Things We Never Got Over

by Lucy Score

  “Then what’s this?” I asked, grabbing the notebook she had clutched in one hand.

  “Knox! Stop!”

  “Emergency Back-to-School To Do,” I read. “Pick up laptop. Try to schedule meeting with teacher. Back to school clothes and supplies. Money.” I let out a low whistle. “A lot of question marks after that one.”

  She lunged for the notebook, but I held it out of her reach and flipped back a page. I found another to do list and another one. “Sure do like lists,” I observed.

  Her handwriting started out nice and neat, but the farther down the list it got, I could practically feel the panic in her penmanship. The woman had a lot on her plate. And not much to do it with if the glimpse of her bank balances scrawled at the bottom of a shopping list were any indicator.

  This time I allowed her to snatch the notebook back. She threw it on the desk behind her and picked up her wine glass.

  “Stay out of my business, Knox,” she said. Her cheeks were pink, and there wasn’t a hint of frost in those gorgeous hazel eyes now. Every time she took a deep breath, her breasts grazed my chest and drove me just a little more insane.

  “You don’t have to do this alone, you know,” I said.

  She clapped her non-wine-holding hand to her forehead in mock excitement. “Of course! I can just ask for handouts from strangers. Why didn’t I think of that? That wouldn’t make me look like I’m incapable of taking care of a child in the eyes of the law. Problem solved.”

  “There’s nothin’ wrong with accepting a little help now and then.”

  “I don’t need help. I need time,” she insisted, her shoulders tensing, hand fisting at her side. “Sloane mentioned she might have a part-time position opening up at the library after school starts. I can save up and get a car. I can make this work. I just need time.”

  “You want extra shifts at Honky Tonk, say the word.” I couldn’t seem to stop wanting this woman’s orbit to overlap with my own. It was a stupid, dangerous game I was playing.

  “This from the man who called me an ‘uppity, needy pain in the ass’ and tried to fire me on the spot. Forgive me if I don’t ever ask you for anything.”

  “Oh, come on, Naomi. I was pissed off.”

  She looked at me like she wanted to light me on fire. “And?” she said pointedly.

  “And what? I said some shit because I was pissed off. You weren’t supposed to hear it. Not my fault you were eavesdroppin’ on a private conversation.”

  “You yelled two seconds after I walked out the door! You can’t just do that! Words have power. They make people feel things.”

  “So stop feelin’ things, and let’s move on,” I suggested.

  “That might be the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard in my life.”

  “Doubt that. You grew up with Tina.”

  The ice in her had thawed and turned to molten lava. “I did grow up with Tina. I was nine when I overheard her telling my best friend they should play without me because I was too snobby to have any fun. I was fourteen when she kissed the boy she knew I liked and told me I was too needy for him or anyone to ever want me.”

  Fucking A. This is why I hated talking to people. Sooner or later, you always stuck your finger in a wound.

  I ran my hand through my hair.

  “Then along comes Knox Morgan. Who doesn’t want me around because, despite my defective personality of being uppity and needy, you still managed to be attracted to my body.”

  “Look, Daisy. It’s nothing personal.”

  “Except it is deeply personal.”

  “Put a lot of thought into being pissed off about this, haven’t you?” Maybe I wasn’t the only one losing sleep.

  “Go screw yourself, Knox!”

  The brisk knock at the front door made Naomi jump. Wine sloshed over the rim of her glass.

  “Am I interrupting?” The woman on the other side of the screen door was a few inches shy of Naomi and wore a rumpled gray suit. Her dark hair was pulled back in a tight bun.

  “Ummm,” Naomi managed as she tried to blot at the wine on her chest with her hands. “Uhhh.”

  “I’m Yolanda Suarez. With Child Protective Services.”

  Ah. Fuck me.

  Naomi went rigor-mortis stiff next to me. I snatched the box of tissues off the top of the desk and handed it to Naomi. “Here,” I said.

  When she just stared at the visitor without moving, I yanked a few tissues out and started to blot up the disaster.

  It took about two dabs into her cleavage before she snapped out of it and slapped my hands away.

  “Um! Welcome. This isn’t my wine,” Naomi said, eyes wide. The visitor’s gaze slid to the now-empty glass Naomi was holding. “I mean it is. I don’t know why I said that. But I’m not drinking a lot of it. I’m responsible. And I hardly ever yell at men in my living room.”

  “Okaaaaaay. Is Chief Morgan here? He asked me to stop by,” Yolanda asked coolly.

  FIFTEEN

  KNOX GOES SHOPPING

  Naomi

  Two days later, I was still having mini heart attacks every time someone came to the door. Nash had invited Yolanda, Waylay’s caseworker, to stop by so he could introduce us. He’d just had no idea that she’d show up when I was in the middle of unloading a lifetime of baggage on Knox Morgan.

  The introduction had been brief and awkward. Yolanda handed over a paper copy of the guardianship application, and I could feel her classifying me as a screaming shrew with a taste for too much wine. On the bright side, Waylay had been mercifully polite and didn’t mention how I was torturing her with vegetables in her meals.

  I’d over-analyzed the informal meeting to the point where I was convinced I’d barely survived an interrogation and that Yolanda Suarez hated me. My new mission wasn’t just to be judged an “acceptable” kinship guardian—I was going to be the best kinship guardian Northern Virginia had ever seen.

  The very next day, I’d borrowed Liza’s Buick and marched into Knockemout’s consignment shop. Pack Rats had coughed up $400 for my custom-made, barely worn wedding dress. Then I’d grabbed a coffee from Justice and gone straight home to finalize the back-to-school shopping list.

  “Guess what we’re doing today,” I said to Waylay as we had our lunch of sandwiches and carrot sticks on the back porch.

  The sun was shining, the creek burbling lazily as it flowed past the edge of the grass.

  “Probably something boring,” Waylay predicted as she tossed another carrot stick over her shoulder into the yard.

  “Back-to-school shopping.”

  She looked at me with suspicion. “Is that a thing?”

  “Of course it’s a thing. You’re a kid. Kids grow. They outgrow old stuff and need new stuff.”

  “You’re taking me shopping. For clothes?” Waylay said slowly.

  “And shoes. And school supplies. Your teacher hasn’t answered my emails yet, so I got a copy of the supply list from Chloe’s mom.” I was babbling because I was nervous. