CHLOE GLANCED UP, STARTLED when Dok entered her office. “I finished cleaning up the tables and here are the receipts from the till.”

“Oh. Thank you, Dok. I appreciate it.”

Dok tapped her foot. She was always in and out with whatever she had to say. Chloe leaned back in her chair. “Did you need something else?” She kept her tone super polite.

“The things I said that day with Tara…”

“Oh. That. It was my fault. You all were right. I hope everyone can forgive me for that. I was overwrought. I shouldn’t have been here.”

“I understand.”

Chloe folded her hands together, confused over what else Dok could want. She stared straight ahead as her mouth twisted into a scowl. “You know,” Chloe said softly as she finally realized there would be no other reason for this woman to be standing there so absurdly upright with her lips pursed so strangely. Chloe stood up slowly, pushing her chair back. She crossed the room and went over to the door and shut it. She hoped to avoid having anyone else hear whatever Dok had to say, like Tiana and Petra. She indicated that Dok should go towards the couch, trying to take the sting out of the situation. Dok had a good thirty years on her and was a loyal and valued employee.

“Please sit.” Chloe said and Dok did, although her back remained rigid. “How did you know?”

“All the stolen glances, he suddenly comes into your office at least once a day, and sometimes more, closing the door, when I’m pretty sure he’s never set foot in here before.”

Chloe blushed. “N—nothing was going on. I’ve just been having a hard time since my sister’s funeral and he is… I don’t know, calming somehow. It’s nothing inappropriate.”

Dok nodded, and her back stiffened even more. She didn’t answer or reveal anything. Although she did raise one eyebrow skeptically.

Chloe shook her head. “You’re just like him. Neither of you give anything away.”

Her lips twitched. “Oh, no. Not even close. I react. My lips twitched and I scowled to show my displeasure. My son wouldn’t have displayed that much.”

Surprised at the quick evaluation of Chet, Chloe let out a laugh that helped to ease the tension for her. But Dok didn’t relent in her posture. Chloe couldn’t hide her smile at picturing Chet’s reaction to this and Dok was right on. “No. No, he wouldn’t.”

“You get that about him?”

“Um, well, I’ve witnessed it pretty consistently, yes.”

“It doesn’t bother you? Being one who cries and screams and carries on with your employees, even trying to fire one, you’re now telling me my son’s stoic demeanor and neutrality is what you want?”

She winced at Dok’s description of Chet and her. It made her sound like a crazy, screaming, and totally unprofessional mess. Not to mention being a tyrant to work for. It only happened twice that she acted that way: when she got the news about Ebony and when she tried to fire Tara. Dok made Chet sound so boring, dull, and odd, and she was asking how could Chloe want that? “Yes. Actually. He’s not indifferent at all. He’s just calm. Level-headed, steady, and strong.”

“I know what my son is. He’s also unemotional. Perhaps that works for you because you are the opposite?”

Chloe shifted around. “Yes. What are you asking me, Dok? Do you want to know if I’m sure about this? No. I realize I shouldn’t be dating an employee. It honestly just happened. I wasn’t looking for it if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“Oh, maybe not, but he was. He’s had his eye on you for three years. I just didn’t think you’d notice seeing as how you never looked at him, or considered him a person, a man especially. Hell, did you ever say more than two words to him?”

“No,” Chloe answered, her tone growing feeble. Wow, Dok was observant. “No. I didn’t. I wasn’t even sure he could speak fluent English. Chet knows that. I asked him. What do you want from me? A promise? I’ll give it to you. Whatever happens, I won’t turn it against either of you or your jobs. I’ll step aside before I’d do something like that.”

“You’re just the last thing he needs.”

“May I ask you something? Besides work, why would you say that? Do you dislike me?”

“I don’t dislike you. It’s that he’s… not ready for this.”

“For what?”

“The emotional baggage you come with. He’s not good with emotions. Considering how he is—”

“How is he? You keep mentioning that.”

She shot to her feet, shaking her head. “No. I shouldn’t have gotten into this with you.”

Chloe grabbed Dok’s elbow, grasping her sleeve. “But you did. Why? What do you want me to know? Why are you doubting if you should tell me?”

