She smells like lavender and strawberries, an intoxicating scent on its own, but so welcome over the smell of the onion. I want to move close and breathe it in, but getting close to Scarlet is a bad fucking idea.
Clearing my throat, I tear myself away before this semi turns into a full erection.
“How are you able to keep your eyes open?” she laughs, blinks hers open for just a few seconds.
“I have superpowers.”
“Well, then use them and chop up the rest of the onion.” That smile looks so good on her, even with the red, watery eyes. She goes to the sink, washes her hands, and rubs her eyes. “Okay…that’s a little better. But, oh my God, I had no idea it got that bad!”
“Have you never chopped an onion before?”
She shakes her head. “It’s been a while. And I’m not the best cook, so don’t hold it against me if dinner tonight sucks.”
“I’m not a good cook either, so I won’t.” Besides…there are other things I want to hold against her. Swallowing hard, I take one last look at her before tearing my eyes away and going upstairs to change.
“Dad, look!” Jackson calls when I walk past his room. “I cleaned up!”
“You did a great job, bud!” I go into his room, impressed by how thorough the kid was.
“Do you think Scarlet will be proud of me?”
“I know she will be. I am.”
“Really?”
“Of course!”
He makes a face. “You’re just saying that because you’re my dad.”
I laugh. “Well, I suppose I am a little biased. But you are a good kid. Most of the time.”
“What am I the other times?”
“Rotten. And a stinker.”
Jackson laughs. “No, I’m not!”
“Yeah, you are,” I tease and poke at his sides, making him erupt in giggles. He climbs onto my lap and runs his finger over my badge.
“I love you, Daddy,” he says softly.
“And I love you.”* * *
I dozed off putting Jackson to bed and woke up not knowing what time it was. Or what day it was. Or my name. Napping always does that to me. All I know is it’s late, and I’m way too old to sleep contorted in a twin bed around my wiggling four-year-old.
Light from the living room TV filters up the stairs. Scarlet is huddled on the couch, knees drawn up to her chest. She’s wearing a baggy sweatshirt and tight black shorts. Her hair is piled on the top of her head, and her eyes are wide.
The bottom stair creaks under my weight and Scarlet jumps, knocking a pillow off the couch.
“Jesus!”
“Again, just me,” I say with a cheeky grin. “You’re jumpy.” I flick my eyes to the TV. “And now I see why.”
“Have you watched this?” she asks, picking up the remote and pausing the horror show she’s watching.
“Not all of it. I’m up to episode four.”
“I’m not even through the third episode and I don’t know if I can handle the rest.”
“It is creepy. They did a good job with this show.”
She picks up the pillow and stretches her long legs out on the coffee table. “Want to watch it with me? You can hold me accountable not to chicken out.”
“Should I indulge you with junk food too?”
A smile plays across her face. “I’m starting to think you get me, Mr. Dawson.”
“You know you can call me Wes, right?”
The smile gets bigger. “It makes me feel like I’m on the Titanic.”
“What?” I ask, my own lips curving into a half-smile.
“Seriously?” She pushes up on the couch and leans forward, and God help me, I can see down her shirt. She’s dressed for bed and not wearing a bra.
“I’m not following.” I run my hand over my face, needing to physically block out the sight of her perfect breasts.
“Isn’t that part of the reason you named your son Jackson, so you could call him Jack Dawson?”
I shake my head again. “He’s named after my grandfather.”
“Oh. Well then, never mind.” She leans back only to round on me again. “So you’re telling me you’ve never seen the movie Titanic?”
“Can’t say I have.”
“We can’t be friends now,” she says seriously.
“That puts a strain on this whole situation, doesn’t it?”
“It does.” She slowly moves her head back and forth and picks up the remote again. “If only there was a way to solve it.”
“You want me to watch Titanic, don’t you?”
Laughing, she nods. “Not tonight, though. Tonight, we need to find out why angry spirits are haunting this family.”
“Go ahead and keep watching,” I tell her and cross the room. “I’ve already seen this episode.”
Several minutes later, I come back with popcorn, Oreos, and a bag of chips.
“You delivered on that junk food,” Scarlet says, folding her legs up under herself, freeing space on the couch. She pats the seat next to her and I can’t move. Usually, the floor is lava and Jackson and I are jumping off it onto the couch, but right now it feels like it’s the other way around.