“What? I don’t have agrowlyvoice,” he says, very clearly trying to soften his words.
“You most definitely do.” I laugh, clearing my throat ready to imitate him. “Kincaid,” I say as low as my voice will allow.
He always sounds husky, like he needs to clear his throat or take a sip of water.
“You say my name with that kind of rough voice all the time. It’s obviously deeper than what I just did, but you get the idea. It’s like a warning tone. Although, I’ll be honest, it’s kind of hot, Chase, so I don’t know, I think it’s having the opposite effect than you’re intending.” I smirk, grabbing the TV remote.
“I’ll let you know when I’m on my way home,” he grunts out with a sigh.
I’m easily responsible for every exasperated sigh this man has made in the last few weeks since I’ve been helping him out.
“All right, let’s see what we’ve got.” I open the pantry with CeCe at my side.
Chase didn’t seem to love me cooking for him—although, he devoured the plate—but he’s good with me cooking for CeCe.
Looking in the pantry, I notice how perfectly placed every single item is in here. The boxes are lined up from tallest to shortest and the cans are neatly stacked and displayed showing the labels for each. My eyes scan the shelves, taking in every organized detail of this pantry, knowing if Chase ever saw the clutter of mine, he’d probably pass out. His organization seems to have gotten more…intensewith age. I know he’s always been very particular and simplistic, his house is still very minimally decorated, except for CeCe’s room which looks like a unicorn threw up all over it.
“Can I have noodles?” CeCe climbs on the stool as I’m carefully picking through the boxes to find what she’s asking for.
“Of course.”
Once I find the box of “spinny noodles”—also known as Cavatappi—she asked for, I get a pot of water boiling. While I’m standing near the stove, I can’t help but notice the mess we’ve made this afternoon. Countless coloring book pages all over the place, empty juice containers… I know the last time I cleaned, Chase looked at me like I committed a crime, but I’m not leaving this stuff all over the house. I don’t even have to ask and CeCe is already helping clean up, putting away some of her toys that made their way from her bedroom into the living room.
There’s a strike of lightning that illuminates practically the entire apartment when I stand from the floor. I was hoping that Chase would be home before the storm rolled in this afternoon, but that doesn’t seem likely now. It’s unseasonably late to have a storm hit in November, but technically, hurricane season runs through the end of the month.
The only time I actually care about the news is when it’s regarding the weather. I feel like, in another life, I could’ve been a storm chaser because I’m weirdly interested in weather. But they said this would be making landfall tonight, not at four in the afternoon.
Chase’s chair slides across the balcony and all I can do is watch as plants fall over and a cushion gets carried away.
I grab the remote and switch the television from the rolling credits of the latest movie we watched to the news channel. Hurricane season is like the Super Bowl for meteorologists, you can see how excited they get to talk about storms.
My phone dings with a simple “OMW” abbreviation from Chase at the same time another lightning bolt strikes, causing an even louder crack and CeCe to run from the hallway into my thigh. Her little fingers dig in tightly as she grabs my leg.
“Hey, it’s okay. It’s outside. You’re safe,” I say, stroking her cheek before I bend down to pick her up. “Does Daddy let you eaton the couch?” My instincts tell me no, but how big of a mess can noodles make?
She shrugs her shoulders as her eyes focus on the sliding glass door and the havoc on the other side. The rain is beating down now, and it feels like midnight with how dark it looks already.
Once CeCe’s dinner is finished cooking, I bring her plain noodles into the living room and decide to set up a comfortable little place for her to eat. I grab the blanket from the arm of the couch and spread it across the cushions, telling CeCe to have a seat and then grab another blanket to cover her with. Blankets are easier to wash than a whole couch, so this should cover it. I’m not going to have her sit at the table next to a raging thunderstorm outside when she can cuddle up with me on a perfectly cozy couch and watch the weather channel.
“What’s that?” CeCe asks as the weatherman circles a big orange blob on the screen.
“So, that’s the storm. The one that’s outside right now. The weatherman is showing us how fast it’s moving and where it’s moving to, how strong it is, things like that.”
“Hm.” Her little chin tilts up like she’s actually interested in what he’s got to say. “Is it fast?”
I stare at the screen, listening to the update coming from the television and concluding that this damn storm isn’t going anywhere soon. Sometimes, these things barrel through and leave as fast as they show up and others they just take their sweet ass time seeing themselves out.
“Sadly, no. Looks like it’s moving really slow… like a snail,” I say, wiggling my fingers at her.
“Ew!” she squeals.
The two of us continue to watch the weather update and the warnings flash on the bottom of the screen with different alerts.
When she finishes eating, she puts her bowl down beside her and reaches for the remote, turning the volume up higher. I can hear it clearly all the way from the kitchen as I’m getting myself a quick snack.
The front door swings open and then closes abruptly, startling me out of the daze I was in watching the number tick on the microwave.
“Loud enough?” Chase tosses his keys on the counter and makes his way into the living room where CeCe is.
