bags in
the kitchen, I noticed Zan’s phone was plugged in on the counter.
It was fully charged, so I unplugged it and went to bring it to
him. Zan was in his den, of course, working out on his elliptical
machine like a man possessed. He was barefoot, like always, and
dressed in a tight tank top and ratty gym shorts, his elbow-length
hair tied back in a messy ponytail. He was listening to an iPod,
and the exercise machine was angled so he was looking out the
windows, his eyes focused on some point in the distance. He had
absolutely no idea I was there.
I took a moment to watch him. I’d
never seen him in anything other than 501s and the long-sleeved
button-down shirts he wore every day of his life. It turned out
that was a shame, because the tight, muscular body usually
concealed under those baggy clothes was smoking hot. The why behind
that was no mystery, given how hard he was working out. His
breathing was ragged, his skin glistening with sweat, but he just
kept pushing himself.
I decided I should probably leave him
alone and went to set his phone on an end table before returning to
the kitchen. That movement must have caught his eye, because he
turned his head toward me, his lips parting. In the next instant,
his coordination totally failed him, and he tumbled off the machine
with a little yell.
“Oh shit,” I exclaimed as I rushed to
his side. “Are you alright?”
He pulled the earbuds out and let them
dangle around his neck. He’d been listening to Zeppelin, I could
just barely make it out. “Bloody hell Gianni, what are you doing
here?”
“The same thing I do every Saturday.
Are you okay?” I held a hand out to him. He hesitated before taking
hold of it and letting me pull him to his feet.
“You’re never this early.” Several
strands of hair had escaped the ponytail, and he pushed them away
from his sweaty face. He seemed really rattled.
“I know, my morning workout got pushed
back. I texted you to let you know I was on my way.”
“I didn’t check my phone. You’re
always here around midday.” He seemed surprisingly vulnerable for
some reason as he stepped back from me, then looked down at himself
and raised a hand to touch the sweat-soaked tank top.
Seeing him so shaken made me want to
reach for him and soothe him, but I knew how that’d go over. I
tucked my hands in my pockets and said, “I’m really sorry. I just
assumed you got my message. I’m going to go put away the groceries,
and then I’ll be out in the yard.” When I left the den, I closed
the door behind me.
As I unpacked the shopping bags, I
could hear him go through to the bathroom. A minute later, the
shower started running. I finished my tasks quickly and went
outside to give him some privacy.
I retrieved a full gas can from my
trunk, which I used to fill the tank on the riding lawnmower. I
then donned my baseball cap and sunglasses, wheeled the mower onto
the driveway and climbed aboard. It started up easily and I drove
it out past the landscaping surrounding the house. When I reached
the grassy field, I engaged the cutting blades and went to
work.
There was something almost Zen-like
about this task, and I actually enjoyed it. I drove back and forth
in tidy rows, the machine mulching what I cut down and dispersing
it behind me. I was able to go for a couple hours, working farther
and farther out from the house before the gas gauge told me I
needed to wrap it up.
When the mower was back in the garage,
I took a few minutes to wipe it down before splashing water on my
face and cleaning myself up a little at the utility sink. I planned
to make a little progress with the tree trimming next, but first I
really needed a bathroom break and a glass of water, so I headed
into the house. Not surprisingly, the door to the den was closed.
After I used the facilities I hesitated, then knocked on Zan’s
door.
It took him a minute to answer, and
when he did, he just stared at me. He’d washed his hair, and it was
still slightly
the kitchen, I noticed Zan’s phone was plugged in on the counter.
It was fully charged, so I unplugged it and went to bring it to
him. Zan was in his den, of course, working out on his elliptical
machine like a man possessed. He was barefoot, like always, and
dressed in a tight tank top and ratty gym shorts, his elbow-length
hair tied back in a messy ponytail. He was listening to an iPod,
and the exercise machine was angled so he was looking out the
windows, his eyes focused on some point in the distance. He had
absolutely no idea I was there.
I took a moment to watch him. I’d
never seen him in anything other than 501s and the long-sleeved
button-down shirts he wore every day of his life. It turned out
that was a shame, because the tight, muscular body usually
concealed under those baggy clothes was smoking hot. The why behind
that was no mystery, given how hard he was working out. His
breathing was ragged, his skin glistening with sweat, but he just
kept pushing himself.
I decided I should probably leave him
alone and went to set his phone on an end table before returning to
the kitchen. That movement must have caught his eye, because he
turned his head toward me, his lips parting. In the next instant,
his coordination totally failed him, and he tumbled off the machine
with a little yell.
“Oh shit,” I exclaimed as I rushed to
his side. “Are you alright?”
He pulled the earbuds out and let them
dangle around his neck. He’d been listening to Zeppelin, I could
just barely make it out. “Bloody hell Gianni, what are you doing
here?”
“The same thing I do every Saturday.
Are you okay?” I held a hand out to him. He hesitated before taking
hold of it and letting me pull him to his feet.
“You’re never this early.” Several
strands of hair had escaped the ponytail, and he pushed them away
from his sweaty face. He seemed really rattled.
“I know, my morning workout got pushed
back. I texted you to let you know I was on my way.”
“I didn’t check my phone. You’re
always here around midday.” He seemed surprisingly vulnerable for
some reason as he stepped back from me, then looked down at himself
and raised a hand to touch the sweat-soaked tank top.
Seeing him so shaken made me want to
reach for him and soothe him, but I knew how that’d go over. I
tucked my hands in my pockets and said, “I’m really sorry. I just
assumed you got my message. I’m going to go put away the groceries,
and then I’ll be out in the yard.” When I left the den, I closed
the door behind me.
As I unpacked the shopping bags, I
could hear him go through to the bathroom. A minute later, the
shower started running. I finished my tasks quickly and went
outside to give him some privacy.
I retrieved a full gas can from my
trunk, which I used to fill the tank on the riding lawnmower. I
then donned my baseball cap and sunglasses, wheeled the mower onto
the driveway and climbed aboard. It started up easily and I drove
it out past the landscaping surrounding the house. When I reached
the grassy field, I engaged the cutting blades and went to
work.
There was something almost Zen-like
about this task, and I actually enjoyed it. I drove back and forth
in tidy rows, the machine mulching what I cut down and dispersing
it behind me. I was able to go for a couple hours, working farther
and farther out from the house before the gas gauge told me I
needed to wrap it up.
When the mower was back in the garage,
I took a few minutes to wipe it down before splashing water on my
face and cleaning myself up a little at the utility sink. I planned
to make a little progress with the tree trimming next, but first I
really needed a bathroom break and a glass of water, so I headed
into the house. Not surprisingly, the door to the den was closed.
After I used the facilities I hesitated, then knocked on Zan’s
door.
It took him a minute to answer, and
when he did, he just stared at me. He’d washed his hair, and it was
still slightly
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