He followed her gaze.
“That’s where we keep clothes,” he said.
“I’m well aware.” Was it hot in here? Or was Mike actually made of the same material as the sun?
He chuckled. “I’m getting closer, aren’t I?”
She lifted her chin to look up at him. He was closer. Near enough she could have risen on her tip toes and kissed him. But she had a feeling that’s not what he meant.
“Trying to wear me down or something?” She hoped she sounded flirty. It didn’t feel that way with her whole body humming with nerves and something else. Something heavier, centered right in the bottom of her belly.
“Not wear you down,” he said. “Just warm you up.”
A small dose of panic dripped into the mix. She didn’t know what she was feeling—too many strong things, conflicting things, things she’d never felt, not even with her own husband. Her brain went on red alert.
“It’s too quiet,” she said. The sudden silence from outside drew both their attentions.
Screeching chaos, even crying, was usually fine. But when it came to kids, silence was almost always bad.
They both moved quickly to the window overlooking the yard. She didn’t see the girls right away, but at Mike’s soft laughter relaxed the tension at the base of her neck. He pointed to the corner of the deck, where Paisley and Chloe were hiding in the shadows, hose ready.
“I think that’s supposed to be for me,” said Amy.
“We could counter-attack with water balloons.”
Her brows quirked. “Please tell me you’re not lying.”
His face was more serious than she’d ever seen it.
“I would never lie about something this important.”
She smiled again, amazed at how he could baffle her one minute, and totally have her at ease the next.
“I should change,” she said.
“What’s stopping you?”
This time when she tensed, he threw his head back and laughed.
“Oh me?” he asked innocently. “Okay, okay. I’m leaving.”
He turned toward the door, and she gasped. Across his back stretched a huge tattoo, the one she’d just seen the edge of when she’d come in. The outside design was a tangle of thick vines ending in sharp points that stretched across his upper back and down the slope of his waist. The color of his skin was lightened in contrast to the black ink, and she had an urge to trace the long lines with her fingertips. The markings raked toward a center point between his shoulder blades, a large circle, holding a compass, with an arrow pointed north.
“Whoa,” she said. It seemed completely impossible that she’d been living in his house this long and hadn’t seen his tattoo. But then again, she hadn’t seen him without a shirt until just now.
He turned back, and when he saw her looking, snagged the dry shirt off the dresser and pulled it over his head. The wet shirt was tossed into the bathroom sink.
“Got it in prison,” he said. “My cellmate did it with a ball point pen.”
She stared at him blankly.
For the second time in a minute, he threw back his head and laughed.
Chapter Three
They won. They’d only had time to fill four water balloons, but it was enough to create a diversion so that Mike could snag the hose and punish them properly. Of course, he instantly turned the hose on her, and it turned into an all-out battle of boy against girls. By the end they were all soaked.
Since Mike was home, he read to the girls as part of their nightly homework assignment. She could hear them in the living room while she cooked—he did all the voices, and when she glanced around the corner, her heart clutched in her chest to see Paisley curled up under his arm on the plush sage couch. Chloe was different—she had a hard time sitting still—but Amy knew it didn’t matter what she was doing. At the end of the story, she could always tell you exactly what had happened.
Two minutes into watching them, she smelled the distinct scent of burning broccoli casserole.
“God dammit,” she muttered, flinging open the oven door. The cheese was nearly black on top. “Thirty-five minutes, my ass.”
“Is my grandma coming for dinner?” Chloe asked from behind her. Amy jumped, and nearly burned her hand. Paisley had also arrived, and began to clear the marker-streaked kitchen table.
She glanced into the living room, where Mike was picking up crayons off the floor.
“I don’t know,” she said, feeling guilty that she’d completely forgotten about his mother. “Where is Ms. Iris?”
Paisley placed each plate in front of a chair. She folded the napkins into triangles. Chloe tossed forks across the table. Most of them slid to the floor.
