I rub my forehead and take a sip of my coffee, staring at the kitchen counter, unable to stop myself from replaying last night through my head for the hundredth time since she ran upstairs on me. I’ve never wanted a woman like this. Never had a taste and craved more. That one kiss two years ago somehow rewired my brain into only seeing her, and what the fuck do I do about that?
Skylar isn’t eating either. She’s shuffling her food around on her plate, her left hand wrapped around the porcelain of the mug, and my gaze fixes on the diamonds. She’s wearing them. Ihadn’t expected that. I thought they’d live in the jewelry box, and she’d only wear them when forced or in front of Josh.
I need to tell Zoey about this, but she’s a bit fragile. Maybe tonight.
I clear my throat. “Do you have a lot of things to move?” I ask, spinning my hat around on my head so it faces forward and I can watch her from beneath the brim.
“Yes,” she admits with a rueful laugh.
“You’re moving?” Zoey cries in horror, completely misinterpreting.
“No way,” Skylar tells her. “Your dad and I are simply switching bedrooms.”
Zoey is way too relieved by that, and acid burns up my stomach lining. My lungs constrict like I’m being held underwater, but no matter how hard I try to get to the surface, I can’t reach it. I just keep swimming in place and holding my breath, praying I don’t drown.
“So, we’re still going to the movie?”
“Absolutely. What are we seeing again?”
“Dog Cops.”
“Oh.” Skylar’s eyebrows bounce with amusement. “What’s it about?”
“Talking dogs who solve crimes,” I deadpan.
“No!” Zoey exclaims as if I’m an idiot. “He only talks to the girl.” Then she shrugs. “And his animal friends.”
“Naturally,” Skylar agrees. “It sounds awesome.”
Zoey wiggles in her seat and crunches on bacon when Skylar’s chair suddenly screeches back from the table. All the color has drained from her face, and without a word, she gets up and races toward the powder room off the entry.
“Is she okay?” Zoey asks, dripping in concern.
“I think she has an upset tummy.”
“Maybe the eggs made her sick like they do for you. Or maybe it’s just these eggs.”
I choke on a laugh. “Hey. What’s wrong with my eggs?”
She stabs them with her fork and holds up a chunk of them for me to see. “They weren’t good today. They’re brown on top.”
The grossness dangles from her fork, and sure enough, I burned her eggs. Clearly, I was a bit too preoccupied with thoughts of my wife.
“I’ll go check on her,” I offer. “You finish up and then clear your place. But be careful not to drop anything.”
“Can I color with markers after that?”
“Only on your art mat.”
She nods and hastily shoves food into her mouth so she can color.
“Slow down. I don’t want you to choke.” I kiss the top of her head and make my way down the hall to the bathroom.
“Skylar? Can I come in?”
“No. Go away.”
I open the door anyway, since she once again didn’t lock it, already anticipating she’d tell me that, and peek in to find her kneeling on the tile floor, her head resting on her arm that’s stretched over the plastic seat. Her hair sticks to her damp forehead and falls limply behind her.
