“Cooper Henry, you arenotdoing that with me.”
“Doing what?”
“That thing you do when you’re uncomfortable.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I do know what she’s talking about.
I watch as she breathes heavily for several moments, and finally, her shoulders relax. “I’m not one of them,” she says quietly. “Whether we’re happy about it or not, I know you more than anyone here. Do not fuck with me.”
I want to say okay. Yes ma’am. To get on my knees and beg her to forgive me for everything I’ve ever done.
But I don’t.
Instead, I move on.
“Do you want a drink?” I ask, getting up quickly andheading to the small built-in bar on the right side of the family room.
“No,” she answers simply.
“No whiskey tonight?”
I look behind me to find her staring out at the retreating sun. “Nope.”
“Are you,” I pause, unsure of how to ask. “Are you okay?”
She turns to me with a small smile. “Yeah. Alcohol makes me horny when I’m drunk. You know that.” She smirks. “Too much and you’ll have me calling upmyinterior designer.” The title is in air quotes.
“She is!” I cry.
That gets a grin out of her. “Sure.”
Grabbing my glass of whisky, I sit back on the couch. “What do you want to eat tonight?”
“How does Thai sound?” she asks.
“That sounds great. I’ll put an order in.”
She puts her hand up. “I got it.”
My brow shoots up. “You do?”
She whips my credit card out of her shorts. “Yep.”
I can’t help but let out a laugh. A real, genuine one. One I wasn’t sure I’d hear from myself around Amara ever again.
We put in an order for delivery and settle into the dark. Not enjoying the silence, I flip on the television for a little background noise and light.
Fifteen minutes pass, and the silence is eating at me.
“How,” I wince. “How are things?” I ask softly.
She sighs. “They’re okay. Mom and Dad loved seeing you, much to my dismay.”
Ouch.
“But they’re doing well. Still at their usual place in Rehoboth. I opened a catering company here and do some event planning.”