Dok flung Chloe’s hand off her. Her expression was fierce and her tone was angry as she spat out, “He already had to bury his own sister. It can’t be good for him if he has to help you bury yours. Do you really think that he can help you? Or that you can do any good for him?” Spinning around, Dok stormed out.

Chloe stared after her slammed shut door with her mouth open and her entire body went rigid. What? What the hell? What the fuck? What had Dok just said? Chet buried his sister? What? She spent day and night for a matter of weeks with the man, so she should freaking have known, shouldn’t she have? She would have to know he had a sister. Surely, he would have told her.

But…? Sighing, she shut her eyes. Statements that he said to her drifted through her brain. By rote, she got to her feet, bypassing her desk and all her employees, including Chet, to leave. She drove to his place and entered it, walking directly to his paintings. There were a bunch more stored in his back closet. Crammed full. She never looked at those. The answer, she knew, would be there. She knew that because all of Chet’s life was portrayed on his canvases. He might not speak about it, but he could paint it, everything he observed as he so modestly explained his talent. He saw everything, it seemed, and noticed all the details, everywhere, about everyone, even people and situations he had no interest in, or who had no real importance or meaning to him. He could still paint every last, small detail. And whatever that answer was, she could find it on these canvases.

She wasn’t feeling like herself or thinking clearly as Dok correctly diagnosed. She found the paintings of someone who had to be Chet’s sister and Dok’s daughter. She naturally assumed it was a full sister but she didn’t know. The young woman was lovely with dark hair, a bright smile and a prim outfit. Chloe saw plenty of her different moods captured on the canvases. Love and care were evident in the softness of the lines he used. He purposely avoided any bold or harsh lines or colors, and they all seemed more like mirages or smoky images that seemed about to disappear.

It wasn’t long before she glanced up and saw Chet. He entered as silently as a mouse. Not the first time he’d snuck up on her either.

“You had a sister,” Chloe blurted out without preamble. He must have realized she knew now, and only his mother could have told her.

“Yes.”

“And she died. Like mine.”

“Yes.”

Chloe shut her eyes. “So when you said there was no point in reciting empty platitudes to me, you were speaking from your own personal experience, right?”

“Yes.”

“You’re going to have to give me some more here, Chet. How then, in all these weeks, since you slept with me on the night of my sister’s memorial, how could you not tell me you had a sister who also died?”

“I should have told you,” he calmly stated. What reasonable person wouldn’t have told her?

“Ya think? What is wrong with you? Why? Why wouldn’t you mention it? Don’tcha think it’s pretty relevant?”

“Because… you didn’t ask…” he said, and for the first time, his hesitation spoke volumes. He stepped forward, flinching as he glanced down at her. She was sure her eyes must have been wild, and the veins popping in her throat must have been visible as her mouth tightened in disdain.

Anger exploded through her. Blood pounded and boiled in her veins. “I didn’t ask? Oh, my God. Are you for real? I didn’t check with you first to see if you had a dead sister? Gee, ya think? What is wrong with you? I was grieving and wondering why you, of all people, and a near stranger, grieved with me. You understood me so well when you shouldn’t have. Why would you not just tell me? I mean, it’s freaking unbelievable. I didn’t ask. That is ridiculous. Stupid. Callous. That cannot be your real reason.”

He cleared his throat and sat down on the edge of the bed, leaning forward and pressing a hand to his head. “It is. My only reason.” His tone was quiet and soft.

“HOLY SHIT!” Chloe yelled as loudly as she could while kicking at his bed, only to start hopping around in circles when it hurt her toe. “Holy shit. You have to do better than that. You have to give me something more. Something that’s normal. Rational. Reasonable. Something that makes sense.”

He didn’t raise his head up. The silence went on and on and on. “Chet?” Chloe eventually pressed.

More silence. She was about to give up when he said something so softly she had to ask, “What? What did you just say? What excuse did you just give me? Was this whole caring about my grief and shit just a ploy to get into my pants? Your opportunity to pounce on me because you harbored a stupid, long-term crush on me? You had the hots for me, so here was your chance?”

Calm and controlled, Chet shook his head at her inflammatory yelling and mean-spirited accusations, saying only, “No.”

