Dancer

"Turn down here." He says pointing down the next street.

I nod and put my blinker on before making the easy turn left. "Where are we?" I ask as we enter a nice neighborhood full of colonial time houses.

"This house of your right." He instructs, ignoring my question. I do as I'm told and pull into the driveway. "I'll be right back." He says before opening the door and stepping out into the pouring rain. I watch as he jogs up to the small brick house and enters through the front door.

I relax against my seat and hold my burned hand close to my chest. It happened at least twenty minutes ago, but the sting is still there.

I jump when the passenger door opens again and Eli jumps in holding a bag, "Hey." He greets me.

I eye the bag suspiciously, "What is that?"

He reaches into it and pulls out a plastic container, "The best chocolate chip cookies you will ever have." He tells me, opening the container and offering me a cookie.

"Who made them?" I asked staring at the container.

"My grandmother." He tells me with a goofy grin.

I smile and reach into the container and take a cookie, they're warm. I take a bite as I put the car back into drive, "Oh my God, these are amazing." I gasp through a mouthful of cookie.

He smiles in an accomplished way, "I know." He tells me closing the lid and placing the container back in the bag.

We make small talk as I drive back to my house, occasionally fighting over the radio. "You live here?" He asks as I pull into my driveway.

I unbuckle my seat belt and shrug before nodding, "Yeah, I guess so."

"You guess so?"

I gently bite the inside of my cheek, "To me, it's still not home. I actually just moved here a few weeks ago."

"Really?" He asks as we both exit the car and start walking towards the front door.

I nod, "Yeah." I reply as I unlock the door and let him go in before me.

"So what made you move here?" He asks, walking in a circle to get a look at my front foyer.

I shrug, "It was my mom's decision. She was tired of living near my dad."

"Separated?" He asks.

"Divorced for one year, six months, and twenty-three days." I say absentmindedly.

"So... Your parents like the single life?" He asks with a content nod, shoving his hands in his pockets.

I look at him just as he glances at me, "More like my mother's mid-life crisis." I say with finality, "Now come on and help me take care of this burn, it hurts like hell." I add walking past him and down the hallway.

I hate talking about my parents divorce, the wounds of it all are still fresh.