Oh great. He's here again. This time I was careful, so as soon as he appeared in front of my door, I let him in. Understanding the futility of the suit, he arrived in black jeans and a light brown coat. He put his coat on the hanger and I could tell he was either going on a date or he liked to dress in tight shirts. Not that it doesn't suit him. He had what to show.
He turned to me: "So, where are we going to work?"
I beckoned him to follow me. This time I chose the living room. It is more pleasant to sit on the couch than on a hard chair. The living room was spacious and, thanks to the large windows on one side, also bright. In the center stood out a table surrounded by two couches. On the sides, there were cabinets and shelves full of crap that I won or bought on the Internet. The floor was heated with one rug occupying the space between the couches, so as to not be on the hard floor if I tired of them. All in shades of red.
I sat down on one of the couches and Teodor sat opposite me. I have prepared everything in advance so that he's here as little time as possible. He still hasn't asked me questions about my behavior yesterday. I hope he forgot about it.
"Since you don't want to tell me anything about yourself, we'll do it differently," he said. I jinxed it.
"How?"
"I'll have to get to know you by working with you," he said casually. Definitely not. I don't want to tell him even the most basic things about myself.
"Well, good luck, because I won't tell you anything about myself," I wrote.
He smirked, "So you don't want me to help you with your book? Don't you want to make the best book ever?"
"Where do you get the confidence that you can help me?" If he tells me something stupid now, I'll fire him and call the publisher to get me another editor.
"Haven't you noticed that your books are missing something?" he said confidently.
...
I thought I was the only one who felt this way. All right. He can be cocky.
"Okay, I admit. I noticed that too." I wrote back, albeit a little annoyed. "So how do you want to help me?"
He thought for a moment and said: "Lunch will be a nice start." He got up and went to the kitchen. He opened the fridge looking for something to eat. He was lucky. I usually don't have anything except vifon noodles, but once in a while, I get cravings for normal food. He pulled out some vegetables, cheese, and chicken. I don't know what surprised me more. Either that he knows how to cook, or that the meat hasn't gone bad yet. I stopped looking at him and instead went to help him so he wouldn't mess up my kitchen. We cooked in a peculiar atmosphere. He looked like he was the talking type while cooking, and I think he said something, but he wasn't looking at me, so I don't know what.
After half an hour of cooking, we sat down at the table with fragrant chicken with herbs and vegetables. The cheese was foul.
I cut the chicken and put it in my mouth. Jesus, that's delicious! My mom could never make a meal like this. I look up at him and find him watching me. His look made it clear that he was waiting for me to praise him. Why not. I smiled and gave a thumbs up. He lit up like a candle.
"Well isn't it better than noodles?" he said. I laughed. The piece of chicken peeking out of his mouth did not add to his seriousness.
After we finished eating, we returned to the living room. I asked with mild interest: "Now what?"
"Now I'll tell you what you should change from what you showed me," he replied. I expected that we would do something other than just lunch. I liked it. I have nothing to complain about, even the lunch is more than he had to do. With mild reluctance, I set to work.
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