“Oh, God.” Andrew runs both hands through his hair and turns his back to us. “This is not happening.”

“I’ll be back in the morning to start the cake,” Flora sings, patting her purse at her side.

“Actually,” Andrew says, turning back, a wary look etched on his face, “I thought Amelia could make it.”

I gape. “Me? I can’t—I’ve never . . . I . . . don’t . . . bake.”

He chuckles in a most irritating way. Flora joins in, to my dismay. “That’s a wonderful idea,” she agrees.

“It’s not.” I give Flora a serious look. “I’m a terrible baker. Absolutely awful. The last time I made muffins, they were gluten-free and vegan. My assistant gagged, spit one out, and eventually went home for the day.”

“Vegan?” Andrew exclaims. “Never mind. You don’t have to bake.”

I plead with Flora. “It would be so great if you could just—”

She shakes her head. “You’ll do fine, honey. Just make it with love, and it’ll turn out great.”

Make it with love. That doesn’t really help. I’d prefer a more concrete tip, like using buttermilk or cage-free eggs. “Maybe you could come early and help me?” I ask.

She looks at Andrew. They exchange a smile, as if they’re in on a private joke. I’m pretty sure I’m that joke.

“I think that would be fine,” she says. “Everything’s already in the fridge. I’ll swing by around ten, and we’ll do it together.”

I sigh with relief. “Thank you.”

Andrew leans in and kisses her on the cheek. “Thanks, Flora. For tonight and tomorrow. You’re a huge help.”

“It’s no trouble. Goodnight, you two.”

Andrew closes the door after her and locks it. He turns to me and rolls his eyes. “Sorry about that.”

“It was sweet. Is she a friend of your mom’s?”

“She’s Pico’s mom.”

“Oh, right. Of course.” I pause. “What’s a Pico?”

“A guy who works for me. A friend.” He grins. “We still have quite a bit to learn about each other, don’t we?”

I nod. That’s one way to kill the mood—a stark reminder that we’re about to embark on something huge while we’re still strangers in a lot of ways. “I probably shouldn’t have come here tonight.”

“Really?” He closes the distance between us and lifts my chin with his knuckle. “You sure? I was just thinking the opposite. I’m glad you’re here.”

“It’s not too soon?”

“To sleep in my guest room?” He winks. “Come on.”

As he leads me through the house, I finally get a look around. It’s a good size, much more spacious than my apartment, which is big by New York standards. Like the exterior, the decor is traditional but with modern updates such as hardwood floors, clean lines, and—to my delight—an exposed-brick fireplace.

He notices my gaze. “It’s a little warm tonight,” he teases. “Let’s give it a few months.”

A few months. With Andrew. Glee wells up my chest. “Can I get a tour?” I ask.

“Not much to see,” he says. “I’ll get us a drink. Make yourself at home.”

He may believe there isn’t much to see, but to me, it’s like opening the second volume of his life. When he leaves, I stand in place and look everywhere I can. There isn’t more than necessary in the room—a wood coffee table with a remote positioned next to some car magazines. An overstuffed brown leather couch that faces an obscenely big flat-screen TV. A table in the entryway with a dish for keys and spare change. Sparse but tasteful. If I remember our conversations correctly, Shana never lived here. He bought this after she left, so he must’ve decorated it himself.

It doesn’t look like a child lives here. The biggest indication is a large bookcase with shelving that appears to be divided between the two of them. The lower half holds coloring books, crayons, fairytales by the Brothers Grimm, Disney DVDs, and a small, stuffed unicorn. I browse the books at eyelevel. Manuals on cars and motorcycles. Some crime fiction. I pick out a book with a spine that reads On Grief and Grieving and flip through the first few pages. It’s been four years since Shana left, but is Andrew really over her? What would I have found here even a year ago?

And there’s the small detail that she’s back in his life. As much as it concerns me to go head to head with someone who once captivated Andrew at every turn, I know I can’t back down. Because he deserves better. Bell deserves better.

“That should be in a Goodwill box,” Andrew says from behind me. “It was a gift, honest.”

I turn around, holding it to my chest. “Your house is tidy for having a small child.”

“It doesn’t always look like this, but Bell is pretty good about picking up after herself. I told her that’s what adults do, and she listens.”

I take a deep breath. My emotions are raw tonight, close to the surface, perhaps not the best time to get into a deep conversation. But if I’m going to sleep under Andrew’s roof, I have to speak up. “I need to know about her.”

He pauses, looking me over. “Bell?”

“No. I mean yes, her too, but this—” I hold up the book. “This is a book about losing a loved one to death. How badly did Shana hurt you?”

He comes further into the room with two glasses of amber liquid and sets them on the coffee table. “I told you, I didn’t buy that book or even read it. Sadie gave it to me. There aren’t exactly many books on what to do when your girlfriend disappears overnight and leaves you with a small child. Sadie overreacted.”

“You’re holding back.”

“I’m not,” he says. “I just don’t see the point of living in the past.”

“You want me to trust you. I’ve told you everything there is to know about Reggie and my life, but you’re still shutting me out. I understand why, but I can’t accept it.” I gesture around the cozy family room. “Not if I’m going to become part of this.”

He glances at the ground. “Why give her that power over us? It happened four years ago. I’m not getting back together with her, believe me.”

“I do, but Sadie gave you this book for a reason. You can’t just pretend it never happened because it hurts too much to revisit.”

“It doesn’t hurt. I don’t feel anything about it.”

“I think I’m falling in love with you,” I say and stiffen. I’m as surprised by my declaration as Andrew looks to hear it. Shit shit shit. This was the last thing I wanted. But standing here in his home is not as terrifying as I thought it would be. Maybe it isn’t what I envisioned for myself, a home in the suburbs, a young girl, a good, hard-working man, a career up in flames. But somehow, he and Bell and this home—they fit into the puzzle of my life like a piece I didn’t know was missing. Andrew wasn’t a complete picture until this moment, until I could see him here, as a father who comes home to his daughter every night. As a man who runs a household by himself.

Silence stretches between us.

“Is that what you want?” I ask him finally. “Does it scare you? Would you rather keep everything to yourself? If so, take me home now. Because you got it wrong. We both did.” I point at the steel machine tattooed on his chest. “Hard hearts break easy. It’s the soft ones that survive hit after hit.”

He stands there in the stillness that follows, and as he does, the truth of my words sets in—for me, and, I think, for him. He was upfront from the start. Love wasn’t on the table. Is an ultimatum really fair? Maybe not. But this is what I need. It would hurt to walk away after all this, or to be left behind, but if he can’t move on from his past . . . then we have to say goodbye.

And it has to be now.

THIRTY-THREE

Andrew hasn’t blinked in what feels like minutes. I’ve hit him with an unfair ultimatum—let me all the way in or let me go. It would be easier to take it back and trust we’d get there in time, but I can’t. I’m not prepared to endure what I went through with Reggie, who I don’t think I ever loved absolutely, with Andrew

, who I think I could.

“We’ve always been able to be honest with each other,” I say. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

Tags: Jessica Hawkins Slip of the Tongue Erotic
Source: readsnovelonline.net