The First Taste (Slip of the Tongue Book 2)

by Jessica Hawkins

  Instead, I ask, “Didn’t you say there were four men on this floor?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why can’t one of them fix it?”

  Amelia throws back her head and laughs, but it sounds more controlled than carefree. “Has hell frozen over? These boys wouldn’t know a wrench if I knocked them upside the head with one. And believe me, I’ve considered it.”

  I check my watch, though I’m not sure why. I’ve got nowhere to be—except, hopefully, the toilet. “You got tools here? I’ll take a look.”

  “Andrew’s extremely handy,” Sadie says.

  Amelia doesn’t miss a beat. She motions for me to follow her. “Right this way, handyman.”

  The pitter-patter of feet follows us as we continue down the short hallway. “Can I help?” Bell yells after me.

  Amelia glances over her shoulder at me. “Is that your child?” she asks, as if she’s accusing me of something.

  “Yeah. There a problem?”

  “No.” She shrugs a shoulder before opening a door to a closet. On the floor sits an impressive steel caddy. “But why does she want to help fix a toilet?”

  “Because like her old man, she knows the way to get shit done is to do it yourself. Maybe if you knew how, you wouldn’t be in this situation.”

  “Oh, I know how,” she says, glancing back at me. “I just choose to have others do it for me.”

  Before I can stop the image, I picture Amelia in the bathroom again, this time bent over, her skirt riding up the backs of her thighs. I shake the thought away, not even sure where it came from. If anything, she embraces a lot of what I avoid in women. Her clothes are all class, her hair and makeup perfect, and she seems more delighted than apologetic about mistaking me for a plumber. I’m either insulted or impressed that she’s got me doing her bitch work within minutes of meeting me.

  Ignoring her last comment, I turn and squat to Bell’s level. “I got this, kid. Go wait with Aunt Sadie.”

  Her eyebrows vault together. “But I want to help,” she whines. “You said I’m good with tools.”

  “Honey,” Amelia says from above us, “when a man offers to do your dirty work, let him. Always.”

  I look to Sadie for help, who seems to notice my irritation and immediately calls Bell back.

  When Bell’s out of earshot, I stand and turn to Amelia. “Do not put that kind of bullshit in my kid’s head,” I warn.

  Once again, an apology doesn’t even seem to occur to her. Two dimples dent her cheeks as if she’s holding in a smile. “How is that bullshit?”

  “I’m not raising an entitled, spoiled brat. Bell’s toilet needs fixing, she’ll know how to do it herself.”

  “Are you calling me an entitled, spoiled brat?”

  I look her over. It’s hard to ignore the way her skirt accentuates her small waist and comes right up under her tits. She does have one thing in common with Shana, and that’s a great rack. I return my eyes to her face. “If the skirt fits . . .”

  Amelia glances down at her outfit quickly and then points to the tools. “Well, I won’t try to change your mind,” she says. “Now, how about that toilet?”

  TWO

  Downstairs, I walk Sadie and Bell to their subway station. “Maybe we should get dinner before you go,” I say. “Bell hasn’t eaten since . . .”

  “Since?” Sadie prompts.

  “The ride here.”

  She narrows her eyes at me. “I’ve already got a meal planned at home. Nathan and I went grocery shopping last night.”

  I open my mouth.

  “And no,” she cuts me off, “you can’t come.”

  I’m not ready to say goodbye, but I can’t figure out how to score an invite without sounding desperate.

  “What’d you think of Mindy?” Sadie asks.

  “Who?”

  “The new girl. The one you just met upstairs not thirty minutes ago? She showed you to my desk?”

  “Oh.” I glance sidelong at Sadie. “I think all your colleagues will be happy they have a functioning toilet thanks to the handsome stranger.”

  Sadie elbows me. “Andrew.”

  “Could we not talk about this in front of the kid?” I ask.

  “We’re not talking about anything,” Sadie says.

  I glance down at Bell, who hasn’t said a word since we left Sadie’s office. She walks between us, watching the sidewalk, completely oblivious to her surroundings. “You’re quiet, Bluebell.”

