“How far?”

“Since …” I trail off but he nudges me with his foot to keep going. “My mom picks up produce from supermarkets and restaurants in the evenings. She’s been doing it since I was around eight years old. A local business donated a van, it’s all pretty professional. The food is distributed to soup kitchens and community organizations, and she doesn’t get home until midnight.”

“She was gone all night, then. But your dad was home.”

“This is going to make me sound like a bad person.” I hesitate. “I hated her being gone. After his day, Dad’s tired, mad, distracted. He recharges himself with silence, and it wasn’t comfortable between us. He’d usually be in his office at night.”

“So you created your own nighttime routine.” Teddy looks around the room and back at me with understanding. “And you knew when Heaven Sent would be on TV. You could count on it. Like me.” A nice feeling of understanding glows between us.

“The other thing was, we usually had a stranger living in our house. There’s an emergency room in the basement, with a bed for whoever needs it. I was a fragile kid. I couldn’t deal with that, but I had to, because charity starts at home.”

A stranger brushing their teeth in the bathroom. A stranger sitting in my chair at the breakfast table.

“You asked me when we first met if I had strict parents. I did, but I think they expected me to know how to do the right thing and left me alone to work it out. I think we’ve got a bit in common there.”

“Your sacred bedtime Ruthie Ritual makes complete sense now. Maybe I should have done that, too.”

“It’s not too late to create a routine. Self-care as an adult is really important.”

He’s still thinking— about me, I think, because his eyes are on mine. “I’ll just keep sliding into your routine until you get annoyed and lock your door on me. So that amazing care package you left for me in the courtyard. You’ve done that a few times, huh? And this is why having me turn up out of the blue has been hard for you.”

I feel a little ashamed of myself. On the inside, I’ve been nothing but grudging charity. “Not hard, exactly.”

“It’s okay, I get it. Things are less peaceful with me around.”

“Who’s told you that?” I ask, but he’s finding the next episode of Heaven Sent. “You’re not going to talk through the episodes, are you? Wait, I thought of something to put in the deal breakers column.” I write on the form: Doesn’t like Heaven Sent.

Teddy performs an ab-trembling sit-up, reads what I wrote, then lies back down with a satisfied groan. “My sisters used to slap my ear if I talked. You can do that if you want.”

I press play and we sing the theme song together. I grab a knitted throw blanket for my lap and Teddy grabs the other end. We tug-of-war and laugh. How did this happen so easily?

One episode ends, the next begins. I put two chicken cordon bleus into the oven instead of one. I thought silence was all I would tolerate, but I enjoy talking during the episodes. He only offers good, funny observations at the right moment.

Including one observation I might steal as a debate prompt in my Heaven Sent You Here forum.

“I thought I was going to marry Francine Percival back in the day. She was my dream girl,” Teddy says when the credits roll and I hand him a plate of food. “Oh wow. I could get used to this.” Both statements ding a warning bell inside my brain.

“What is it about Francine you like? Other than the obvious.” The actress is now the face of a French cosmetics brand. This is a test for Teddy.

“She’s so neat and tidy.”

“Oh.” The same words Renata used to describe me, but now they’re said in his lovely husky voice. I put my plate on the coffee table and pick up my clipboard. In the turn-ons I write Honesty. Then I write, Good listener. Confident.

“She’s so reserved,” he continues as he eats. “I feel like she’s got so much going on below the surface, but nothing outwardly surprises her character. She’s self-controlled. Messes like me find that really intriguing. She’s funny as hell in that good, dry way that I’m addicted to. Almost every laugh in this show is because of her.”

I’m surprised by his insight. “I like that about her too. There’s this episode when she gets her wisdom teeth out, and her crush Ash Dangerfield visits her in hospital— ”

“Oh yeah, and she’s waking up from the anesthetic.” Teddy grins. “Francine’s telling him the truth. No filter. God, I should be so lucky.”

“She’s ridiculous in that scene, but she’s still somehow dignified. Francine can handle anything. It’s liberating to talk about this out loud. I haven’t found anyone in real life who watches this show, let alone a guy.”

I go back to my clipboard and try to think of nonincriminating things to write in the turn-ons column. Reliable. Mature. Insightful. All those things could still be applied to Teddy in various ways. He’s jumped through every flaming hoop that Renata has set up for him, and he’s been admirably dedicated to his new job.

“Guys like me,” Teddy says, and my tummy takes a dangerous dip, “wonder what it would take to get a girl like Francine all …” He forks up a huge mouthful of food. “All messy,” is what he goes with when he swallows. “Uncontrolled and kinda wild. What would it take to get her there?” He’s got those hot eyes again.

“I’m sure you wonder about that all the time.” I hold the clipboard away when he tries to reach for it. This clipboard will confirm his suspicions. “No. Mind your own business.”

“What’d you write?” The paw marked TAKE makes another swipe. “We share everything, remember?” I left the front door open, so I can’t be surprised to have this big black kitty curled up on my couch now.

“Never mind.” I switch to the next column. “Might as well think of a few turnoffs.”

“You were just sitting there writing turn-ons? Fuck me. Scandalized.” He puts his empty plate on the coffee table and slides down to lie flat, his socked feet in my lap and a forearm across his eyes. “I love it in here. Let me stay.”

“What, for tonight?”

“Forever.” It’s declared sincerely. He looks at my untouched plate and licks the corner of his lips.

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “You can’t keep saying things like that to me.”

“Why not?”

“I’ll …” I can’t think of what to say.

“What.” He’s daring me. “Say it.”

“I’ll get too used to you being here.” I wonder how many other girls’ cushions he’s curled up on. “Who was your last Good Samaritan?”

“What do you mean?”

“In the meeting, your dad said that you ran out of couches. You also said Good Samaritans were usually female.”

He blinks a few times like he’s mentally changing gears. “Not always. I had to bounce off a couple of guys I went to school with until I swallowed my pride and called old Papa Prescott.” He pulls his feet out of my lap. “I don’t like thinking about this.”

He sits up, takes my unguarded clipboard, and lies back to read it.

“Boring as shit,” he declares after a second. “This is what you want? This is your dream guy? Give me the pen. I wanna make some amendments.” His eyes read, back and forth, a scowl I’ve never seen on his face. “Now this is someone who’s never been late for rent in his life.”

“Me, and what I want, is a ridiculous joke?” I slash an imaginary line across my knuckles. “I mean, I know you’ve got TAKE permanently inked on your body, but it really isn’t an attractive quality.”

“Generosity is underlined twice. Your dream man is a model of charity and virtue.”

When I wrote that, I was thinking about how generosity takes many forms. Teddy is lavish with his attention and care. I try to take the clipboard again.

“You should learn how to take.” He holds up a finger to silence whatever retort I’m trying to formulate. “Saint Ruthie of Providence needs to learn how to get selfish.”

“Well, you’re the perfect person to teach me.”

“You could always take the option Renata suggested. Don’t pretend you don’t know what I mean.” He spirals a finger at the dark doorway at the end of the room. “I’ve been dreaming about snuggling under your patchwork quilt. Please wake me up in time for work.”

“Don’t joke about this.”

“I dare you,” he says and for once, his hypnotizing charmvoice penetrates the shield I hold up around him. “What does it take for your composure to slip? You feel this, I know you do.”

“Is this what you normally do? What you’ve suggested is not very romantic.”

“It’s true, I’ve never been accused of being romantic, but I think I’ll love kissing you. That’s all we’ll do. Just kiss and I get to sleep in your bed tonight. I think that’s pretty romantic.”