On Saturday, I show up ready.

I've watched all the deep cleaning tutorials and studied the rules. I've brought an all-purpose cleaning spray with me, along with dish soap, vinegar, sponges, gloves.

I enter his house like I'm walking into a battlefield. One that I've already won, because how hard can this be?

Right???

Wrong.

I start with the kitchen, since the online lady informed me it would take the longest.

The online lady was indeed correct...but that bitch lied about everything else.

When I wipe the stainless steel oven, it doesn't become spotless. No. It leaves streaks.

No matter how many times I spray and wipe, the streaks keep coming back, and I swear, they get worse each and every time.

Why? What have I done to them? Why won't they leave me alone?

Fuck you, streaks. Fuck. You.

I flip them off and move on.

I cough out a lung when shaking Hayden's bed sheets. I burn my eyes from the chemicals when scrubbing his bath tub. I inhale enough poison to guarantee my death by the age of thirty and I permanently damage my back.

At least I get a decent workout out of it.

And another perk, when I'm cleaning Hayden's bathroom, I get a little nosy and smell-test his colognes. He has two kinds. I assume one is for daytime and the other for nighttime.

The nighttime cologne...should be illegal. When I get a boyfriend, I'm going to buy him this exact cologne. If he doesn't wear it whenever he's around me, I'm going to break up with him.

It's simply a seduction in a bottle. A baby maker. A knee-buckling, dangerous weapon.

I work relentlessly, obsessively, without a pause. But unfortunately, Hayden was right.

I underestimated this job.

It's difficult. It's full of unexpected errors. It's not as smooth as they show in the videos. And it is definitely not the same as cleaning a bedroom.

Time is racing against me, and I find myself checking it frantically every few minutes, dreading the fact that I'm nowhere near done.

The worst part?

Hayden comes home an hour early.

I was supposed to be out of here before he got back. Otherwise, I would never wear what I'm wearing right now.

He opens the front door just as I shove the vacuum in the closet and stops in his tracks.

"Uh, hi," I say nervously. "Sorry, I'm still here."

His gaze lowers over me.

I tug my black cotton shorts down a little, but it only exposes my waist even more in my cropped, tank top. "W-why'd you come so early?"

"It's your first time." He grumbles, looking away and shuts the door behind him.

I'm overthinking it. He probably couldn't care less that I'm half-naked. With his looks, he's probably been with gorgeous women. I look and smell like a sweating ballsack right now.

"You finished?" He heads into the kitchen to inspect my work.

I follow him, nervous but excited.

Hayden reminds me of my strict professors. The ones that everyone hates. They're my favorite. When they see your persistence, they can't help but love you. It's the most rewarding thing ever.

"So?" I hold my breath as he pauses.

He stares at the stainless steel microwave and oven and crosses his arms. Uh-oh.

"What?" I hurry to where he's standing-

A dramatic gasp escapes me.

Those motherfucking streaks.

I thought I got rid of you, assholes.

From this angle, they look a thousand times worse, like I slathered oil on my hands and smeared it all over the stainless steel.

"I swear, I got rid of those..."

He clicks his tongue, then reaches his arm over the stovetop and pops something out from under the range hood.

I've never seen that thing in my life.

It's the mesh filter that traps the cooking steam and grease. And it's absolutely disgusting.

"Was I supposed to clean that?" I grimace as he dumps it in the sink.

"No. You're supposed to stare at it."

He wipes a veiny hand over the kitchen island-which I disinfected and polished-then bends to inspect it from an eye-level.

"Of course," he says and stands up to leave.

What? What did I do?

I pop into a squat to check it out and bite back a whimper at the thousands of particles stuck to the surface.

How in the world did I miss all that? How?

"So not only did you do the bare minimum, but you managed to fuck that up too." He scoffs, pointing at the dusty baseboards.

Shit. The God damn baseboards. I...

I failed. Big time. This is humiliating.

"I'm sorry. You don't have to pay me. Here." I remove the cash from my purse and put it on the island before turning around to leave.

"It's still yours," he says. "Take it-"

"No, I don't want it," I say. "I don't want something that I haven't earned."

"Wait, why is this still here?" He lifts the extra fifty dollars he left with the two hundred dollars. "This was for your lunch. Did you not eat?"

"No." And thank God for that.

He looks at his coffee machine, then at me. "So what'd you have all day? Just coffee?"

"I didn't use your coffee machine, don't worry."

I gather my supplies and put them in my bag. My body is aching. I just want to take a shower and nap in my car, but I have to wait until night time. I don't feel safe sleeping in it when others might see me. It makes me an easy target.