“No?” she shrieked. She wanted to smash the wall behind her with her fist. “Give me more. Give me something. Some kind of real explanation. Something to explain why you can manage to be the biggest dick in the entire world.”

He hunched forward and finally muttered, “I’m autistic. I didn’t realize I needed to tell you.”

She jerked back so far, she hit the wall behind her. Her mouth dropped opened in shock. “What?” she shrieked without realizing it. What did he mean? Autistic? What a fucking lie. It had to be. He couldn’t be. No. She would have known. She would… well, maybe she could not properly describe what it meant to be autistic but she recognized it when she saw it. And this? Chet was not autistic. Not someone she was sleeping with.

He dropped his head down. “Back in school, they referred to it as Asperger’s to be more accurate. Now, it is called high functioning autism. Many people still separate them however. I don’t know what the reason is for all the controversy. But most people recognize the term Asperger’s more often than high functioning autism. Besides, it’s longer and harder to say. Anyway, I’ve been told that I don’t react like others. I don’t agree with them. I don’t see it. But I can tell you what they told me.”

“Wh—who are they?”

“Psychologists. The school first diagnosed me. But I never felt like it was something that needed a cure. I don’t feel different or anything.”

Her eyes were rounded and her mouth too. She had no experience or any idea how to react. Visions of the word filtered through her brain, but none of them fit Chet. None of them fit the man she’d been spending countless satisfying and gratifying hours being around.

“I hate the word. It makes me sound like a handicapped kid who stares at the wall, unable to speak or communicate. I’m not. It’s not like that. I’m not weird.” His gaze finally lifted and this time, he drilled it right into hers. She was shocked to see tears filling his eyes. He blinked them back and she drew in a breath. Fisting her hand, she slowly sat down next to him.

“What? What did they describe?”

“I have a high IQ. I’m not stupid. It’s not due to a lack of intelligence.”

“Okay, I never thought it was. Ever. Honest. I’ve listened to every word you’ve ever said to me and taken all of your advice to date. So I haven’t treated you differently.”

He sucked in a breath, “Concrete. That’s how they described the world I saw. Literally, like concrete. I don’t acknowledge my emotions—”

“Like you—”

“I have them,” he interrupted her, and his tone, for once, was full of meaning and a sense of passion. “I have them all. I feel them all. I… I guess it’s just a communication thing lacking in me. I fail to pick up on normal social cues and body language. I miss a lot of it, okay, probably the majority of it, especially with strangers. But I get you because I’ve noticed you and spent a lot of time getting to know you. The longer I know someone, the more I get them. Or I guess after I observe someone long enough, I can figure out what their body language means.”

“Like you do with me? It’s like you have to learn a person?”

“Yeah. I guess so.”

“So you’re better after interacting with people and the longer you know someone or are around them, the more responsive you are to them?”

“Maybe. From their perspective, I guess. I don’t really know what I do wrong. I just know there are things. I don’t like to be different. So I always pay attention to what others do, and how they act and what they wear and say around me. I can learn it too. Fast. I told you, I’m not stupid. So I mimic them and apply what I learn to my own life. At least, that’s what they told me.”

“Who are they?”

“Another psychologist that I saw for a while. One-on-one. He talked about it and described it to me from the eyes of others.”

“Like giving you a class in social skills or something?”

“No. That’s about the worst thing you could do to a kid like me. What? Put me in a group? Make me behave a certain way with others watching? No. It was one-on-one help when I was in high school.”

“What else?”

“It’s different for everyone. My psychologist told me they rate it on a spectrum. He considered me the highest of the high functioning. And almost typical.” He smiled at her quickly, then dropped his head back down. “But not totally. He gave me this example: think of it as being bipolar, which is rated on a spectrum too. On the mild end of the spectrum, the person might be having mood stability problems, while on the severe side, they might run down the street naked while yelling they are on fire. See the difference? Same underlying disorder, but extremely different symptoms. I know what you picture at hearing the word, autism, but that’s not me.”

“You have a sense of humor. I thought Asperger’s meant no sense of humor and monotone speaking.”

“I don’t check every box of what can be a symptom. I have narrow interests. I do have that problem. My focus can be a little too intense when I’m painting.”

