She doesn’t turn, just meets my eyes in the mirror, frozen midswipe with the makeup brush.
“Don’t do that for me,” I murmur.
She blinks. “I just want to look nice.”
I step in behind her, my hand finding the small of her back. “You always do.”
Her lips curve a little. “Well, you said this was going to be a nicer place.”
“I know, but it’s not formal or anything.”
“This isn’t formal.” She laughs. “I’m wearing jeans, Cody.”
“Damn right you are.” My eyes drop to them again, and her elbow finds my ribs.
“Stop it,” she laughs.
* * *
After what felt like hours of Karissa telling Addison every possible thing she might need to know regarding Emma, we’re finally in my truck, on our way to dinner.
Her hand is in mine and I can sense she’s uptight. I rub my thumb over her knuckles for subtle assurance.
“Addie will call if there are any questions,” I remind her.
“I know.”
“Do you?” I laugh.
“It’s just annoying.”
“What is?”
“That I want a break most days and then here I am, getting one, and all I do is worry and wish away the time so I can get back to her quicker.”
“I’m sure you’re not the only mom who does that.”
“I just feel guilty. Emma doesn’t understand why I need a break or why I get overwhelmed. She’s a baby.”
I stay quiet, but not because I have no idea what to say. Of course Emma doesn’t understand. She’s not gonna remember she didn’t see her mom for a few hours this one night when she was three months old. This evening isn’t going to alter her life.
“She smiled when we left. Didn’t make a single fuss,” I say.
“I know. But what if we get into an accident and I never see her again.”
“Karissa, stop. You cannot think like that.” I’m firm because that’s dark, even for me.
“Well, I do.”
“Well, that’s not okay. You know, you can worry the world away, therefore it’s pointless to do.”
She slips her hand from mine and folds it in her lap, but I reach over and take it right back, holding on.
“I just want you to relax,” I say, my thumb brushing over her knuckles again. “Enjoy yourself…with me. Okay?”
She just nods, the radio and sound of my truck the only thing humming in the background.
When we get to the restaurant, it hits me, a past memory with Bree. An argument memory, that is. I used to suggest we pick up pizza and go park in a field. Eat in the bed of my truck and watch the sunset. But she never wanted to do that.
