“It is a beautiful kitchen,” I said, sitting at the small laminate table. “The light is very good.”
“It makes financial sense for two people of our age to share space,” he said, using his index finger to push his wire-rimmed glasses up his nose.
He turned the flame down to a precise simmer.
“We would split the utility bills down to the penny,” he added, not looking back. “I earn a modest income as a property manager, and you earn twenty-two dollars an hour as a claims processor. It is a logical partnership.”
I adjusted the silver wedding band on my right hand, feeling the familiar cool metal slide against my knuckle.
“I would not want to crowd you, Robert,” I said. “I am used to my own routines.”
“You would not be crowding me,” he said, placing two white ceramic bowls on the counter with a quiet tap. “You would be integrating. A single person living alone is highly inefficient.”
The pasta was dry, tossed only with oil and a sprinkle of coarse salt, and he served it in equal portions.
