“Oh, come on,” I mutter.
Georgie cackles. “You’re supposed to avoid the walls.”
“It attacked me!”
Fletcher laughs, taking his eyes off the track just long enough to grin at me. When he looks back, he crashes into a mushroom-looking thing crossing the road. “Dammit.”
By the third race, I’m finding my groove. Georgiemighthave put the road bumpers and auto acceleration on for me, but hey—at least I’m staying on course.
Fletcher is absolutely ruthless with his daughter—throwing red shells, banana peels, and boomerangs like they’re nobody’s business.
“Isn’t hitting your child considered child abuse?” I tease.
“Yes!” Georgie hollers.
Fletcher just laughs and tosses a red shell at me instead.
I nudge his shoulder. “Rude.”
For a while, everything else fades. There are no doctors or past lovers showing up unannounced. No unspoken questions hovering between Fletcher and me like fragile glass. No awkward knowing stares from people who see too much.
It’s just the three of us on a couch, arguing over shortcuts and shouting playful jabs.
It’s what I’d needed.
But too soon my hands catch up to the fun and tingles take over until I can no longer feel the buttons. I push through one more race, and Georgie wins.
“You did better than I did the first time I played,” Fletcher says.
“Mm-hmm. It’s a low bar, but I’ll take it.” I don’t tell him about my hands. It’s just a game.
He smiles at me. “I’ll clean up.”
I say nothing, getting up to follow him into the kitchen. We linger around like two teenagers begging for five more minutes together while Georgie putters around in the living room.
“Can I walk you out?”
We take the path slowly, and when we reach the house, Fletcher follows me inside. The air is stale after three nights of no one living in it. He flips the fan on, then turns to face me.
“I wish you could stay in my bed again.”
I pull him closer. “Me too.”
He kisses me. “Especially since we didn’t even do anything when we had the chance. What were we thinking!” His tone is light, teasing.
I raise a brow. “We’re alone now.”
“No, I can’t.”
“I know.”
“Soon, though.” He kisses me deeply. “Very soon.”
Before the kiss can get heated, he pulls away and turns back around to the door. “Night, Vince.”
“Night.”
16