“But just your painting? You don’t share it or seem to want to share it with others,” she said softly, and somehow, the term finally clicked as being true.

“That’s right. And some people with AS have and understand senses of humor. That was one reason my mom first argued against the diagnosis. I always managed to have friends, and I fit in pretty well and get the humor and sarcasm when I hear or read it. I told you before, it’s a fluid thing. And my version isn’t as extreme as the more obvious versions.”

“You also use inflection in your voice. I would have noticed if you spoke in a monotone.”

“I do, yeah, but I still frustrate you with how little I do speak. You’ve commented on that several times, so I try to talk more often with you. Look, this is how they finally explained it to me: I miss the most common verbal and nonverbal cues. I may appear normal when someone first meets me, and they might assume I’m maybe just quiet or don’t like to talk a lot; but after spending more time with me, some might find me a little odd.” A small smile touched his lips. “That’s how my sister used to describe me. She said I was just a little odd.”

Chloe ran both her hands through her hair as her anxiety overcame her. His sister. Back to that. There was so much here, so much shock and mystery and surprise, she didn’t even know where to start. “You were very close to her?”

“Yes.”

“There is so much I want to know, I don’t know what to ask first. How did she die?”

“Fell out of a window.”

Chloe didn’t expect that and her eyes penetrated his. “What?” she exclaimed louder than needed. “What did you just say?”

“She was at college, attending a party. She got drunk and sat on the ledge of a window several stories up. She fell out and the fall killed her.”

Chloe gasped. “Oh, my God. I—I don’t know what to say. That’s… that’s so horrible. Oh, God, your poor mother. Dok. That must have been… oh, my God…” She kept ranting on incoherently as she leaned over and gripped his hand but he didn’t respond to it. She slowly accepted the truth as she lifted her gaze up to his.

“You don’t like to touch much either, do you?”

“I’m not against it.”

“But it doesn’t comfort you, does it?”

“Not particularly.”

“Why do you touch me then?” she asked, and her expression turned crooked. There was so much to understand and she didn’t know how to process it.

“It helps you. I like to see you happy.”

“And after observing that, you want to do things that make me happy?”

He shrugged. “That’s probably the case, yes. I can’t say I ever thought it out though.”

“And sex?”

“I like sex,” he answered instantly. So eagerly, she almost smiled. But things were too serious and chaotic right now and she had too much information to process.

“But all the touching otherwise, that’s strictly for me?”

“That’s strictly for you.”

She nodded and pressed her lips together. “What was your sister’s name?”

“Hathai.”

“That’s pretty. Does it mean anything?”

“Heart.”

“How old was she? And how long ago did she die? Was she older than you?”

In an even tone, he answered her series of questions in the order she asked them, clinically and literally. “Twenty-one. She died six years ago, when she was twenty-one and I was eighteen.”

“I’m very sorry.”

He shrugged.

“So you approached me when my sister died because you recognized something? The pain, I mean. And you reacted to me the way you wished others had reacted to you?”

He leaned forward, pressing his hands to his temples. His face was pale and drawn. Whatever was going on inside him, this conversation wasn’t easy. “Yes.”

She nodded as so many different snippets from his past conversations collected in her head and settled together. Odd could describe him, and what she’d experienced so far with him. But then again, he was not unpleasantly odd. Not in a way she couldn’t stand him. “You really do understand about Ebony then.”

“I understand what losing a sister feels like.”

“Yes, I see that you do. Were you and your sister close?”

 “Yes. My mom always said she was overly protective of me. She used to tell me I came across as being cold, neutral, stoic, reserved, and hard to read.”

“But you don’t necessarily see that about yourself? That is what you were told?”

He nodded. “Yes. I probably just don’t care. I only know the way I am often puzzles or bothers people. That’s what I’ve been told anyway.”

“Wow. And your sister?”

“She had the easiest time explaining my diagnosis to me. She probably helped me more than all the professional educators or doctors, combined. She was always pretty honest with me as well as others. She saw my condition as a difference in logic, but not a problem. I spent a lot of time with her, and my parents said a lot of the symptoms I had when I was younger improved as I got older.”