“She left,” said Paisley. “She told us yesterday, member?”
Amy was frowning. Maybe Iris had had an appointment, or wasn’t feeling well. She watched the girls a lot. It wasn’t out of the question to think she might have needed a break.
“She didn’t tell me that,” said Amy. If she had, Amy would have tried to switch around her schedule so she could pick up the girls. She felt bad that Mike must have left work to get them, and a little uncomfortable that she hadn’t known about this, or even thought twice about it when she’d come home to find him here.
They were acting like a family. The girls were setting the table, she was making dinner. Hell, pictures of them were up on the fridge. It was weird. At least, it should have been weird.
In reality it didn’t feel weird at all, and that was really weird.
“If she doesn’t come back by dinner, I’m sure she’ll be home before bedtime,” said Amy.
“No,” said Paisley. “She went back to her other house. Forever.”
Amy stood straight up, just as Mike walked into the room.
“Your mom went home?” she asked, voice louder than she’d intended.
Mike’s brows rose. His eyes turned to the smoking casserole, which she shielded from his gaze with a potholder.
“Smells delicious,” he said with a smile.
“Can we have Ritz crackers?” asked Chloe, sniffing the air.
Paisley looked up hopefully.
While Mike grabbed a bag of salad from the fridge, Amy covertly began chipping away the burned cheese with a spatula.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” she whispered. “I didn’t know she was leaving.”
“She’s ten minutes away,” said Mike. “She’ll be glad to hear you miss her.”
Amy did miss her. Ms. Iris was not only the kindest women in the entire world, she was a huge help with the kids, and yes, honestly kind of a buffer for those awkward moments when she and Mike were alone.
“That’s not what I meant,” said Amy. She looked back at the girls, kneeling on their wooden chairs around the kitchen table. Both of their shirts were soaked around the shoulders from their still wet hair. They were already friends, but she was starting to think of them as sisters.
But they weren’t sisters. She and Mike weren’t a couple. It was like a one, two punch.
What was she doing here? Anna was right, the trial was over. The danger they’d been in was no longer an issue. Amy still had a perfectly good apartment back in the real world, but instead she was still here.
“We’ll pack up after dinner,” she said. “Thanks for having us.”
Mike blocked her way as she tried to skirt by.
“Just because my mom left, doesn’t mean you need to,” he said, his back to the girls, who were now stacking bottles on cups on plates, anything they could find to make a tower.
“Mike,” she said, shoving her wet hair behind her ears. “You’ve been really sweet, but two months is a long time.”
“For who? Paisley?” He looked over his shoulder to where they were giggling. “She looks all right. Chloe’s pretty happy with the situation. And I like you right where you are. So who’s it a problem for?”
She felt cornered, her back to the fridge where she’d just earlier been looking at her own p
hoto.
“Everyone’s safe now. The trial’s over. Anna and Alec, they’ve moved on, and now so has your mom.”
But Danny was back. She wondered, as she had after his visit, if he’d gone to her apartment to ask for money first, before he’d shown up at her work. She doubted it; though he’d asked about Paisley he didn’t genuinely seem interested in seeing her. But the thought that he might have by accident made her feel like she was capable of very, very scary things.
She jabbed the spatula straight through the burned casserole crust.
Mike tilted his head, assessing her for several long beats.
“Mom wouldn’t listen to me even if I told her she had to stay here. And either way, she wasn’t targeted. You were.”
The memories of Jonathan Marshall came up fast. The dates they’d been on. The nice things he’d said to her. He’d seemed interested, and though he’d done little in the way of butterflies, he’d been nice.
Until he showed up that night, told Paisley to watch a movie, and tied Amy up in his car. She’d never forget the way her apartment looked out of the rearview mirror. Not knowing if she was coming back to her little girl was the scariest thing she’d ever experienced.
She still remembered it now, and when she woke at night in Mike’s bed. And okay, maybe that had had a little bit to do with why she’d been taking her time getting back to her own place.
