“I actually think we should go. We’ve caused enough of a commotion.” Andi’s cheeks are pink from loss of air, or embarrassment, or both.
Standing, I notice her small frame in skinny jeans, a lightweight long-sleeved tee, a sweatshirt on the back of her chair. “Shit,” I mumble. “I probably hurt you, doing that.”
“You saved me. Thank you.”
“Still, I should make sure you get home okay. Did you drive? I walked here. Why don’t I ride home with you, and then I can Uber home.”
“Honestly,” she says, her voice still raspy, “you don’t have to do that. Leona came with us.”
“You know what?” Andi’s neighbor finally speaks up again. “That would be helpful, Reid, because I was going to meet some of the other old bags at the knitting shop.”
At that, I fall head over heels in love with the meddlesome neighbor, because let’s face it—Andi is never going to call me.
Seizing the opportunity, I jump in. “See? Come on, let’s get you home to a cup of hot tea. Gabby, help your mom outside.”
The little one never lets go of her mom’s hand until we’re standing next to a late-model sedan.
“In you go,” Andi says, urging her daughter into the back seat, then looks up at me. “Do you want to drive too?”
I think she’s being snarky, but it’s hard to tell. “Do you want me to?”
“I was asking for effect, or whatever. I’m fine. We’re at the car. I really don’t need you to come with.”
I open the passenger door, climb in, and buckle up without a rebuttal. She tosses her purse in the back seat, huffing as she puts her key in the engine and swings out of her parking spot. No turn signal, but I don’t say a word.
We drive out of the shopping area adjacent to my neighborhood, past the university and through the center of a more up-and-coming type hood.
Andi parks near a duplex and gets out without a word. I turn around and see why—Gabby is sound asleep in the back seat. All of a sudden, I feel completely unprepared.
What’s the dating etiquette for someone with a kid? Do I offer to carry her in, or does that make me a pedophile? It’s one thing to tease over onions or horrible seventies music, but a sleeping school-age girl—I’m fucking stumped.
The back door opens, and its creaking mixed with Andi’sshhhsaves me from my nervous breakdown.
“Here,” I whisper from behind her as she leans down to grab her daughter. “I’ll get her. Just lead the way.” For some reason, she doesn’t argue, so I must not be out of line in suggesting I help.
Doing my best, acting like I know what the actual fuck I’m doing, I lean down and slide one arm behind Gabby’s back and the other under her butt, pulling her toward me, letting my hand on her back slide up and cradle her head. Once she’s on me like a monkey, I step back and stand up, praying all the while she stays asleep.
I look for Andi in the moonlight, but she’s already on the side of the house, halfway up a set of stairs. Then it occurs to me. She lives on the second floor, which is probably why she had no issues with me carrying Gabby.
I follow up the stairs, where she unlocks the door and whispers, “I’ll take her now and put her to bed.”
During the handoff, she says, “Thanks, we’ll be good. Just pull the door shut. It locks.” Then she’s off and down a narrow hall, taking Gabby to her bed.
But I don’t leave. I don’t pull the door shut behind me. I definitely don’t wait for the lock to click.
In fact, I do none of the above.
I pull the door closed, trapping myself inside, and wander around Andi’s personal space. The decor is minimal. Artwork taped to the wall is the biggest decoration. A laptop and a bunch of zip drives litter the coffee table. One of those automatic vacuuming things is propped in the corner.
My brain says to leave. My heart beats a different tune. My dick—that’s a whole different story—he’s never had to work around a daughter, so he’s pretty much fucked up (in the head, literally).
“Oh.” Andi comes back out and startles when she sees me. “I heard the door ...”
“Look, I’m sure this is awkward. I’m here when I would’ve been waiting at home for you to call. But they say three’s a charm, right? We’ve had three of the most awkward meet-cutes, so I think you can give me your number now. Even your last name.”
I walk a bit closer, keeping my voice low, and stop at a safe distance.
She snatches the laptop off the table. “Reid, you’re sweet. Hot as hell, if you don’t mind me saying. But here’s the thing.” She turns, stows the laptop on top of the bookcase, and walks back toward me.