“What happened to your parents?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. They fought all the time after she died. They split up. Dad left and my mom needed a job. I was in school while she was floundering and feeling so sad without Hathai. She said she hated being all alone here.”

Chloe’s eyes shut. “So it made sense to you to come here to be with her.”

“Yes.”

“You got a job with me to keep an eye on her.”

“Yup.”

“What were you taking in school? Art?”

“No. That doesn’t make any money. That’s just something to do in my spare time. And I was always good at it. I went to school to study structural engineering. Well, that was the end goal. I only completed a year at community college.”

“Oh. Wow.” She bit her lip. He was kind of the opposite of what she pictured. One thinks of painters and artists in general as creative, impulsive, and emotional people. Not people who do it because they have natural talent, so hell, it makes sense to use it. And because it interested him. His interests were few and it gave him something to do by himself. Financially speaking, he was right, how many people could earn a career from it? He wasn’t prone to flights of fancy and had no illusions or daydreams of getting rich and famous or even appreciated for his art. He created it because he wanted to. End of story.

She blew out a breath. “I have about a thousand questions.”

“I’ll try and answer them.”

She clucked her tongue, restraining a smile. “Not actually a thousand.”

“Okay, then whatever you’ve got.”

“So by not telling me about your sister, you weren’t being callous or mean?”

His head shot up and he glanced at her. She assumed he was surprised, but again, his facial expression didn’t change. “No. Of course not. That’s what you think I was? For not saying it? I didn’t realize one had anything to do with the other.”

“It would seem natural to me. I believe most people would have told me about their dead sister after holding me on one of the dozens of occasions when I was crying over the death of my sister.”

He nodded. “Oh. Right. I see that now. I didn’t mean to keep it from you. Or hide it. I didn’t mean to do it anyway, actually. I just knew how much it hurt.”

“And you comforted me.”

“I don’t know. Yes. You like to be hugged.”

“I do. And you observed that over the three years that you’ve known me?”

“Yes.”

She closed her eyes and wilted forward. Holy shit. This was all so much. So unique. So not what she expected. She didn’t know how to process it.

“It makes me seem less. Or… or strange or something. I’m not, Chloe. At all. I’m just… I communicate a little differently. I can change if there’s something I do wrong. I don’t like to do it wrong. I’ll listen to you. I’ll learn. I will, if you need that from me.”

She sucked in a breath. It was a powerful plea. He wasn’t lying, playing games or being coy. She now fully understood what she sensed so strongly about him before. He was that honest. That literal. That concrete. While it drove her a little nuts, what with his incessant neutrality and the obvious things he didn’t say, other parts of his personality were overwhelmingly amazing. Like his focus on her. His ability to ignore what came natural to him, in order to make her happy.

None of this was anything like what she pictured. She knew about Asperger’s. It was stereotyped on TV and in the movies for years. It’s always used as a kind of cardboard place holder, portraying any monotone, odd, weird individual who doesn’t fit into normal society. People with AS are often portrayed to ramble on about long-winded, boring subjects, remaining oblivious to others or the reactions around them. They spit out awkwardly inappropriate statements in the middle of groups or conversations. In other words, people with AS have been typically portrayed as peculiar and woefully unable to fit into society. They weren’t portrayed as actual nuanced and valid people. People with as many characteristics and passions, faults and loves as anybody else. They were just people. And portraying them as so unlovable was not only false and unfair, but completely wrong. She now clearly understood that.

It never occurred to Chloe that someone could have Asperger’s and still interact and be a part of the social fabric without it being highly noticeable.

But she hadn’t known.  

Knowing Chet, as she could well attest to now, that wasn’t the case at all. His sister—his dead sister—explained it correctly. You had to spend time with Chet to fully grasp he had his own, distinct personality. But it didn’t strike Chloe as being weird or indefinable, until he mentioned the actual term for it. She recalled the moments when she found him strange, but for the most part, he was helpful to her, and he appreciated her, and seemed wonderful and easy to be around. He wasn’t ever loud. And he didn’t prattle on and on about nothing. He was comfortable with prolonged silences and honest and trustworthy. He was funny too. He often added dry, sarcastic statements to conversations and his daily observations were both smart, savvy and often things she’d never have thought of or thought of in the ways that Chet did.

