Page 38 of Iron Heart
There. A place for me to read in the sun.
I take a floor lamp from over by the fireplace and put it next to the fainting couch, for better light on non-sunny days. I do a critical sweep of the room with my eyes, and almost without meaning to start picking up knickknacks. Soon my hands are full, and I have to go to the kitchen pantry to find a cardboard box to put them in. I bring the box back into the living room and fill it up with things. My breathing reflexively starts to deepen, as though the action of decluttering gives me more space to inhale and exhale.
When the box is full, I put it in the hallway, just inside the front door.
The large overstuffed couch is next. It’s flush against the back wall, far away from the fireplace. It should be more in the center of the room, which would be so much cozier. I go over and slide the coffee table away, then pick up one end of the couch and try to lift it over the edge of the large area rug. The couch is heavier than I thought, though. Even using all my strength, I can barely lift it up more than a couple of inches. I shuffle-walk a foot or so, then practically drop the thing. I’m already breathing heavily, my heart beating a little faster from the effort.
“Need some help with that?”
I shriek and spin around to find Dante standing in the doorway. He raises a brow.
“Shit, you’re skittish,” he remarks.
“You just… startled me,” I choke out. “I kind of forgot you were here.” I clutch at my heart and focus on its erratic pounding for a few seconds, checking for signs that it’s slowing or speeding up even as I struggle to act normal in front of Dante.
“I heard thumping around up here.” He nods toward the couch. “Want me to move that for you?”
I open my mouth to refuse. But then think better of it. I don’t love asking for help from anyone, but the fact is that moving this couch is really a two-person job. “I’m trying to move it to the center of the room,” I say, pulling my hand away from my chest to point. “In front of the fireplace.”
He nods. “That’s a better place for it.”
I take a deep breath, noting that my heart is starting to slow. I should probably wait a little longer just to make sure, but I don’t want to tell Dante why, so I move over to the other side of the couch and prepare to lift up my end.
“Nah, I got it,” he says, waving me off. I start to protest, but he easily lifts the other end of the couch, pivots the whole thing so that end is where I want it, then comes to ‘my’ end and does the same thing. I may or may not spend the entire time watching his arm and back muscles ripple under his shirt.
In five seconds, the couch is exactly where I want it to be.
“You want the coffee table in front of it?” he asks, striding over to it and catching it up before I can reply. He puts it in place. “There you go.”
“Thank you,” I murmur.
Dante comes over to where I’m standing. “Don’t mention it. Ask next time.”
I nod. “Okay.”
Dante stands in front of me, arms crossed, not talking. His eyes are locked on mine. He doesn’t say anything for so long, it starts to feel awkward.
“So…” I murmur, reddening. “It was nice to meet your brother the other day. Dominic?”
“Yeah,” he grunts. His brow furrows.
“Has he always been in transportation?”
Dante snorts. “No. He hasn’t.” He rolls his eyes. “He’s gonna try to make a go of it, though. I got him some business with the club, so at least he won’t starve while he’s getting on his feet.”
“The club needs refrigerated transport?” I ask, confused.
It’s an honest question, but for some reason it seems to bother Dante.
“You got anything else you want me to move?” he murmurs, changing the subject.
“No. That’s it.” My eyes leave his face and travel upward. “You have cobweb in your hair.”
Dante frowns, and runs a hand across the top of his head, but misses the cobweb.
“It’s right there,” I say, pointing to the side of my head.
He uses me like I’m his mirror, moving his hand and brushing at his hair, but missing it again.