I steadied my voice. “Winnie, I asked you not to bring your cup over here.”
“But I was thirsty!” she insisted, indignant.
I pressed my fingers into my eye sockets and tried not to cry. The coffee was the only thing tethering me to the realm of the living this morning. Now it was soaking into the hem of my shirt and pooling beneath the toaster like some dark omen.
Somewhere in the distance—possibly on Mars—my phone buzzed for the fifth time in two minutes. Work texts, no doubt. I ignored them.
I didn’t need help. I needed cloned versions of myself with better attitudes and lower cortisol levels.
“Mama, I can’t find my purple sock!” Winnie yelled.
I gritted my teeth. “Then wear the yellow ones!”
She groaned. “They’re itchy!”
I closed my eyes. Counted to five and breathed in. The air smelled like spilled coffee and syrup-sticky fingers. I cracked one eye open again and surveyed the kitchen—cereal scattered like confetti, shoes in the sink, Winnie in her pajamas, and me in a shirt that now looked like I’d gone twelve rounds with a latte.
From beyond the kitchen wall, I could hear Austin moving. His side of the duplex had its own rhythm—less chaos, more quiet thumps and purposeful steps. A door clicked shut. His footsteps trailed toward the back. Then silence.
I braced myself against the sink, letting my head hang. Austin’s playful note from the day before had put a little pep in my step, but it looked like I was on my own this morning. At first I’d been mortified to learn that he had overheard me talking with Kit. The flush in my cheeks deepened when I thought about whatelsehe may have heard through those thin walls.
The respectable, modest part of me wanted the earth to open up and swallow me whole, but the poised, assertive parts didn’t care he might have overheard me pleasuring myself. In fact, I wondered what he might have said had he known I’d gotten off imagining him stroking himself on the other side of the wall.
Warmth bloomed low in my belly. It was safest to keep a lid on dangerous, yearning parts.
I shook out my shoulders. I had shit to do andverylittle time to do it.
Austin was gone for the day—or so I thought. The house was quiet long enough for the silence to settle and for me to start scrubbing the counter while I considered reheating yesterday’s coffee—when the knock startled me.
Two short raps. Confident and familiar.
I blinked at the door like it had grown arms.
Another knock, followed by a muffled voice. “Everything okay in there? It sounded like someone was trying to wrestle a raccoon into a turtleneck.”
Winnie shrieked with laughter.
I padded to the front door and cracked it open just wide enough to see him standing on the porch with two to-go cups in a cardboard tray. Austin looked irritatingly awake. Hair tousled but somehow still perfect. Black T-shirt and jeans with that cocky little half smile like he already knew how my morning had gone.
I opened the door a little more, just enough to reveal that I was wearing only one sock. His gaze dragged down my legs and back up, humor dancing in his eyes.
“Not a word,” I warned.
He raised his free hand. “I didn’t say a thing, but I did bring a peace offering.”
And, damn it, I almost smiled.
He held out the tray. One cup was topped with a clear domed lid and whipped cream piled high with sprinkles. The other was marked with my name in Sharpie.
“Let me guess,” I said, eyeing him suspiciously. “You heard the chaos and decided to rescue the damsels in distress?”
“Nope,” he said. “I heard the chaos and thought, ‘Wow, I bet she’s already out of coffee.’”
I reached for the cup despite myself. “You’re a menace.”
The corner of his mouth lifted. “Only sometimes.”
Winnie darted between us, flinging herself around his waist like she did this every day. “Austin! You brought sprinkles!”