  She looks up at me and smiles with her mouth closed—a telltale sign she’s nervous. I’m not exactly at ease, either, but she doesn’t need to know that. I ruffle her hair. “Looking forward to your sleepover?”

  “Yes,” she says.

  I wait for her to launch like the rocket she is into all the things they’re going to do tonight. One-word answers are a rarity with her.

  “Ginger’s excited to see you,” Sadie offers.

  Bell just takes my hand and says, “She’s a dog. She doesn’t know I’m coming.”

  I exchange a glance with Sadie. “Maybe this is a bad idea,” I say under my breath.

  “Relax. This is good for everyone. You need a break, and she needs to try something without you. You’re always bragging about how independent she is, but she isn’t when it comes to you.”

  I look at my shoes. That’s because I want Bell to be independent—just not from me. That might be the last thing in the world I want. She’s still my baby. I’m not sure how I’ll sleep knowing she isn’t under my roof where I can protect her. “What about you?”

  “It’s good for Nathan and me.” Sadie smiles. “Practice.”

  My bad mood eases a little. In about four months, Bell will no longer be the baby of the family. As hard as it was, especially with Shana dragging her feet as a new mom, I miss baby Bell. She was as fussy then as she is now, and I didn’t realize it at the time, but it was the start of the best years of my life.

  We stop at the subway, and I pass Sadie Bell’s overnight bag as I squat. “I’ll pick you up Sunday. You can call me anytime if you need anything.”

  “How?”

  “With Aunt Sadie’s phone.”

  “But . . .” She looks up at Sadie and back to me. “Maybe you can come too?”

  “Dads are no fun at sleepovers,” Sadie says. “I’m not even sure we’ll let Uncle Nathan stay.”

  Bell swallows, and her eyes water. “I don’t want to go.”

  “Aw, come on, kid,” I say, smiling, even though her words tear my heart in half like it’s straight up rice paper. “You’ve been excited about this all week.”

  “I changed my mind.”

  “You’re a big girl, Bell,” I say. “No tears. What do you always tell me about crying?”

  She inhales a shaky breath but after a moment, her shoulders drop a few inches. “It’s for little boys.”

  “There we go.” I nod. “Now, go with Aunt Sadie, and give Ginger a kiss for me.”

  Her cheeks, pink from holding in tears, round with a small smile. “What about Uncle Nathan?”

  “When have you ever seen me kiss Uncle Nathan?”

  She giggles, and I peck her forehead before standing again. I want her to be tough. To speak her mind and stand up for herself. I also want her to stop growing up so fast. It’s a war in me that never seems to end—raise a smart, mature, confident girl while keeping her my baby. Sometimes I worry I’m doing a shit job of all of it.

  “What’re you going to do now?” Sadie asks.

  Normally at this time, I’d be prepping dinner. Maybe grocery shopping with Bell or listening to her day as I chop vegetables. It’s too early for a drink, or I’d go to Timber Tavern, my local watering hole. “Head home, I guess.”

  She holds open her arms. “But you’re in New York City. Why not do something fun? Live a little.”

  “I’ve hated this place since we were kids. It’s full of superficial snobs, present company included.”

  She smirks, used to my teasing. “I’m just saying. You
’re a bachelor for forty-eight hours. Use them wisely.”

  “I’m also a thirty-five-year-old dad,” I say, deadpan. “I’m hardly about to go on a bender.”

  “Then I suggest you do the thirties version of a bender and binge on good food. There’s a place around the corner that has amazing pizza. Seriously. You’d die for it.”

  Sadie has a weird habit of saying she’d die for a meal. “I happen to like my life,” I say. “But I’ll think about it.”

  “Ready?” Sadie asks Bell, taking her hand.

  We say goodnight, and the two most important women in my world descend down the steps without me.

  I shove my hands in my pockets, watching long after they’re gone. It’s a fifteen-minute walk back to Penn Station, but at the thought of going home to an empty house, I slow to a crawl. I’ll be on my own for an entire weekend—the first time since Bell’s mom left almost four years ago. I have an open invitation to go out with the guys at my shop, but most of the time I prefer to stay home with Bell. And on the rare occasion I get a sitter, at least I know I’m coming home to find Bell safe in her bed. Two nights without that comfort feels like the loss of a limb.

