“That’s my girl.” I finish up peeling the carrots. “You may well find me a little overprotective in time, Laine, but it’ll be for your own good.”
“I know,” she says. “I trust you.”
At least one of us does.
I start on the parsnips.LaineNick can cook. But that figures.
Nick can do everything.
I eat up my chicken and vegetables, and it’s all just perfect, just the way I like it. I never want to go back to microwave meals and pasta again.
I never want to go back to any of it.
My heart feels tender at the thought of poor little Jane. A horrible sickness, as though it’s too big a pain to understand. And I suppose it is.
They say it’s the worst pain on earth, losing a child, and my heart wants to reach out and hold Nick tight and never let him go.
I just don’t understand why Louisa wouldn’t want Nick to keep her safe. It’s all I want.
That’s a lie.
I want much more than that.
I want everything. Just like she had. Only more. I want all of it, every bit of his love, and his care, and his ground rules.
I’ll give him all of my heart right back.
I eat up every bit of food on my plate and thank him for my meal. He tells me it’s nice to have someone to cook for.
I tell him I’ll cook for him one day. I tell him I can make a mean macaroni cheese. He tells me that’ll be nice.
Somehow I don’t think I’ll be cooking for Nick anytime soon, but that’s ok.
It’s so easy to float around in my happy little bubble around him. So easy to be cared for. So easy to feel young and silly and small.
So easy to feel loved.
“Are you ok?” he asks. “You seem someplace else.”
“Just thinking.”
“Penny for them?”
I want to tell him that I love the salt and pepper at his temples, the strength in his jawline. I want to tell him that I love his gentle smile and the way he felt in bed last night.
I don’t.
“I feel floaty. Like this is a dream.”
“Me too,” he says. “It’s such a pleasure to find that life still has magic in it. It’s been awhile.”
“It feels like fate, doesn’t it?”
He laughs. “Yes, Laine. It does. Maybe you’ll have to read those horoscopes.”
I clear up the dinner plates before he can stop me, and load them into the dishwasher as he watches. I’m putting the cutlery into the tray as he steps up behind me, and his arms snake around my waist as he talks me through the washer settings.
Full cycle, half cycle, quick rinse.
I tell him I’ve got it, and press it to start.
I feel a pang of loss as he steps away.
He grabs his briefcase and sets out his laptop on the table. “Do you have homework? I’ve some reports to finish up if you want to work alongside me.”
I don’t have anything outstanding, but tell him I do. I gather up my text books and set myself up opposite him, then read over my notes from class, making myself out to be the diligent little student. It’s not that far out. A swat, Kelly Anne calls me.
I listen to his fingers on the keyboard, taking care only to risk fleeting glances in his direction as he concentrates. His brow is firm. Serious. This must be work Nick. Professional Nick.
I scribble down notes alongside my notes, and it takes me a moment to realise he’s staring at me.
“You have lovely handwriting,” he comments. “Very neat.”
My cheeks burn with a lovely warm feeling. “Thanks.”
He reaches into his inside pocket and pulls out a pen. “Try this one. I find it writes well.”
He’s right, as always. The pen glides across the paper like a dream, glinting in the light like a silver bullet. I swirl my letters, making them just so, hoping he’ll comment again when he surprises me with curveball.
“I’m too old for you,” he says quietly.
My heart pounds. My throat dry and crackly. “Or I’m too young for you. That’s what you really mean, isn’t it?”
“No,” he says. “It isn’t. I’m thinking of you, not me.” He sighs, and I hate the sound. “I said we needed to talk about how things are going to be, and I’ve been thinking, Laine, I’ve been thinking a lot. I’ve been thinking here, looking at you right now, looking at the sweet girl with the pretty handwriting and the beautiful smile and wondering whether I can make her mine. Wondering whether I could be so selfish.”
I can’t bring myself to look at him, so I turn the pen over and over in my hands. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. You’re the only one I want. How can that be selfish?”
“You’re young,” he says, and his voice is so calm. “You’re beautiful, Laine. Kind and charming and gracious. You’ll meet someone your own age, someone exciting, someone who’ll knock you off your feet.” His pause seems to take forever. “I’ll still be here. Still be taking care of you, for as long as you need it, and even when you don’t.”