The Make Up, Part 2

We sit in his car in the driveway for a while, the both of us staring up at a house that takes my breath away, a house I never imagine a man like Seth to live in. For him, I imagined a grungy bachelor pad above a nightclub, the floor littered with men's magazines and discarded t-shirts. I sweep my attention along the tidy, landscaped garden on either side of the drive and onto the perfect lawn, not a single blade of grass higher than another.

"Is this your parent's place, or yours?" I wonder aloud.

"Mine."

"Do you do the gardening yourself?"

He laughs and opens his door. "I do all the yard work myself, yes."

I lift my eyebrows, impressed by the creativity and precision of his landscaping. Seth exits the car and closes his door. I wait in the silence, barely three heartbeats, before he opens my door and helps me out. He takes my backpack off the floor and slings it over his shoulder, then escorts me onto the pebbled path I strolled along earlier and, this time, it feels welcoming. I gli