  As I approach Sadie’s office on my way back to the train, my sight snags on the smoking-hot blonde coming out of the building before I realize who it is. Digging through her purse with one hand, Sadie’s boss, Amelia, stops a few feet in front of me. She’s carrying a small package, plus a laptop bag and purse over her shoulder, and both crooks of her arms are occupied by manila folders, magazines, and a coffee thermos.

  I walk until I’m standing right in front of her. “Need some help?”

  She keeps her head down. “No.”

  I cross my arms at her curtness. “Just trying to be friendly.”

  “Right,” she snorts. “In this city? Friendly means—” She glances up and squints at me. “Oh. You’re the plumber.”

  “For the last time, I’m not a plumber,” I say. “I’m Sadie’s brother.”

  The corner of her red mouth twitches as if she’s going to smirk, but she manages to contain it, which is almost worse. “Of course. My mistake.”

  The thermos wedged in her elbow clatters on the ground. “Shit,” she says, trying to balance everything and go after it.

  “Let me give you a hand,” I say, scooping it up. “Where are you headed?”

  “I’m fine.” She takes it from me. Some papers slide out of the folder, dangerously close to falling out. “Just because you fixed my toilet doesn’t make me helpless.”

  “I wasn’t implying you were.” Since my help isn’t wanted, I have to ball my hands under my pits to stop myself from saving the papers slipping through the folder. I glance at them, pages ripped from a yellow legal pad, hoping she’ll get the hint. The handwriting—hers, I assume—is messy, but I still make out the words assets and alimony.

  “If you’re going to stare at my breasts, try not to be so obvious about it.”

  “I wasn’t, actually,” I say and let my gaze drift a few inches over. Unless she’s wearing a bionic push-up bra, she’s got more to work with than her slight frame suggests. “But I am now.”

  Amelia covers herself with the stack in her arms and one by one, papers start to flutter from her folder. “Goddamn it,” she says, dropping the magazines to the sidewalk with a smack. A breeze scatters the scribble-covered pages away.

  I keep my arms over my chest, watching her scurry around in an attempt to recover everything. “Well, don’t just stand there,” she snaps, barely glancing up. “This stuff is important.”

  I shake my head, chuckling to myself, and jog past her to retrieve the ones that skittered the farthest. I manage to grab them all, but not before a suit on legs with a cell attached to his ear walks right over them. “Hey, asshole,” I say loud enough for him to hear. He doesn’t bother to respond.

  When I turn back, I’m greeted with a startling and welcome sight. Amelia’s bent over, piling the contents of the folder on top of the magazines. The chick has barely an ounce fat on her, but she’s got an ass like a couple of cantaloupes and I’m suddenly the kind of hungry that can’t be satisfied with pizza. There’s definitely enough for me to get a handful—and it’s giving her rack a run for its money.

  I let my eyes travel down her sculpted calves—is she a runner?—to her thin ankles and high, high black heels. The sleeping giant in me wakes, as if my body knows I finally have a weekend with nowhere to be—a rare couple days without the all-consuming responsibility of raising a six-year-old. My mood morphs. Curiosity gives way to intrigue. I stalk back toward her, and when she’s gathered herself and is upright again, I hold out the stack I managed to collect. There’s a footprint smudge on top of a paper printed with paragraphs of terms and conditions. She looks at it, blinks, and starts to laugh.

  I grin, caught off guard by her sudden openness. “That’s one way to get the message across,” I say.

  “It certainly is.” She wipes the corner of one eye and pauses. “Wait, to who?”

  “Your husband.”

  Her face freezes. She goes to take the papers, but she has a thermos in one hand and the package in the other. She extends her elbow a little bit, just enough for me to slip the pages in. I don’t.

  “That’s what this is, isn’t it?” I ask, looking them over, noting the copious notes in the margin. “Divorce agreement or something?”