"Why didn't you use it?" Hayden comes closer.

"Because I didn't. Do you want some kind of proof?" What's his deal?

"You didn't eat or drink all day?"

"It's not the first time, don't worry."

"That's not healthy."

Thank you, Captain Obvious.

He continues to nag. "Why would you do that? No wonder you look like that."

I give him a dry look under my lashes.

"You look sick, like you're going to pass out!"

"Aw, do I? Please sweep me off my feet before I faint." I put the back of my hand against my forehead in a sarcastic manner. "Why do you care? So what? I forget to eat or drink water when I'm really focusing on something. It's not on purpose. It's just not a top priority."

What was a priority was to impress him, so that I could keep this job, and I failed. And I hate that.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Hayden glares.

"Okay, enough. It's one thing to be unhappy with my work. I already gave your money back. There's no need to insult me."

He looks surprised, like my words have revealed something about me that he didn't see before.

I get scared that maybe he notices the vulnerability, how pathetic I feel.

It makes me even more defensive. "If I was slacker who just wanted your money, I would've taken my two-hundred and fifty dollars, used your coffee machine to my heart's content, and not given a single crap that you're not satisfied. I'm not a slacker."

His voice comes out breathless. "I never called you slacker-"

"You assumed that I do the bare minimum. I never do the bare minimum. I do my best. It might not be good enough, but I don't appreciate being told that I didn't put enough effort. I know how much effort I put. It wasn't little."

I think of my mom for some reason and my eyes sting.

She didn't fight when I left. She didn't put in any effort to keep me safe. She just didn't care.

I wish she did. I really wish she did and I hate myself for that. I hate thinking about something that I'm never going to have.

Hayden opens his fridge and takes out a water bottle.

I watch in confusion as he comes over and twists the cap open, reaching the bottle towards me.

"Drink," he says softly.

It's really hard to scowl with tears in my eyes, but I still try.

He reacts with a half-hearted smirk. "Drink. You need it."

"Water? At least offer alcohol."

He laughs through his nose. "Drink it."

I don't want to. But it's just water. And it would be childish to leave his hand just hanging.

I take the bottle with sulking acceptance and bring it to my mouth. "I didn't tell you all that so you can pity me."

He sighs. "You like steak?"

"Huh?"

"Do you like steak?" He spells it out like he wants to smack me across the head.

"Me?"

"No, my fucking grandma."

I chuckle, but still confused. "Why?"

"Because you're not leaving on an empty stomach. I want to know what you like to eat."

My heart jolts with nervousness.

"Do you cook for all your housekeepers?"

He heads back into the kitchen, opens the fridge and takes out two large pieces of raw ribeye.

"Do you?" I insist.

"Go change."

I look down at my outfit. Well, more accurately, at my breasts. Are they too exposed?

Hayden takes out fresh asparagus, mushrooms, butter and garlic. He doesn't make eye-contact or answer, just acts like I don't even exist.

I put on my oversized sweatshirt, but leave my shorts on. I feel too dirty to put on pants.

"I thought you don't sugar-coat." I approach him. "Do you feel bad for being honest with me?"

"No."

"Then why are you making dinner for me?"

"I'm not."

"Oh, you're just casually making two steaks and sharing it?"

"Exactly. Now leave me alone."

Maybe I'm losing my mind. I don't understand this guy. Is this normal? I know, it's not.

Is he attracted to me? Is he trying to get laid? Is that why he hired me?

"Do you have a girlfriend?"

I watch his back muscles flex as he washes his hands in the sink, then rinses the vegetables.

"No?" I ask.

"I don't."

"Too busy? Or haven't met the right one?" I lean against the counter, studying his profile.

He holds a handful of asparagus against a cutting board and chops off the stems with a satisfying crunch.

He's attractive. A business owner. A homeowner.

Way out of my league.

As if he'd ever be serious about a housekeeper. (Especially a homeless one).

I watch him flip the burner on, put a stainless steel pan on top, drizzle it with olive oil, then toss the asparagus in it.

The sound of hot oil fills the kitchen. He grinds salt and pepper on top, then moves on to seasoning the steaks.

Even though I refuse to let his gesture mean anything, it still tugs on my heartstrings. No one has cooked like this for me before.

"Can I ask for a favor?" I break the silence. "Instead of making me dinner, could you give me another chance instead of firing me?"

"I never fired you."

"Wait, really?"

"I said I don't sugar-coat. I didn't say, I'm a total dickhead."

"Oh, so just a partial one." I fake-sigh in relief. "Phew. I can deal with partial dickheads."

He gives me an exasperated side-glare and I giggle.

