“Shit,” she mutters, running back into the house. “My cookies.”
Eric shakes himself out of his stupor and jogs into the house after her. Ah, shit. What the hell is he doing?
I hesitate, but it only takes a moment for me to jump to my feet and follow him inside, where I’m promptly met by the behemoth from earlier. Fuck, this guy is huge. And he’s looking at me like he wants to knock my teeth down my throat. Not that I blame him. Eric gave me a quick rundown of the message I left for Phoebe last night, and I’m not surprised that anyone who knows her is pissed off at me. I was a huge asshole.
“No,” the woman wails from the other room when the alarm finally stops. “Not again. Everything was going so well this time. I was hoping to bring these to work tomorrow.”
I hear Eric say, “They don’t look so bad. I’m sure they’ll be fine.”
The woman laughs. “You can’t be serious. They’re rock solid, not to mention burned beyond recognition. Despite how they appear, it wasn’t my intention to make little hockey pucks. They were supposed to be shortbread cookies.”
The big guy raises an eyebrow before turning away from me and walking toward the voices. Not sure what else to do, I follow.
In the kitchen we find Eric putting the smoke detector back up on the ceiling and the woman staring down at a tray of tiny, black cookies. They don’t look like any shortbread cookies I’ve ever seen.
“Aww, Charlie. Not the cookies. I wanted to have some of those after the gym. You know it’s my cheat day.”
The woman, Charlie, evidently, rounded on the big guy, their height discrepancy no match for the anger flashing in her eyes. “Go away, Gavin. I don’t care if it’s your cheat day. I wouldn’t have given you any of these cookies, anyway.”
Gavin presses a hand to his chest and a shocked noise comes from deep in his throat. “Charlie, is that any way to treat your favorite little brother? I’m a growing boy, you know.”
Eric shoots me a bemused look. We’ve walked into some weird sibling twilight zone where the older sibling is tiny and the younger sibling is a giant. She looks a little older than he does, not that she looks old at all. That must mean this Gavin guy is young. Really young.
My stomach churns as I wonder if he’s Phoebe’s boyfriend. I don’t know how old Phoebe is, but this guy looks much younger than she does. There’s nothing wrong with women hooking up with younger guys, even settling down with them if they want, but I don’t want Phoebe with any of them. I’m struck with the sudden conviction that Phoebe shouldn’t be with anyone but me, and I can’t tell if the nausea I’m experiencing is from that or if it’s my hangover making a comeback.
It’s too late for me to be thinking anything like that, though.
The message I left last night made sure of it.
God, how could I be so stupid? I should have listened to Eric. I know I’ve done something truly moronic when Eric is the voice of reason.
“Why are you still here?”
I spin around to see Phoebe standing behind me with arms crossed over her chest and a scowl on her face. Damn, she’s gorgeous when she’s mad.
“I, uh,” I stutter, running a hand through my hair. “The smoke detector went off when Charlie was outside yelling at us and Eric ran in after her. I followed without thinking.”
She stands on her toes and peers past me into the kitchen. “Looks like everything is under control. You can go now.” She spins on her heel, but before she can step away, I grab her elbow.
“Wait. Don’t go yet. Please.” I drop my hand, plastering what I hope is a disarming smile on my face. “I’m sorry I was such an asshole last night. I got some…weird news and drank way too much before I even read your letter. I’m not actually an asshole. It’s not an excuse, but I am sorry I freaked out and overreacted.”
Her shoulders rise and fall, rise and fall, as she takes several deep breaths before turning to face me. “It’s fine. You said what you needed to say. I meant what I wrote in the letter. I’ll accept your decision, no matter what.”
I huff. She’s not getting it. Or maybe I’m not being very clear. Yeah, that’s more likely. I’m probably still a little drunk, to tell the truth. Why did I drinkso muchlast night? Why did Annabelle have to show up at the party like she did?
“It’s not like that,” I try to explain as she continues to walk away.
“It’s fine,” she says, her footsteps so quick I have to hurry to keep up.
She stops and opens a door, and then I hear the crying.Did she hear that from out there?I assumed babies cried loudly, but somehow Phoebe heard this when it barely even registered as sound for me. That’s amazing. Is that one of those mom things people are always talking about? She steps over to a crib and bends to pick up a baby. No, not justababy. Lincoln. Possibly my baby. He settles against her chest as she bounces him gently, making shushing noises and whispering things like “it’s okay” and “I know”. My heart beat races and I wonder if she can hear it pounding over Lincoln’s crying.
“He didn’t sleep very well last night, so he’s having a rough day,” she says without looking at me. “He’s too tired to be awake and too tired to fall asleep.”
“That seems counter-intuitive.” My loud voice causes Lincoln to startle, and he cries harder. “Shit. Sorry,” I whisper.
She waves off my apology.
“So, back to what I was saying—”
