“Again! Again!” Quinn shouts.
“We need to finish breakfast. You have school today, and then Summer is picking you up for a fun appointment.”
I catch it when he struggles to get out the wordfun. I know he’s doing this for Quinn. Making it sound exciting when I’m sure his memories of it are anything but. He hasn’t shared any more about his disability since the night in the studio, but I gathered that “fun” wasn’t a word he would ever use to describe it.
“Otay!” She bounds for the table, and he turns to me.
“I sent over a signed form this morning granting you permission to take her to her appointments. If they give you any trouble, you can have them call me.”
I nod. “I’m sure it will be fine.”
“Would you like some coffee?” he asks. Next to the mug is a bottle of my favorite hazelnut creamer. “I figured, if you’re going to be living here, you deserve for it to feel like your home too. Julia told me you like this one.”
The confused feelings I woke up with vanish. You don’t ask a girl’s best friend what her favorite kind of coffee creamer is if you don’t like her.
“I’d love some. Thank you.”
“About last night,” he says, handing me the mug.
I was going to avoid this topic until later when we didn’t have a toddler in the same room, but now I have a sudden urge to clear the air.
“Everett, I?—”
He grabs my wrist—the same one he touched that first time in the parking lot. It’s an intentional gesture. A reminder of the moment we shared.
“I’m sorry for leaving you like that.”
He isn’t letting go, and I don’t want him to.
“Quinn doesn’t usually wake up in the middle of the night, let alone in this house. She needed her mo—I slept on her floor.”
That’s why he never came back. Not for the million other reasons that had me second-guessing my decision to move. I know he’s trying to convey that he doesn’t regret it. And if his eyes focused on my mouth don’t send the message, the distracting stroke of his thumb on my wrist sure does.
“You don’t have to apologize.”
He leans in close and with a sultry whisper, says, “The only thing I’m apologizing for is not getting to see you wake up in that shirt.”
He lets go and brushes by me, leaving the heat of his hand, his mouth, everything behind. I blow out a breath, hoping it expels the warmth from my cheeks with it. If not, I’m going to need a big gulp of this coffee to explain away the flush that has found a home in my face.
“There’s always tomorrow.”
We exchange a stolen glance.
“I’m counting on it.”
“You must be Summer,” the speech therapist says, sitting in the chair across from us.
Everett briefed me over breakfast. He wasn’t kidding when he said this place is busy, even at 3:00 on a Monday. There was zero chance for introductions in the packed waiting room she retrieved us from.
“Yeah, I’m Quinn’s nanny.”
Sue is exactly how I pictured the stoic yet inviting person Everett described her to be as she shakes my hand.
“I’m so glad you could come see me again today, Quinn.”
We both laugh when she says, “Yeah,” instead ofme too, her attention too enraptured on a family of plastic figurines in front of her to pay us any attention.
“Before we get started, I was hoping I could run something by you.” Sue turns toward me.
