an easy rhythm, chopping and sautéing, stealing glances and sharing small smiles. The kitchen becomes a dance floor, each of us twirling and stepping around one another as we prepare the meal.
He looks over at me, leaning on the counter. "You know, we make a good team. You sure you haven't worked in a professional kitchen before?"
I laugh, shaking my head. "Positive. Though, I must admit, this is more fun than I thought it would be."
He joins in my laughter, and the warmth in his eyes is undeniable. "Cooking is like a dance. It's all about timing, coordination, and a little bit of flair."
"Well, let's hope we don't step on each other's toes," I reply, playfully nudging him with my elbow.
He pretends to stumble, clutching his heart. "Wounded! I'm wounded!"
We both dissolve into laughter, the lightheartedness of the moment washing away any remaining tension. As our laughter subsides, we find ourselves standing close, eyes locked.
Cruz clears his throat, stepping back slightly. "So, uh, let's get this in the oven, shall we?"
Soon, the casserole is assembled and ready for the oven. Cruz opens the door, and we both slide it in, setting the timer.
"We've got about forty-five minutes," he says, closing the oven door. "Want a glass of wine while we wait?"
I agree, and we settle into the living room, each with a glass of red wine. We continue to chat, the conversation flowing naturally.
As we talk, I feel myself drawn to Cruz in a way I haven't felt before. His calm demeanor, his thoughtful insights, his gentle teasing – all of it adds up to someone I genuinely enjoy spending time with.
The oven timer beeps, snapping us out of our conversation, and we head back to the kitchen. The smell of the baked casserole fills the air, rich and tantalizing.
We work together to set the table, and I find myself glancing at the clock, realizing it's later than I thought. Just as we're about to serve ourselves, the front door creaks open, and heavy footsteps echo down the hall.
"Hey! What's cooking?" Locke's voice calls out as he steps into the kitchen. His eyes widen at the sight of the table, and he grins at us.
"Hey babe," Cruz says, warmly gazing at his partner.
"Perfect timing," I say, smiling at Locke. "We were just about to sit down."
Locke kicks off his shoes and hangs his suit jacket, joining us at the table. "I'm starving, and this smells fantastic."
We all take our seats, and as we serve ourselves, Locke starts to fill us in on his day. Cruz and I share details of our day in the garden, and the meal becomes a delightful gathering.
Despite the demanding careers that often keep them apart, it's clear that the love between Locke and Cruz runs deep. They tease each other, share inside jokes, and their laughter fills the room. I find myself caught up in the joy of the moment. It's nice to see a couple so in love. I wonder what that's like.
After dinner, we linger at the table, savoring the last of the wine and enjoying each other's company. Locke's work stories continue to entertain us, and Cruz's gentle humor keeps the atmosphere light.
Eventually, the conversation winds down, and we all help clear the table. The shared work and laughter continue even as we clean up, making the chores feel more like a continuation of the fun evening.
With the kitchen back in order, we say our goodnights, and Locke heads off to shower and unwind after his long day. Cruz and I exchange warm smiles.
"Thanks for today," I tell him, my voice soft. "I really enjoyed it."
"Me too," he replies, his eyes sincere. "We should do it again sometime. It was nice having extra hands in the garden."
"I'd like that," I agree, feeling a warm glow inside.
We part ways, each heading to our rooms.
As I settle into bed, I reflect on the day, the week, the new friendships that are blossoming. The tornado of change that swept me into this house is starting to feel less like a whirlwind and more like a new beginning. The guys, once strangers, are becoming friends, and the house that seemed so chaotic is starting to feel like home.
With a smile on my face, I drift off to sleep.