“Do you feel safe here?” he asked, as if reading her thoughts, or maybe just the expression on her face.
The seconds ticked by. She wished they would just go to the table and focus on the girls. Mike’s gaze was intense, and she wasn’t used to being the center of attention.
“Yes,” she said quietly. If she was uncomfortable here, it had nothing to do with a lack of safety.
“Good.”
“I’ll at least move to the guest room. That way you can have your space back.”
“No,” he said slowly. “I’m good downstairs. Besides, I like thinking of you in my bed.” With that he turned, fixed a smile on his face, and started dinner.
***
Just like the nights when Ms. Iris had been with them, the girls sang Johnny Appleseed for grace, tried to trade their meals for chips and popsicles, and needed constant reinforcement that the ratio of lettuce to dressing was non-negotiable.
Amy couldn’t blame Paisley for picking through her food like a bird. Unfortunately she’d picked up some of her mother’s bad habits. As it was, the casserole was barely edible anyway.
Mike stood, and wandered back into the kitchen, probably looking for something less poisonous.
“Sorry about dinner,” she said, pushing a wilted, half-blackened piece of broccoli around her plate with her fork.
“Why?” he asked, a little too enthusiastically. She put her face in her hands when he took a full second serving. He was the sweetest, most ridiculous man alive.
“Chloe, you’re up first,” he called.
His family had a dinnertime tradition where they went around the table and shared one thing about their day. It could have been anything really, a fact they’d learned in school, or something they’d done. Amy always saw it as a great way to get some extra info on Mike, but tonight she found herself unsettled. This was her and Paisley’s first night with Mike and Chloe alone, and she still wasn’t totally sure they should be here.
Still, it was a great way to get Paisley talking on her shy days, and though they’d never discussed it, Amy suspected Mike knew this. He never called on her first, and always praised the hell out of anything she said.
Whatever happened or didn’t happen between them, Amy would always love him for that.
“Um...” Chloe tapped her lip. “I’m going to play football in the NSL like my daddy.”
Amy glanced at him, wondering if this was true. Mike chuckled.
“It’s the NFL, sweetheart, National Football League, and I only played in college, not professionally.”
Amy pictured him in a uniform, mentally logging these two facts. Mike had been to college, and had been good enough to play ball. This of course spurred a hundred other questions—where had he gone? What had he majored in?—but this was Chloe’s time.
“I’m going to be a quarterback,” Chloe continued.
Amy grinned. “Sounds awesome. Go you.”
“Go me,” said Chloe. “Can I be excused?”
“Paisley hasn’t gone,” said Mike.
“Oh yeah.” She fidgeted in her chair. The red beads Amy had added to the end of her short braids tapped against each other when she moved her head.
Paisley stared at her plate. “My mommy was a cheerleader.”
Now Amy laughed. “That was a long time ago. And I think you’re supposed to say something about you.”
Paisley’s cheeks turned pink. She was sensitive to criticism, even gentle correction. Amy put her arm around her shoulders.
“No, let’s stay with this,” said Mike, leaning forward in his chair. He wove his fingers together on the table. “Cheerleading happens to be a great interest of mine.”
“It was high school,” said Amy. “And just for two years.”
“Tell me more,” said Mike.
“They threw her up in the air,” said Paisley. “She did flips.”
“About the skirt,” said Mike. “How short are we talking? Did it ever fly up when you did a backflip?”
“Oh no,” said Chloe. “How embarrassing!”
“How embarrassing!” Mike repeated.
“Oh my God,” said Amy. “Mike’s fun fact is that he has a slightly inappropriate obsession with cheerleaders. Paisley, tell us about school today.”
“I saw a hermit crab,” said Paisley. “It had pincers.”
“Nice.” Mike gave her a high five. “Hermit crabs are also a great interest of mine.”
Amy had to bite her lip to stop laughing.