Chet was not at all the weird, awkward, or an uninteresting caricature of an Asperger’s sufferer that she’d seen in most of the media renditions. Perhaps no one was. It made her rethink everything she’d ever heard about being on the autism spectrum.

Chet was just Chet. And she not only respected, liked, cared for and relied on him. She could see herself falling in love with him.

This was a lot to take in, let alone begin to figure out how she felt about it. For this being a subject she never considered wondering about was kind of an understatement. She’d thought about different types of men she might like to date, from their professions, lifestyles and personalities to even considering if she cared whether she dated a man of her own skin color or not. Sure, she’d thought out all kinds of scenarios for the types of men she might date. But wondering how she’d feel or deal with a man who had—it was even hard for her to say it out loud, it felt so odd—autism… on the spectrum… whatever one wanted to label all this, she’d never in a moment’s pause wondered over it. She had never much paid attention to its characteristics to be honest, so she just didn’t know. For real. She didn’t really have an understanding of anything about it.

“I didn’t mean to keep my sister a secret from you. I see now that seems weird to you. But it wasn’t—” he kept shaking his head. “It wasn’t on purpose.”

She sucked in a breath. He was so earnest and real. So worried this could make her leave him and be gone. Like she was giving up on him and them.

But there was nothing about the words of what she knew about autism and what she knew about Chet that made it seem like there was any reason to leave him. None. She liked him, all of him, so much. So giving his traits a new label, though shocking and disconcerting didn’t change how she felt about him.

“Did you ever feel the need to talk about your sister?”

“No. It hurts to talk about her. So I don’t do it.”

She shuddered. “How can you forget your sister?”

He jerked upright as if she’d thumped him hard on the back. “I never, not for a day forget my sister. I told you, it hurts to talk about her, so I don’t, but it doesn’t mean I don’t care.”

She rubbed her hands together, confused about what to say. “I’m sorry, that was too far of me. But if your way to handle the same devastation is to not talk or cry or grieve out loud, how could you possibly want my way of dealing with this? Which is to do all that in excess, at least when compared to yours.”

He shrugged. “It’s not excessive. It’s what you do. It’s how you deal with things. You talk. You get emotional. You seek out comfort. That isn’t new, you have as long as I’ve known you. The only thing new here is it’s me you seek that from. I don’t compare my way to yours. I just understand that neither is wrong. They’re just different.”

Different. The simplicity of his argument made complete sense to her. It didn’t necessarily make him different however. Just in how he expressed things, communicated them, from her. Why was her way so “normal” and his so “different”? Who determined that?

“So you feel sympathy?”

“Yes. Of course I feel sympathy.” His shoulders jerked as if she’d pushed against him. His body language showed obvious anger at her question. She read that body language. What he was saying was he couldn’t always read hers, and especially couldn’t read a stranger’s? She tilted her head considering how frustrating that must be. He would struggle to interpret social situations and other people. She’d never considered how frustrating that must be. He was aware enough of himself to know he missed things, but for some reason, which was hard for her to comprehend, he could not easily read body language and facial expressions and assign feelings to them. So he didn’t have half the information she used to interpret and read social cues.

Then he shook his head, staring downwards. “Once I know or understand what someone else is feeling or expressing, I feel all that you do about them. The problem comes in that I don’t always “just know” where everyone else might “just know.” What might be obvious to you and most everyone else, might not be to me. If someone generically smiles at me, I note it. I see it. I don’t feel anything from it. I had to learn that most everyone else will automatically smile back, it’s considered polite, but I don’t just naturally do that. I make myself do that. I didn’t “just know” to do it. I note almost everything about everyone I meet, it just has no attached feelings inside me to know how to interpret it or react. So I miss things. Parts of the interactions that are subtle or nonverbal. I just don’t always express it or… or I don’t know to share how you might feel. But if I know, I feel as much sympathy as anyone, maybe even more.”

“And with this… when you heard me crying in the bathroom about Ebony, you knew. You were sure what I was feeling because it was obvious and you’d felt it yourself.”

“Yes.”

“Did you cry? Over your sister?”

