“No, I hate it when you cheat.”
“And am I cheating now?” I smirk down at her, loving how she’s pretending to be mad at me by avoiding my question. “Alondra.”
Her hazel eyes narrow. “Don’t say my name like that.”
“And how am I saying your name?” I ask, flashing Al with an innocent smile. I’m distracted by her pink lips, especially when she wets them.
I’m too late realizing it’s a decoy when Alondra catches the side of my nose and jaw with cookie dough.
She is evil, teasing me like that.
I let go of her wrist to pick her up by the waist, lifting Al onto the counter, resuming the same position we were in a few minutes ago. I slant my mouth over hers, and Alondra hooks her arms behind my neck, holding me close, even when I lift my head to look at her.
She looks beautiful—her mouth swollen, cookie dough smeared on her cheek, curls messy, and her eyes fluttering open to meet mine. “You’re something else,” I whisper, and the way my heart is trying to beat out of my chest should scare me, but it doesn’t.
“Good or bad?” Alondra asks, watching me closely.
I inhale a sharp breath, doing my best to memorize everything about her right now. “Good—too good.”
She softens, as if somehow understanding entirely what I’m saying between the lines.
I wish I could find the words to explain how Alondra makes me feel, but instead, I kiss her again, leaving them unspoken.
CHAPTER 35
Alondra
Jack was senton a last-minute errand to the grocery store while I helped his mom make everything else for dinner. He asked if I was okay with staying, but I adore his mom. I even feel a little guilty for wishing my mom were more like her.
“Thanks for helping me with dinner.” His mom smiles at me from where she’s standing next to me, seasoning the celery and onions in the pan on the stove.
“It’s no problem. I’m happy to help.” I return the smile as I pinch the crust together in the pie pan.
“I was excited when Jack said you were coming to visit. He talks about you all the time, and he’s been so happy to have you here. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen him care about cleaning as much as he did the day you flew in,” she continues, her laughter soft as she pours milk into the pan, turning down the heat while stirring.
“He’s not terribly messy, but I have noticed he struggles to shut his dresser drawers,” I say, trying not to linger on the part where he talks about me all the time. “Thank you for having me.”
“Do you want to take over stirring this for me so I can cut up the chicken?” Ms. Schultz asks, and I take the spoon from her,stirring slowly to mimic her movements from before. “Has Jack taken you skating here yet?”
“Yeah, we went this afternoon,” I say, trying not to laugh at the reminder of how Jack challenged me to a race, but then another skater lost their balance right in front of him. He had to swerve to avoid them, making it easy for me to beat him. “Jack said you used to skate? Do you still?” I ask, watching a wistful look appear in her expression.
“I did, but I quit once I found out I was pregnant with Jack. It was a little after my eighteenth birthday. His father wanted me to quit long before that, though,” she says, and it’s something I already knew, but it doesn’t make it any easier to hear the similarities between us.
“My ex didn’t like that skating took time away from him,” I admit softly, but I don’t regret saying them. “It was a mistake to quit, but I’ve recently started getting back into it.”
Her eyes meet mine, and my shoulders relax after seeing the understanding I’ve never gotten from anyone else. It feels better than the horror and pity I get from everyone else, even though I wish more than anything that she didn’t understand.
“I’m glad to hear you’re skating again.”
“Does all of it ever get easier?” I ask, the words scraping against my throat like sandpaper.
She smiles, nodding as she turns toward the freezer, pulling out a bag of mixed vegetables to set on the counter. “It does. You’ve already done the hardest thing anyone in that situation can do by leaving.”
“Then why does it feel like I’m always waiting for the shoe to drop?”
“It might not seem like it yet, but you’ll stop letting moments of fear and panic control your decisions,” she says, reaching over to squeeze my hand reassuringly. “Is there something else going on?”
I chew the inside of my cheek, nodding. “Bradley is having a hard time letting things go—letting me go,” I say, correcting myself.
