The Make Up, Part 2

We sit in his car in the driveway for a while, the both of us staring up at a house that takes my breath away, a house I never imagine a man like Seth to live in. For him, I imagined a grungy bachelor pad above a nightclub, the floor littered with men's magazines and discarded t-shirts. I sweep my attention along the tidy, landscaped garden on either side of the drive and onto the perfect lawn, not a single blade of grass higher than another.

"Is this your parent's place, or yours?" I wonder aloud.

"Mine."

"Do you do the gardening yourself?"

He laughs and opens his door. "I do all the yard work myself, yes."