Page 33 of Goode Tidings

A bottle of perfume sits on the dresser, capped in gold with a rectangular body. I bring it to my nose and inhale.

Have mercy. It smells incredible. I don't know how to describe the scent, only that it brings to mind an experience. Perhaps a date in a dimly lit space, a tumbler of scotch, slender fingers that coast my forearm, nails lightly scratching.

"I know you didn't get lost," Eden calls from down the hall, cutting off my imagination. Good thing, too. It might've run wild.

I've replaced the cap on her perfume just as she appears in the open doorway. Her eyes narrow in suspicion. "You better not have been smelling my underwear."

My eyes close as I exhale a heavy breath. "Do you always say exactly what you're thinking?"

She smirks. "No."

I gesture beyond her, indicating that we can leave the bedroom. She leads the way down the hall, saying over her shoulder, "You did not deny smelling my panties. Is it safe to assume you got a good whiff?"

This woman.

"You added a blanket and pillows to my couch. And a coffee table," I grumble, aware of what an ogre I sound like. "I was curious to see what changes you made to my bedroom."

"My bedroom," she corrects, settling in at the table off the kitchen. In my wandering absence, she has set up two plates and coffee cups. Her cup holds a creamy coffee mixture. Mine is empty. She hands it to me, saying, "I figured you could make your coffee the way you like it."

I set about preparing my flat white, two sugars. Twice in the past week I've ordered this drink from the coffee shop in town, and even though it's good, somehow the one I make here in this kitchen is better.

"You move around that kitchen like you know the place," Eden teases. She's leaning back in her seat, legs crossed at the knee and bare foot dangling.

"I've made coffee in here a time or two." I settle across from her. "Alright, tell me why you were crying when Oliver got home from school."

She bites the side of her lip, her eyes dropping to the cupcake on the plate in front of her. "I've made Oliver 'welcome home' cupcakes on the first day of school ever since he was in preschool. He was so nervous that first day, and worried I'd forget about him if we were apart. I told him there was no way I could forget about him because I was going to spend the day making him cupcakes. It's been a tradition ever since. Until now, anyway." Her hands ball into fists in her lap. She's trying not to cry.

In my mind I see Eden and what I imagine Oliver looked like when he was little (kind of like Justin, I suppose), just the two of them sitting at a table with cupcakes and talking about Oliver's school day. No wonder she's upset. "That is really fucking sad."

Eden laughs, but it's more of a release of emotion than it is a happy sound. "You asked."

I reach for my cupcake, peeling off the liner. "Is it hard to be a single mom?"

"Yes, and no. Depends on the day."

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Aren't you already doing that?"

"How did you end up with Justin?"

Eden dips a fingertip into the frosting of her cupcake. "Do you know that you make a face when you say his name?"

"No way. I am calm, cool, and collected when it comes to that guy."

Eden snorts. "This is how you look." She wrinkles her nose and shakes her head as she says, "Justin."

"Maybe I make a face when I say his name, but I don't make that face." I take a bite of my cupcake and try not to groan. I have a massive sweet tooth, and this? It's hitting just the right spot.

"Keep lying to yourself," Eden responds, sliding a fingertip into her mouth and sucking off the frosting.

I look away immediately. I could really use one of those Men In Black memory erasers at the moment. The image of Eden sucking frosting from her finger is sure to haunt me forever.

"What's wrong?" Eden asks, wiping her hands on a napkin.

"Nothing," I say quickly. Nothing you need to know about.

"You look like you're in pain."