“And, I’ll accept help.”
“And?” She leans forward, green eyes growing larger as her eyebrows climb higher with every ‘and’.
“Forget it. I’m notaskingfor help.” I swipe an X through the air with both hands. “No way. Not happening.” I stab my finger in her direction. “I wouldn’t ask you either. A fact of which you're well aware, since you invited yourself to be here in the first place. So don’t bother trying that route.”
She lets out a laugh. “It was worth a shot.” After a moment she quiets down, bending forward to peek toward the living room. “Meanwhile, where are the kids? Still sleeping?"
“They're watching cartoons while they wait for breakfast.” After our late-night cookie shenanigans, both kids did sleep in this morning, but they made an appearance about half an hour ago.
Holly’s phone dings, notifying her of her Uber's arrival. "Perfect timing then." She tugs the strap of her bag over one shoulder. "Walk me out before you make your way to the kitchen."
I nod, swallowing back the permanent lump living in my throat. I hate crying. Hate it so much, the sheer will not to do it provides as much distraction as anything.
Before I know it, I've hugged my friend goodbye and made my way to the stove to prepare pancakes from a mix that requires nothing but water. Because that's about all there is to work with in this kitchen.
After I serve the results to Remmi and Gavin—slathered in strawberry jam because there was no maple syrup to be found—I dive headfirst into the next project. One both necessary and guaranteed to occupy my thoughts, squeezing out every annoying, lingering word Holly uttered still ringing in my ears. And every disturbing image of waking in Jovi's arms while he smiled in his sleep along with it.
JOVI
I wait until after I watch Holly’s Uber show up to take her to the airport before I slowly make my way up to the house.
After pretending to still be asleep while Liz snuck out of our shared bed this morning, I did my part and crept out of the house unnoticed.
No that I have a reason to avoid her.
So we shared a mattress last night. Big deal.
And fine. Maybe I felt myself leaning toward her as I was dozing off last night. And it's possible my instinct to tug her closer as I was waking up can't be entirely blamed on my state of sleepiness.
But it's Liz. So none of it means anything. Not like it might if she were anyone else.
Besides, I had work to do in the barn. Horses to feed and turn out. Stalls to muck. I had every reason to be absent. It's not like I was hiding.
If I was, I wouldn't be headed for the front door now.
Liz wanted everyone to have a chance and get settled before starting regular routines like school and such again. So, all three of them are tucked away inside right now.
If she knew I was steps from reaching her front door, she’d probably argue I have no reason to come up here. The barn is my business, the kids are hers. But she also wouldn't expect menotto check in on the kids. And since they were still asleep when I left earlier, that's what I'm doing. Checking in to see the kids. After their first night back in the house. Nothing more to it than that.
The invisible tether tugging at me all morning certainly has nothing to do with this unscratchable itch under my chest that's been plaguing me ever since I woke up, Liz's head resting atop my heart. I'm probably allergic to her shampoo. Which I should tell her. Because it's just one more fucking thing she's done to annoy me.
Except she's not the reason I'm walking up to the front door.
The kids are. That's all.
“It’s strange how much emptier a house can feel with one less person,” I remark when I find Liz poking around in the pantry, a notepad and pen in hand like she’s doing some sort of inventory.
“I think you’re referring to the silence that comes with two kids stuffing their faces with sticky pancakes. Not the absence of a woman who spends more time observing than actually speaking,” she mutters dryly while sliding canned veggies from one side of the shelf to the other one at a time. “Who needs seven cans of creamed corn?”
I make a face. “Who needs one?” She snorts in response, and I take a step closer. “Also, say what you will, but the lack of Holly’s non-stop commentary is definitely not going unnoticed. That shit was like living with a narrator.”
She turns over her shoulder, brow crinkled and eyes narrowed like she thinks I’m an idiot. I know. She gives me that look a lot. “You’re ridiculous.”
“That insult meant more before I learned what company you keep.”
She scoffs but remains otherwise silent as she replaces the can of corn and moves on to counting all the opened boxes of macaroni. “We’ll have to check every one of these for sweets,” she mumbles, making a note on her pad of paper before turning her attention to the top shelf, piled to the ceiling with a wide variety of chips and pretzels. All of them opened and haphazardly sealed with clips and twisty ties. “For fuck's sake, did these dingdongs ever finish anything?”
I shrug. “No one likes stale chips.”
