“Miles?”
Hearing my name or maybe the way it spilled from her lips helps to pull my head out of my ass. “This has been a strange-as-hell day for me, Chloe. I’m not gonna lie.” Well, maybe I’m lying a little. I don’t know.
Other than going silent there for a bit, I’m sure it doesn’t look like anything all that strange has gone down. Honest to God, this would be a really good time for me to open up, but I fucking can’t. Sure, she shared, but she’s obviously had some time to make peace with her loss. Or maybe she’s just that much stronger than me on the emotional front.
She chuckles, a little bit husky, completely real. “Yeah. You’re not wrong.”
“I’m sorry for your loss, really sorry. But I think that needs to be it for apologies. Jesus, I think we’ve worn them the fuck out. Most overused phrase between us already.” I pull my keys from my pocket, and at the metallic jangling, Bronson trots to the front door and wags not just his tail, but also his whole body.
“I’m so?—”
“Don’t say it. Seriously, don’t say it.” The lingering tension dissipates minutely with a sigh as we both laugh at the absurdity of the dog. Of the day. All of it. “Thanks for dinner. It was great.” I move toward the door, hoping I can get past Bronson without letting him out.
“Might be a good idea to go through the garage,” Chloe says under her breath because we’re truly at the point where we’re dancing around each other, trying to sneak me out without the dog catching on.
I change directions, moving back through the kitchen to the garage, and slip through the door. My arm brushes across her breasts as I do. My lungs squeeze as I weave through the space, holding in a groan.
At the threshold, I turn to take in the clutter. “When you’re ready to tackle this, let me know. I’d be happy to help,” I offer before my brain catches up to what’s coming out of my mouth.
Chloe stands on the step and nods, arms crossed over her chest. Her eyes sweep over the space between us, but she doesn’t say a word. Her lips screw up into a sneer, like she would literally rather do anything else than dig into the mess. “Nah. I’ll get to it eventually, but it’s fine for now.” Her sneer turns to a sweet smile as she leans onto the doorframe. “Thank you, though. And thanks for having dinner with us.”
I nod my thanks and fold myself into my truck, the headlights illuminating her. This might have been an absolute mindfuck ofa day for me, but the sight of her standing there as I back out of the drive is gorgeous. After she finally hits the button and the garage door lowers with her safely tucked away inside, I shove Maggie into gear and drive all four blocks to my apartment.
SEVEN
Chloe
I run my hand through Jake’s wild sandy-brown curls, twirling the silky locks around my fingers.
“I wonder if Grandpa would take you to the barber before you guys take off tomorrow,” I say absently.
Jake’s hair has gotten out of control. It’s one hundred percent the color of his dad’s, but that curl is all mine.
“Nah, I think I want to grow it out,” he says, scooting down on the couch so his head is on my lap.
This is such a weird stage he’s in. Tap-dancing back and forth over the line of wanting to grow up but still being a little kid.
“You do, huh?”
“Yeah.”
I wind and unwind a curl and tell him, “Grandpa’s going to give you a hard time this weekend. You know that, right?”
“Yeah. That’s okay. Nonna will shush him and swat at his hand. She’s good at that,” Jake says. “You’re gonna meet us at Uncle Brent’s after dinner, right?” He rolls onto his back, so his big brown eyes, wide and sweet, are looking up at me.
The fights over not taking a shower and the ones over taking too long of a shower seem like they belong to someone else. And for a moment, his hormonal attitude forgotten, he looks like my baby boy.
“That’s the plan. I have some meetings I have to go to at school, but then I’ll drive up to meet you guys. Why don’t you hop into bed, sweets?” A big part of me hates to disturb this precious scene, but the side of me that has to get up early and drag this kiddo out of bed is far more practical.
“Yes, ma’am,” he mumbles. Crunching his little body up off my lap, he grimaces and pulls his elbows in tight. The noise that flies out of him belongs more to a man than a boy and sends him off to bed in a fit of giggles. Because let’s face it; farts are funny.
I check the locks and turn off the lights as I make my way up the stairs. I peer into Jake’s room, and in the few short minutes since he blasted off the couch, he’s already slack-faced and lightly snoring.
The dog watches from the guest bed across the hall as I pull Jake’s door most of the way closed. I wipe toothpaste from the counter in the hall bathroom, impressed that he at least did a quick brush without being told, and douse the light.
In my bedroom, I softly close the door, leaning my back against it, and sigh. For a short school week, this one has wiped me out. Presidents’ Day weekend is a welcome little break. Life has definitely been a lot simpler since moving to Virginia. There’s undeniably less upkeep on this house than there was on the farm in New York, but this solo-parenting thing is still not for the faint of heart.
It’s a crapshoot whether Jake will bounce out of bed since he doesn’t have to actually go to school or if he’ll go full-on teenager and want to sleep until noon. The probability of my preferred outcome is not one I’m willing to gamble on, so I pack my bagfor the weekend at my brother’s house. That’s one less thing to worry about in the morning.