  Her expression cools, and even though she’s done nothing but boss me around and attempt to belittle me since we met, I feel instantly bad about ruining her good mood. She doesn’t seem the type to laugh easily.

  “Never mind.” I straighten the papers in my pile, sticking the handwritten notes on the bottom before grabbing more pages out of her hands.

  “What are you—”

  “You said they’re important.” I check the page numbers and start getting the contract back in order while she watches.

  “They don’t know we’re still married,” she says.

  I glance up at her quickly before returning to my project. “Who?”

  “Anyone. I told everyone it was done months ago when it was supposed to be, but it’s not yet. So please don’t mention it to your sister.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s . . . complicated, and I don’t want them to worry about—”

  “No,” I cut her off. I have no reason to mention it to Sadie, and it’s Amelia’s prerogative to keep it private. “I meant, why isn’t it done?”

  “Oh.” Her eyes dart away. “Like I said. It’s complicated.”

  “What isn’t?”

  “Not much these days, I guess.” She glances at the pages between us. “I should go.”

  I don’t give them to her. I’m not ready to say goodbye just yet. In the four years I’ve been single, I’ve had plenty of opportunities with eager women. I can’t remember one who treated me like such a nuisance, though. It’s almost nice, the change of pace, and since I’ve got nowhere to be, I might as well see where it leads. I nod behind her. “So this is your business?”

  She looks up the building toward her floor and nods. “And no, my dad didn’t give me the capital to start it.”

  This girl is feisty, but the more annoyed she seems, the more I want to needle her. “So your mom then?”

  She sets her jaw. “Actually, no. I worked through college and then my twenties, saving every dollar I could. I have an investor, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t bust my ass to get here.”

  “Relax. I’m teasing you. I own a business too.”

  She shifts on her feet, her eyes bouncing from the papers I won’t give her to my face. “Look, I don’t date. So whatever you’re doing, you can stop. I’m not interested.”

  I lift my chin. I’d be impressed with her candor if my attention hadn’t snagged on what she’d said. “Don’t date what?” I ask. “Plumbers? Outside the tri-state area?”

  “No, I just don’t date. Anyone. Period.”

  I lean in a little and catch a whiff of her
perfume. It’s dense, sophisticated, so different from the citrus-scented lotion of the girls I know at home. “Because you’re married?”

  “No.”

  “Something to do with the soon-to-be ex?”

  She holds my gaze. “It doesn’t take a genius.”

  “Well, then you’ll be happy to hear I don’t date, either. Not cute biker chicks in tight jeans, even though they’re my type, and not prissy city girls, who are most definitely not.”

  She reels back as if I’ve slapped her, but takes a beat before she speaks. And in those few seconds, understanding crosses her face. “You have an ex too.”

  “I do.”

  “Being called a prissy city girl doesn’t bother me.”

  “I didn’t think it would.” The more I stand here, the more I think Amelia might be just what I need this weekend. I have no complaints about my life, but before Bell came along, I was a lot more spontaneous. Sometimes I even thought about getting out of New Jersey. But the truth is, Jersey is my home. I wouldn’t have lasted long before coming back. It’s certainly more my speed than the city, but it’s been a while since I spent an evening somewhere other than Timber Tavern, the only bar I’ve hit up since Bell was born. It’s also been a while since I got to flirt with someone who wasn’t a high school classmate, or a friend of one, or a friend of a friend of one . . .

  On a whim, I hide her divorce papers behind my back. “What’re your plans tonight?”

  She scoffs. “It’s Friday night. What aren’t my plans? I have drinks with friends in an hour, then a late dinner, and who knows after that.”

  “Cancel them.”

  She gapes at me. “Cancel my plans? Why would I?”

  “Come out with me. Sadie says there’s a place around here with great pizza.”

  She laughs, tilting her head and exposing the smooth column of her throat. “First, I don’t eat carbs, so there’s no way you’re getting me to do anything with the promise of pizza. Second, I just told you—I don’t date.”

  “And neither do I.”

  “Then why are you asking me out?”

  “Because despite what you may think, I’m a gentleman, and it’s only good manners to buy you dinner first.”