"Do you need any help?" I ask.

"No."

"Well, when you're done, would you mind giving me a list of all the things you're not happy with? That way I can work on them for next Saturday and make sure they don't happen again."

"Sure."

"Thank you for cooking, it smells so fucking good." My mouth waters as he flips the steaks on the cast-iron, showing the caramelization. I use a demonic voice to dirty talk to the steak. "I can't wait to put you in my mouuuth."

"How do you like your meat?"

"Um..." I've never been asked such a fancy question. "Meaty?"

"Well done?"

"Thank you." I beam.

He rolls his eyes. "Do you like your steak well done?"

"I mean, I wouldn't want you to do a terrible job..."

"Hazel."

I snicker. "I don't know. I don't care."

"I'm going to make it medium-rare."

"Does that have blood in it?"

"A little bit."

"Ew."

He sighs with wavering impatience. "So you want it well-done, then?"

"I have nooo idea."

He places the first steak on a cutting board, cuts a small, steaming piece and hands it to me.

I give him a skeptical look and hesitantly eat the semi-raw steak. I taste the hint of blood a little bit and it tastes wrong.

"I'm not a big fan."

"Then I'll make yours well-done."

"I'll applaud."

When he sets our plates down on the island across from each other, with tall glasses of water and utensils, I do applaud, but he doesn't care.

"I'll eat as fast as I can and get out of your hair." I start cutting, but I press the fork and knife on the plate too hard and it almost flies off and shatters.

Hayden pauses, giving me a warning glare.

"Sorry," I smile, cutting more gently. "Don't you have plans? What do you usually do after work?" I gasp in horror. "Wait, what about your dog?!"

"I feed him at seven."

"Don't you say hi to him when you come home?"

"I did."

"Oh, thank God." That would be so cruel if the dog missed him and he ignored it. "What's his name, by the way?"

"Milo. Have you seen him yet?"

I grimace. "Honestly, no. I was so hyperfixated on nailing everything today, that I didn't even bother to check the backyard."

"I should introduce you to him." He cuts into his steak with such calm precision, and eats it with such attractive patience, I want to take a picture.

"After dinner?"

"I'd rather do it in the morning, he'll be on edge in the dark. He's a guard dog. I don't introduce him to a lot of people."

"So next Saturday?" Now I have something to look forward to. "I hope he's not offended that I didn't say hi to him today, would you please apologize for me?"

Hayden's mouth curves, even though he keeps his gaze down at his plate.

"What? Are you laughing that I care about his feelings?"

"No."

"He's a cane corso, right? They're terrifying. Did you get him to protect your house?"

"They're loyal too."

"More than people, I bet."

He nods for a moment. "Do you have a boyfriend, Hazel?"

I pause, surprised. "No. Why?"

"Are you dating anyone?"

"Not at the moment. Why do you ask?"

"Do you have a best friend? Someone you talk to every day?"

What an odd and intense line of questioning.

I frown. "I have a best friend, but we were closer in high school. Now...it's kind of out of habit. I wouldn't say we talk every day, but if she ever needs me, if she calls me in the middle of the night, I'll be there for her. Why?"

"Just asking."

"Do you?"

"Have a best friend? Yeah. He's engaged, so he's busy planning his wedding."

I try to imagine who he might be friends with, maybe someone buff and uptight like him.

"Does he come over often?"

"Maybe once a week. We go hiking sometimes, only because he loves to get brunch after."

"Is he looking to replace you, by any chance? I'm available."

He gives me a playful glare. "Over my dead body."

"Aw, you love your bestie that much?"

"He's all I've got. I'm not close with my family."

I wonder why. I wonder if he's been hurt and disappointed by people he used to trust. I wonder if he misses them. If he also feels lonely.

He misunderstands my silence. "Anyway-"

"I don't talk to my family either," I say quickly. "They're all dysfunctional in their own ways."

"You live with roommates?"

If I say yes, he might ask questions about them, which would lead to more lies and more chances of me messing up, so I opt for a partial truth.

"No, I live alone."

"What part of town?"

Aaand it's time for me to leave. I pick up my plate and put it in the sink, then flip the faucet on to wash the dishes.

"I got it," he says, coming over.

"The least I can do is-"

"I got it. Shoo." He puts his hand on my waist, pushing me away.

"Did you just shoo me away?" I laugh.

"Do you have to call an Uber? Or is your bus running at this hour?" He starts scrubbing.

I hate lying. But he can't know my real living situation. It would make everything awkward.

"It is," I say with a smile. "I should head out."

A/N
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Question: What's your favorite dinner? If you cook, what's your fav dish to make?