Arnold's POV
"What's gotten into you?" I ask Scout as he whines at the door. "You've never been this excited about anyone before." He just wags his tail harder, eyes fixed on Helga's approaching figure through the window.
These Friday night dinners have become our thing—sometimes at her place with Eisenmeower curled in my lap, sometimes here with Scout playing favorites. Tonight, she's bringing takeout from Green Meats, and I'm trying not to think about how right it feels, having her walk through my door like she belongs here.
"Your dog is ridiculous," she announces, barely through the door before Scout's dancing around her. "I brought the fancy bacon just for him, the manipulative furball."
I watch them from the kitchen—Helga on her knees, letting Scout lick her face while she scratches behind his ears. My heart does that thing it always does now, that squeeze of recognition: This is what I want—every day.
She settles at the counter, stealing a piece of bacon before I can stop her. "C'est la vie," she shrugs, popping it in her mouth.
I pause, plate halfway to the counter. "Wait—can you speak French?"
"Oui, Football Head." She grins at my expression. "Don't look so shocked."
"I just... when did you learn French?"
"Started in high school, actually." She steals another piece of bacon while I'm distracted. "Then really picked it up before I went to Paris."
"You were in Paris?" I can't hide my surprise—or my pride. This is the Helga I always knew was there, beneath all the walls and sharp edges. The one who devours life, who never stops growing.
"Just for a few months, working on my first book." Her voice carries that quiet passion she gets when talking about writing. "Needed to see if I could make it on my own, you know?"
"Did you?"
"Well," she smiles, softer now. "I'm here, aren't I?"
I lean against the counter, eyeing her steal yet another piece of bacon. "Paris suits you. All that poetry and passion."
"Says the guy who speaks Spanish and never mentioned it." She raises an eyebrow at my surprise. "Yeah, Phoebe told me. Something about you going back to San Lorenzo for medical missions."
Now, it's my turn to look slightly embarrassed. "I spent a few summers there during college, helping at my parents' clinic. Turns out treating scared animals is easier when you can actually talk to their owners."
"Look at you, Football Head." There's warmth in her teasing. "Any other hidden talents I should know about?"
"I play guitar." The words slip out before I can second-guess them. "Started learning when I was down there. The nights got pretty quiet sometimes."
Her eyes light up with genuine interest. "Really? I knew you played the harmonica. But. How come I've never seen you play?"
I rub the back of my neck. "Haven't much lately. My old guitar's still around the building somewhere..."
"Well?" She gestures impatiently. "Go get it!"
"Now?"
"No time like the present, Arnoldo."
Ten minutes later, we're sitting cross-legged on the floor, Scout between us, as I tune the slightly dusty guitar. "Don't expect too much," I warn her. "I'm pretty rusty."
"Doesn't matter. Just play something. Anything."
I start with an old Spanish lullaby my mom used to sing. It's simple, but Helga's expression makes me glad I kept practicing all those years ago.
"Tu joues magnifiquement," she says softly when I finish.
"I'm completely not sure what that means, but it sounds nice."
She laughs. "Good. Keeps you humble."
After playing a few more songs for her, I put the guitar away in a place I'll remember before heading to the kitchen.
"Gerald and Phoebe want to do dinner tomorrow night," I say, unpacking the food. "Something about celebrating their new place."
"Oh yeah, Pheebs mentioned that. You know it's just an excuse for Gerald to show off his new grill, right?"
"Obviously. But free food is free food."
She settles at the counter, stealing a piece of bacon before I can stop her. "Speaking of food... Rhonda and Curly want to do dinner next week. Fair warning: Curly's apparently into molecular gastronomy now."
I pause in my plate-arranging. "Should we be worried?"
"Probably." She grins. "But Rhonda promised an open bar, so..."
My phone buzzes—a text from Krissy about viewing another apartment tomorrow. I silence it, telling myself I'll respond later. It's not like I did anything wrong, but… I don't want to mess this up. Not now. Helga doesn't notice, already deep into a story about her latest writing session.