“You’re up,” Mike said to her. “Feel free to go back to the skirt length.”
Chloe laughed, just because Amy was laughing. Pretty soon Paisley was giggling too.
Amy hesitated. She was supposed to say something about her day, but the one thing at the front of her mind didn’t belong here now.
“You all right?” Mike asked.
She shook her head quickly, to clear the image of Danny away.
“I talked to Anna today,” she told them. “She says you two can dress however you want for the wedding.”
The girls erupted in cheers, while Mike’s forehead came to rest on the table. They laughed until he left for his night class, and then, after the girls were in bed and the house was quiet, Amy thought of him playing football, and her cheering for him on the sidelines, and smiled all over again.
Chapter Four
Amy and Paisley arrived a customary ten minutes late for their therapy session at Carolyn Singer’s office on the south side of town. Rushing through the reception area, they found Carolyn already waiting on the loveseat, rather than behind the antique mahogany desk on the far side of the room. She wore beige linen slacks and a sharp maroon sleeveless shirt, and her nude pumps rested on the rectangular rug at her feet.
Her hair was a straight medium brown on the color chart, cut short, and worn spikey. It was a fact that Anna still didn’t believe whenever Amy brought it up. She’d only ever done phone sessions with Carolyn, and staunchly believed the woman was a blonde.
“There they are,” said Carolyn with a smile. Before Amy could apologize, the therapist was asking Paisley what was new.
“Nothing,” her daughter said, sitting on the rug in front of a three story Barbie Dreamhouse. The floor was littered with toys—many of her clients were families or just children—and she’d made it clear from the beginning that either of them could play with whatever they wanted.
Amy took a seat beside Paisley, tucking her black satin skirt around her ripped fishnets, and crossed her military boots at the ankles. She’d pieced together this outfit, complete with the rib-hugging camouflage jacket, to r
emind herself to be all that she could be. A mom. A breadwinner. A maid of honor. A hand to hold, a shoulder to cry on, and a stern no when someone stepped too far out of line.
And strong. Because after yesterday’s episode with Danny, she apparently needed a reminder of that.
“Nothing?” asked Carolyn. “Sounds boring.”
Paisley didn’t answer. She’d been suspiciously quiet today. On the car ride over, Amy had wondered if it had to do with something at school, or if it was something she had done. Maybe the whole cheerleading flirtation had gone too far last night, or the water fight in the backyard had confused her.
She couldn’t help the needling worry that Danny had had something to do with it, and had to remind herself that Danny didn’t want the baggage of a kid. Anyway, Paisley would have told her if something had happened with her father.
Probably.
Amy chewed on the inside of her cheek.
“Tell me what new book your reading,” said Carolyn. “Last week you said you’d been put on the Green Track. I know your mom was really proud.”
Amy was proud. Her daughter was smart. College-track, smart. Once she blossomed, the other kids would flock to her. Amy told herself this every time she saw them playing on the opposite side of the playground.
Paisley had pulled the mom doll out of Carolyn’s plastic bin, and was staring down at it in her lap.
“Pais, honey, Carolyn asked you something,” prompted Amy. The silence was starting to worry a hole in her stomach.
Still nothing.
Paisley was obviously listening. Her chin was tucked, and she was refusing to look at either of them.
Amy took a deep breath.
“Pais, you haven’t seen your dad have you?”
Paisley kept playing. Carolyn nodded. This wasn’t out of the ordinary. They talked about her dad a lot.
“No,” Paisley said.
Amy believed her; she would have known if this was a lie. Mothers knew that kind of thing.
But something was still wrong.
“How are things going at Chloe’s house?” asked Carolyn.
That did it. Paisley began to cry and crawled into her mother’s lap. Amy’s chest went tight. Something was hurting her little girl. Her little girl, who only yesterday was small enough to fit in one arm.
More: A Body Work Novel (The Body Work Trilogy Book 4) Page 3