Terrifying. Kind of exhilarating, too. Maybe.

She went to the three houses where she worked as a home heath aide and zipped through her chores, then raced home to clean the house. She was a little anal about cleanliness, as the trailer had had mold and sticky, decades-old shag carpeting, but with Davey and a puppy, there was always some mess to clean up.

The rental house wasn’t much—cheaply built back in the seventies, identical to Ricky’s, but Jess had done her best to make it nice. She shopped tag sales religiously, always the first one there, and over the years, had scored some nice things: charmingly mismatched pieces of Fiestaware, a painted ceramic bowl from Italy, a decent powder-blue couch that wasn’t attractive, but was clean and comfortable, a wobbly bookcase she painted black and shimmed till it didn’t tip anymore, and a kitchen table with three chairs for when Mom would come over for supper.

The backyard was mostly dirt, but there was a tree that was good for climbing. Davey loved to climb trees, and because he did, Jess did, too. Otherwise, it was pretty drab. Ricky was a great neighbor, though he had some dark times when he’d just disappear inside the house for a week or so, not answering the door, leaving the TV on twenty-four hours a day; he was a vet and had some pretty severe PTSD. Jess would bring him food and leave it on the porch during those times. The neighbors on the other side fought a lot, and Jess had had to call the police a few times, which didn’t make them love her.

Someday she’d own her own place. A house with a backyard that was more than a cracked cement patio and crabgrass. She’d have a flower garden, the ultimate luxury, and grow tomatoes and basil, too. There’d be a porch with a glider and hanging baskets. That always seemed like the crown jewel to her...big, full baskets of flowers brightening the entire street, attracting hummingbirds, which always fascinated Davey, and butterflies, which her mom adored.

That was what normal people did.

But for now, this house was fine. It was shabby, but it was a real house, with a cellar and everything, and the landlord wasn’t horrid; the rent was manageable.

Davey was extra tired that day, so somewhat miraculously, he fell asleep early, Chico Three snuggled under his arm. Jess took another pass through the house, flipped the seat down on the toilet since Davey never did. Straightened a towel. Cleaned off the counters.

She was nervous. She’d never had a boy over like this. Levi Cooper was the only one who’d ever come to their trailer to hang out, and that was only because he lived in the trailer across the way.

A half hour later, Connor pulled up in his truck. Her chest prickled with a flush, and her heart rate doubled. He held a pot of yellow chrysanthemums.

“Hey,” he said, standing there on her stoop. “Thank you for having me.”

“Yeah, sure,” she said. “Thanks for the flowers. Um...you can put them on the step there.”

He obeyed, then came in, filling the small kitchen. How tall was he? Six-two? Tall.

“This is nice,” he said. “You have a...what does Colleen say? A good eye. For, you know. Color and stuff. It’s very clean, too. It’s great, I mean. Thanks for inviting me over.”

So he was nervous, too. “We have to be quiet, okay? Davey’s asleep. He doesn’t usually wake up, but...”

“Okay.”

He just looked at her with those eyes of his, those tangled lashes and the perfect, clear blue-gray color. Those eyes should be against the law. His hands, too. He smelled like soap; he’d showered before coming here, she could tell, and it was somehow very innocent and sweet that he’d taken a shower before coming here.

Clearing her throat, she said, “I guess I’ll...make popcorn. Why don’t you put the movie on?” They had an old TV and a VCR; probably the last VCR in existence, but it had been free, and Davey loved his movies.

Jess made the popcorn. It was so strange having Connor here, in the next room. In her house.

This was like a real date. This was a real date.

She dumped the popcorn into the Italian bowl and went into the living room. Was it supposed to be this awkward? It felt very awkward. “Want anything to drink?” she asked. Should’ve asked that before.

“I’m good. Thank you.”

They sat on the couch.

“Thanks for doing this, Jess,” Connor said, and she couldn’t quite look at him.

“You’re welcome,” she whispered. Her pulse slipped and skidded, and she could feel her cheeks heating with a blush.

She was happy.

She was home, her brother was safe and she had a boyfriend. The first boyfriend ever. And God help her, this felt real. It wasn’t just a quick escape; it wasn’t so he’d be nice to Davey; it was because she liked Connor O’Rourke.

And he liked her.

He smelled so good. Her skin prickled and hummed, and she couldn’t even remember what movie she’d picked up from the library, though the opening credits were rolling and some ominous music played. She could feel the heat of his arm, which was so close to touching hers.

Then he looked at her, and she was kissing him before she even knew it.

They kissed and shifted and kissed some more, and Jess turned up the volume a little to make sure Davey wouldn’t hear anything. Nothing ever felt as good as his heavy, hard body against hers, practically on top of her now. How could a guy who cooked and ate all day feel so strong? The muscles in his shoulders slid and tensed under her hands, the long line of his back was smooth and lean. His hand was on her breast, teasing and gentle, his leg between hers, asserting all sorts of delicious pressure, and Jessica thought if they could just do this for the next fifty years or so, she wouldn’t ask for anything else.

He pulled back, breathing hard, looked at her, eyes heavy, cheeks ruddy. Then he smiled. “This is fun,” he whispered.

She nodded.

Then Connor looked over her shoulder. “We have company,” he said.

It was Chico Three, wagging his tail, head cocked, like he was waiting for an introduction.

“Chico Three, this is Connor,” Jessica said. “Connor, meet Davey’s new puppy.”

Connor disentangled himself, leaving Jessica feeling unfulfilled and a bit empty. But it was okay; the night was young. He sat up, scooping the puppy onto his lap. “Hey, boy,” he said, and Chico wriggled with delight, wagging wildly, nipping Connor’s chin, making little whining noises of delight. “Ow,” Con said, smiling. “Those are some sharp teeth. No biting, Chico.”

“What are you doing here?”

Jess jumped. Davey stood at the bottom of the stairs, hair rumpled, looking confused. Shit, shit, shit. Play it calm, be matter-of-fact. “Davey, you know Connor, right?”

“Hey, Davey,” Connor said, still petting the puppy.

“What are you doing here? Why do you have my dog? Let go of him!”

“Honey, it’s okay, he’s not—”

“Let go of him! Don’t kill him!” His face was getting mottled and red, and if she didn’t stop this, it was going to be bad.

Jess stood up. “Davey, we were just watching, um, a spy movie. What’s your favorite spy movie?” she asked. Redirect. That was what all the psychologists said, all the articles on the internet, but she was too late, and they were the wrong questions.

“Why did you let him in?” Davey yelled. He grabbed a photo frame from the bookcase and threw it at Connor, missing, then reached for a pinch pot he’d made her in pottery class, which he threw to the floor. It cracked in two.