The door to what Aldo assumed was the bedroom was cracked open, and his curiosity piqued. But she had asked him upstairs for comfort. And not the naked kind.

“You don’t think it’s too much?” She worried her lower lip between her teeth looking at the room as if she’d never seen it before.

He thought of his own beige walls waiting for a paintbrush and personality. “Not at all. You did all this? It looks professional.”

She brightened for him like the sun, and he vowed to do that again and again just to see that pride push out the shame in her eyes.

“You’re forgiven. You don’t have to kiss my ass,” she teased nervously.

“I’m serious. It feels like you in here.”

She studied him curiously for a minute. “So. Um. Ready for that tea?” she asked.

He flashed her a smile. “So ready.”

Gloria took a step back and smacked into the small table inside the door, sending a stack of mail flying to the floor. “Sorry. I’m flustered,” she said, fluttering her hands.

Aldo bent to pick up the envelopes. The one on top caught his eye. Mailed from a state correctional institution. He hadn’t yet calmed down from the confrontation in the park, and the anger sparked back to life. It was Glenn. He knew it viscerally.

She was already heading toward the shoebox kitchen without any clue as to the ticking time bomb she’d left behind.

Shit. He was new to this boyfriend thing. What was more important? Being there for Gloria after what happened in the park? Or getting to the bottom of the letter?

Conflicted, he followed Gloria into the kitchen and watched her fuss over the tea. She poured a small amount of hot water into two mugs. “Preheating the mugs,” she explained at his questioning look. She put the kettle back on the stove and rummaged through the cupboard for her collection of teas.

He said nothing, the letter still clutched in his hand.

She pretended he wasn’t there, walking through the steps of what looked like a soothing ritual, dumping the hot water out of the mugs and replacing it with tea bags.

“How good of a new boyfriend are you prepared to be tonight, Aldo? Because I think I want to talk.”

“I’m prepared to be whatever you need,” he told her.

“Let’s pretend for tonight that you’re my best friend and I need to vent.”

“Vent away. I’m here.”

The kettle whistled, and he watched her pour the water over the tea, steam rising up from the mugs. She was silent for a long minute. “It was like living with a hard-to-please parent. My entire life revolved around not upsetting him. No makeup. No friends. Only the foods he liked. But no matter how good I got at reading him, I still did things he didn’t like. I still got hit.”