Crazy in Love

23

Harrison

How is she so calm when I’m freaking the fuck out inside?

And I’m the one who had the whiskey. She’s thriving off water alone.

Tatum’s lying in a lukewarm bath covered in suds, and I’m researching getting pregnant while taking birth control pills. Sure, I always knew it wasn’t 100%, but what the fuck? I still trusted it.

As tempting as it is to pour myself a drink, I need to get her fed properly. Natalie sent the entire pot of soup back with us, and it’s just hot enough to serve. I find the bowls and ladle the soup inside. I can’t find a tray to carry it on, so I load up my hands and tuck the crackers under my arm. When I turn around, she’s standing there. Her straight hair hangs over her robe-clad shoulders. A makeup-free face brings attention to her bright eyes that are filled with amusement. She giggles. “Need a hand?”

I must look like an idiot trying to juggle everything. “Maybe more.” I set everything down on the island when she comes into the kitchen.

“You did all of this for me?”

“I can’t take credit for the soup. I’m just the reheater.”

Running her finger along the island, she stops it beside me, and then she slips her arms around me. “But you reheated it for me. I don’t even know where you got the crackers.”

“Whoever does your shopping thought it was a necessary staple. Who does your shopping for you?”

“A company we found through STJ. Two sons wanted to take the burden of grocery shopping off their mom for a year when she was going through chemo. They didn’t live in New York, so they contacted us for help. We found a great startup for just that thing. It was nice to do something that can make a real impact on someone’s life. We didn’t charge them because it allowed us to open a division that focuses fully on helping those in need.”

I’ve not been privy to this side of the business or of Tatum. There’s an excitement in her eyes as she speaks, yet until now, I knew nothing about it. “I haven’t heard about this, not from Nick or Natalie.”

A self-deprecating expression fills in the features of her pretty face. “Feels like we’re bragging so it’s not something we really advertise. It’s through word of mouth. We’re not looking for pats on the back.”

“How does it work?”

“Through the submission process. We have someone in the office who narrows it down to five and then presents them to the company, and everyone has a vote that counts. Sometimes it’s one, sometimes two a month.” She pulls her hair over her shoulder, the silky strands instantly returning to where they came from. “Anyway, I work with that company who grocery shops for people who don’t have time, mobility, or interest.” Raising her hand, she adds, “I fall into the last category. No shocker. They stock the staples, and then you give them your likes, etcetera.”

There are a million businesses who can shop for you, but that this one has the charitable angle definitely makes it more interesting. I’ll have to watch for investment opportunities. That aside, she has me wondering if New Yorkers even have grocery stores like the ones back home. “Have you ever grocery shopped?”

She’s quick to answer. “I’m sure I have. There’s a fruit stand down the street, and the shops for the other things are just past that.”

“I’m talking about a large grocery store where everything’s all in one place?”

“I’m not sure I have.” She shrugs indifferently, taking a cracker from the wrapper. “Does it matter?”

“No. Not in the scheme of things, but what about the baby?”

She starts choking with cracker crumbs stuck to her lips as she grabs for the water. Chugging some down, she clears her throat and then shoots me a dirty look. “What about the baby?”

Wow, that’s a trigger. I need to avoid those landmines in the future, if possible. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” She clears her throat once more and takes another drink. “What did you mean what about the baby?”

It was a dig. I know it, and she knows it. Now the baby knows I’m an asshole. I can’t help wondering how Tatum’s going to manage this. “I know you can take care of yourself, but this is bigger than you or me.”

Offense widens her eyes and has her jerking away from me. “Excuse me? I don’t like what you’re insinuating.”

Insinuating . . . What the fuck am I doing? “Fuck. I didn’t mean you’re irresponsible or anything.”

Moving to the other side of the island, she says, “That’s not sorry.”

“I’m sorry.” I don’t have an ego that keeps me from apologizing when I’m in the wrong, and on night one, I’m in the fucking wrong. Lesson learned.

She crosses her arms over her chest, looking at me like she doesn’t know me at all. “What’s wrong with you?”