“What if I am?” Her eyes implore as they meet mine.
“Everyone fucks up sometimes.”
“I learned very early in life that I don’t have the luxury of fucking up.”
“You’re really hard on yourself.”
“Maybe.” She shrugs with a sigh. “I wish I could infuse some of your easy-going nature into my brain.”
“Maybe you can.”
She scoffs, but there’s a hint of a smile teasing her lips. “And how would I do that?”
An idea percolates, and while I’m not sure she’ll go for it, the worst she can say is no. “What time does Edward call to say good night?”
“Between seven and eight.” Her gaze is skeptical. “Why?”
“I have an after-dinner activity for us.” My lips spread into a wide smile. “And it goes perfectly with pie.”
13
ROSALIE
An hour later,after I’ve spoken to my son, I follow Jackson upstairs. He pauses outside the spare room and I shoot him a questioning look. He grins before pushing the door open. The room is mostly empty, and again, I wonder what he’s got up his sleeve.
He reaches a hand up to the ceiling, the hem of his shirt rising along with his movement and blessing me with a view of his abs. But it’s gone an instant later as he pulls down a set of retractable stairs. He steadies them and holds them in place before turning to meet my stare.
“You first.”
“What is this place?” I ask as I climb. My eyes adjust to the dimness of the room. The light from the bedroom downstairs illuminates the small space. I crawl from the opening and push to my feet. From this corner, I have to duck my head so it won’t hit the beams overhead. Jackson appears through the opening.
“Rosalie, have you never seen an attic?”
I roll my eyes at his teasing chuckle. The space is surprisingly clean. No cobwebs or layers of dust, just a room filled with furniture and boxes.
He sets the bag containing our desserts on the floor before pulling himself the rest of the way inside the room. When he stands, he crowds me and my body tenses as he moves a little too close.
What is he?—?
His arm reaches behind me and with the flip of a light switch, the entire attic is bathed in warm lighting.
Oh, he’s only reaching for the light.
He moves away and retrieves our desserts, setting the bag on a nearby table.
I walk the perimeter of the small space and take everything in. This attic space isn’t furnished or decorated like the rest of the house. These things remind me of how his place was last year—an eclectic mix of outdated furniture that doesn’t quite go together. Maybe it’s the warm fairy lights and lack of natural light, but this space feels like a secret hideaway—a time machine to the past. Especially with that mustard fabric couch in the corner below the only window.
On one wall there’s a console filled with stacks of CDs and a boom box. “Are these yours?” Delight rushes through my body as I pick up a few and sift through the artists.
“They sure are.”
“CDs? Really?” My lips twist as I shoot him a grin.
“Let me guess, these weren’t even invented when you were a teenager.”
“Jesus, how old do you think I am?” I glare as he laughs. “Don’t answer that.”
“Hey, I’m no spring chicken. This CD collection is practically vintage.”
