“Oh, my God.” April stops this shitshow from hitting the fan. “You and Calista need to get your minds out of the gutter.”
Shit. Has Callie already said something to April?
If she has, then I’m catching the next flight to London.
“Will everyone stop making this unnecessarily awkward and absolutely inappropriate?” Preston whisper-shouts. “This isn’t funny.”
Then he turns to me, still bristling, just as I’m texting Callie, making sure she hasn’t eloped. “Miss Thorne, do youeverget off your phone?”
My head snaps up. “What’s wrong? Lily’s asleep. It’s Saturday. I’m off duty. Unless you need me to do something for you?”
He doesn’t answer, just shakes his head once and turns away. Conversation over. Not that I care. I’m too busy sending Callie something very important.
A GIF of an Elvis pastor.
* * *
We leave just before sunset. Sandy, sticky, and full of sugar. Lily clutches a plush seahorse from one of the rigged games Liam managed to win for her on his umpteenth try. In the car, we play every road trip game known to man, then graduate to a passionate duet performance of theFrozensoundtrack.
Today I got to see yet another side of Dr. Preston. I’d taken his serious, almost somber expression as his default. But the moment Lily entered the picture, that cracked. And all that was left was warmth. A face fully rearranged by joy. A man who, for a change, wasn’t bracing against the world.
His wrinkles have shifted from their usual post between his brows to settle at the corners of his eyes. The kindetched by real laughter, earned through time and repetition.
A fleeting thought crosses my mind:I wish I’d arrived today. When this version of him was ready and waiting. The post-Lily Preston.
But the thought feels wrong as soon as it lands. If I’d skipped everything else, I wouldn’t understand what this version means. I wouldn’t have seen the before. And I think…I thinkI like the whole package.
With the word “package” echoing in my brain, my eyes drop to his groin. I’m a scholar of subtlety.
When we get home, Lily and I spread out across the living room floor, surround ourselves with stickers, magazine clippings, and an unreasonable amount of glitter. She’s deep in craft mode, scissors in one hand, glue stick in the other. I’m mostly here for moral support and sparkles supervision.
Footsteps approach. I turn to see Preston, fresh from the gym, towel slung around his neck, sweat glistening on his collarbone. And yes, I clock the collarbone. I’m only human.
He stops just behind me.
“Come on, let’s go shower.”
I blink. My brain malfunctions. Somewhere behind my rib cage, a bird dies.
I scramble to my feet so fast I nearly fall, mouth agape. “Oh. Um. Okay—wait. What?”
Preston’s head tilts, and his brow crests in horrified confusion.
“What?” I wheeze out again, my breath catching in my throat. “I wasn’t—I don’t—Jesus, I wasn’t saying yes to that. Not that I—want—to. That much.”
My arms fumble through the air as if I’m trying to physically rewind time.
“Or at all. Let’s go with ‘at all,’” I blurt out, panicking. “I was just… stretching. Yes. That. My leg. It fell asleep. I’ve been sitting for too long. That’s why.”
He folds his arms across his chest. One brow, just one, arches so high it could make contact with God.
I flail harder. I might take flight any minute now. “Stop looking at me like that. Lily. You were talking to Lily. Not me. I know that.” I point a finger toward the child in question, who’s humming, still oblivious, pasting an upside-down cat into the middle of her collage. “Obviously. Lily. Your daughter.” Crouching beside her, I tousle her hair. “Lils, Dad’s calling you.”
“Huh?” she mumbles. “We’re artists. Da-aaad, you’re interrupting our process.”
I roll my lips to hold in a laugh. “Time to give your instruments and brain a break, Picasso. Even artists have to stop and shower now and then.”
“Fiiiiine.” She blows a raspberry, then shuffles off behind Preston with all the flair of a tortured genius. He throws one last look over his shoulder before following her down the hall. It’s unreadable. I pray to every known deity that it’s forgettable too.