“I cried. I… I felt a lot of things. It was hard.” The words were simple, beyond an understatement but the force of his words told her, it was far more devastating of an experience than he could communicate. His body language gave away a lot about him, which she was sure he might not fully grasp or understand.

“I’ve been kind of awful to you at times. I didn’t know… I didn’t understand somethings you said or did, but I should have been kinder about it. I couldn’t get out of myself enough to even try.”

“You didn’t mean most of it. I knew you were grieving.”

“How did you know? How did you not take my words at face value if you can’t fully read social cues?”

“I knew you before this happened. I knew how you were. I knew what losing a sister does, the feelings… they make it hard to be your normal.”

“Yes,” she said softly. His simple explanation more fully explained her mental state of late than all the ranting and raving she could have tried to use to explain what was inside of her.

“Chloe?”

She turned her head to him.

“There’s nothing wrong with me. I’m different. I get that. I can be hard for you to understand. But I’m no different than you’ve known me to be. And it doesn’t change that I love you.”

She stared at him, her eyes widening as she licked her lips. “And if you say it, I know you mean it.”

He nodded. “Yes.”

“Do you lie?”

“Sure. I’m not incapable of it. If something doesn’t make sense to me, I might fudge my reasoning. This doesn’t make me a robot.” She touched his hand again, forgetting that it didn’t help him. She tried to remove it but he clasped hers. “I know it’s the way you show caring. Touching me. So I… I’m used to doing it your way.”

She pressed her lips together. He was serious. “But you don’t like it?”

“I don’t dislike it. Not at all.”

“But you don’t need it?”

“No, you do. That’s reason enough for it.” His knee started jiggling. “But in all honestly? I don’t like other people to touch me unexpectedly. Unless I know them and why they are. My mom likes to be hugged when she hasn’t seen me in a while, so I know that and expect that, so it’s okay. But you? You’re very spontaneous and free with your affections. I know this, and expect this, so I usually don’t mind with you.”

“Because you wanted to have sex with me?”

A glimmer of a smile touched his lips. “Well, yeah. I know touching is all part of that. But because it’s something I know you like and need and because it’s important to you, it’s important to me with you.”

“Okay.” She squeezed his hand. “This is all a lot… I don’t know yet… I need some time.”

“Okay.” But it wasn’t okay. She could see his apprehension, something he didn’t often reveal.

“Look, this was something they diagnosed a dozen years ago. I wasn’t then and I’m still not convinced it’s a thing. I’m not being medicated for anything. Maybe if I were evaluated now, or by a different team, I wouldn’t receive the same diagnosis. I use normal language and have a high level of intelligence and all that. Maybe I’m normal and just socially awkward. I mean, I get that. I’m not quite to the point of whatever you are.”

“No. That’s not accurate at all. You are to whatever “point” I am. I mean, I had no idea of this. I had inklings maybe where you puzzled or startled me, but not to where I thought anything was wrong with you. I’ve never and will never think that of you. In fact with all my crazy behavior of late, including my seemingly uncontrollable emotions, I’ve often wondered what you could find appealing about me.”

“I just like you. Your friendliness. You smile a lot. Just because I don’t, doesn’t mean I don’t like seeing it from others.”

“But I’m not like that anymore. Not since Ebony’s murder was discovered.”

“No, you’re not. You act different. You react stronger than you used to.” He glanced at her with the barest of smile and then looked away. “But I’m getting used to that now.”

She blew out a breath. “So you just accept me as me. Even now? You don’t want to change anything?”

“No.”

“Do you notice every single thing about me and just accept it? You don’t think about it or try to analyze… it just is?”

“Well, yeah. Why? Isn’t that what you do?”

“Probably not. I mean, a few times I didn’t fully understand your reaction. I said something on those occasions and pretty clearly. So I guess I was not accepting things as is, at face value. But if you are as literal as you say, I could see the ability to accept others might be part of that gift.”

“Not really a gift.”

“I don’t know. I see some huge positives in what I’ve experienced in my time with you. I have a lot more questions. But grieving, I’m still all clouded up. And at least this explains so much I couldn’t begin to understand.” She fell quiet, staring straight ahead as her brain tried to process everything without combusting. So much was stacked onto her plate, she really didn’t know how to deal with it all. “Is that why your mom was so upset with me? She hinted at things, and I wondered why she was so angry. I think she is worried about my position as your employer, both of you, I mean.”

