“Your bathroom’s clean.” Jesus. I’ve been saying dumb shit to him all day, but the bemused look on his face tells me he doesn’t care. That, perhaps, he likes it. “Is it usually not?” “No,” I say. “You are an anomalous man. Lots of guys don’t have toilet paper.” Every one of his touches is so gentle it makes me shake like a leaf. “There are even extra rolls in the linen closet.” “You have a linen closet,” I whisper. “I sure do,” he whispers back. “Don’t tell anyone.”