These quiet moments are my favorite—just us, sharing food and stories, no pressure to be anything but ourselves. But lately, I've caught Helga eyeing me when she thinks I'm not looking, that old guarded expression creeping back in. Sometimes, when she's working on her book, she gets this distant look, like she's already halfway somewhere else.
"Earth to Football Head." She waves a hand in front of my face. "You went somewhere just now."
Helga smirks, rolling her eyes, but something about her gaze lingers. Just for a second.
Like she's trying to read me like she caught something I didn't mean to show.
I press a kiss to her palm, hoping it distracts her. "Just thinking."
"Dangerous hobby," she quips, but I don't miss the way her brows knit before she looks away.
Maybe she's imagining it. Maybe not.
But she doesn't ask. And I don't offer
"Someone has to do the thinking around here."
She chucks a piece of bacon at me, which Scout immediately intercepts. "Traitor," she tells him, but she's smiling.
Later, we're on the couch, her feet in my lap, Scout snoring softly nearby. The city lights paint shadows on her face as she reads aloud from her latest chapter. I love watching her like this—completely absorbed in her work, guard down, passionate about every word.
My phone buzzes again. I ignore it, but Helga pauses mid-sentence.
"Popular tonight, aren't we?"
"Just work stuff," I say, perhaps too quickly. "You were saying?"
She studies me for a moment, lips pressing together like she's weighing whether to ask. Then, without a word, she returns to her manuscript, but something's shifted. There's a new tension in her shoulders that wasn't there before.
I should tell her about continuing to help Krissy find a better place. It's nothing, after all—just being neighborly. But every time I start to bring it up, I remember how she looked outside after Lila's party, how quick she was to assume the worst. Maybe it's not a big deal, but after everything, the last thing I want is to plant any doubts in her head. Not when we're finally starting to get this right.
Trust is still new between us, delicate as spider silk. I tell myself I'm protecting that, not hiding anything.
Night is emerging, and Helga stretches, her shirt riding up to reveal a strip of skin that makes my mouth go dry. Some things haven't changed—she'll probably always have this effect on me. She still makes me feel like that lovesick college kid who couldn't string two words together around her.
"Stay," I say as she gathers her things. It comes out more like a question than I intended.
"Can't." She kisses me softly. "Early Zoom meeting tomorrow; they want our cams on, so I can't look like hell. Besides," she adds with a smirk, "absence makes the heart grow fonder, right?"
"Pretty fond already," I murmur against her lips, but as she pulls away, something tugs at my chest. We're good right now. I just have to keep it that way.
She pulls back, something vulnerable flickering across her face before her usual sass returns. "Careful, Arnoldo. Keep talking like that, and a girl might get ideas."
"Maybe I want you to get ideas."
But she's already at the door, Scout trailing after her like a lovestruck teenager. I watch her go, thinking about all the ways we're still learning each other, still figuring out how to be us without flying away.
My phone chimes, snapping me out of my daze.
Sid: So, you gonna keep dodging me, or are we past the whole 'you thinking I was moving in on your girl' thing?
I exhale, rubbing my temple. I probably deserved that.
Arnold: We're past it.
Sid: Good. Cause I just found a spot with $2 tacos and zero health ratings. Figured it's a 'me, you, and Gerald' kinda place.
I shake my head, but I'm grinning.
Arnold: Sounds like a terrible idea. I'm in.
My phone buzzes again. I glance at the screen.
Krissy.
Something about finding the perfect place.
I don't open it. Just watch the notification fade, my thumb hovering over the screen before I set the phone down. I'll tell Helga eventually, I tell myself. But not tonight.
Some things, I'm learning, are easier to deal with in daylight.
And some things—like Helga—are worth getting right, no matter how long it takes.
Still… the unease lingers.