“She probably believed you were grieving over your sister, and she remembers that feeling. So she thinks that whatever you’re doing with me can’t be real or lasting.”

“Do you think I’m doing that?”

He lifted his shoulders in a loose shrug. “I don’t know. I guess I don’t care. You needed me and I was able to provide what you needed right then.”

“Because you experienced it too?”

“Maybe that’s why. I don’t know really.”

“You just know it is.”

“Yes.”

“I think I should go home.”

He seemed startled, but nodded. “Because of this?”

“No, actually, I think you’re exactly right. I did need you to get through this, especially since my parents and I… well, as you know, it’s done nothing but tear us apart. I needed you desperately and that was different and special and unusual for me. But I have made it through work this week and I intend to continue that. I have to find some semblance of my former routine and life. I can’t keep living here.”

“Or being with me?”

“Actually, that’s the one thing that could be real out of all of this. But it isn’t real to me if I keep living with you. I have to go home and we should at least try this only as a more normal couple, with some reasonable boundaries and some normalcy. I’ve never done anything like this so fast, and although I needed it, and you were spot on in detecting that, I now have to know what’s real. Does that make any sense?”

His head nodded. “Of course.”

She touched his shoulder. “You really don’t have any problem working for me, do you? Because you do your job and I do mine and you believe they don’t affect each other.”

“They don’t.” So simple. Straightforward. Easy. She smiled softly. There was no fragile ego in Chet. No feeling less because she, the woman, made more money than he did and she could tell him what to do at work. He thought it perfectly fine and ordinary and within the scope of her job. He did whatever the scope of his entailed. She tilted her head. She liked that part. “So you don’t worry or care if people think it’s odd that you work for me?”

“No. Do you? You’ve been the owner for a long time. And employed a lot people, so why would this be any different?”

“Thank you, Chet.”

He glanced at her, his confusion obvious, even if he didn’t say so. He didn’t really know what he’d done. “I guess you’re welcome.”

She smiled. “I think tomorrow I’ll go home and then I’d like to start fresh.”

“What does that mean?”

“Maybe dating. We could go on some dates. You come over to my house, and I’ll go to yours and then you can go home. We both can live our lives but spend our time together. More traditionally. I think I’m ready for that. And honestly? It’s only because of the time we spent together. I think it soothed my ragged soul and started the healing process on something that would have stayed forever broken.”

“I thought you’d be done with me if you found out.”

“About you?”

“I don’t know. Yeah. See me as less somehow. Less of a man. Less capable. Less worth it.”

“Worth what, Chet?”

“Figuring out. I know, or I’ve been told I can be hard to read, and understand and communicate with. And that isn’t an easy thing to take on willingly.”

“I am willing to take on whatever’s been going on so far. If you are willing to with me. Don’t you think we all come to relationships with our faults and limitations? Everyone has baggage. I mean, look at mine. So recent, it’s still packed in the suitcase. So this is yours, huh? Well, I have mine too and only time will tell if it works for both of us. But Chet, I do feel things for you too. I just don’t know as clear-cut as you do. Not… not yet. Can you live with that?”

He nodded, but stared straight ahead, seeming confused over what to do next.

She grabbed his hand and tugged him towards her. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m still with you, Chet.”

He smiled as she pulled him closer, his body leaning on hers as she smiled under his mouth. His full weight rested on top of her. It was an incredible and shocking confession he made. Chloe didn’t know what it meant right now for her and their future. It was pretty big. She sensed that. But how big? Deal-breaker big? She knew he and Dok believed it could be. She wasn’t so sure of that. Not yet anyway. He’d been the only one to get through to her, and actually help her during the most emotionally volatile and violent event of her entire life. He faced it head-on. Right there with her. If he could manage that, how could ordinary, calmer life be too hard to deal with? Sure, he was a little odd, but so was she. So was everyone. He might have just been a little more obvious, but whatever! Letting his weight fall on her, Chloe didn’t have to know today why he, this man, could make her feel understood, heard, and cared about when no one else could. And that was worth the quest of finding out more about it.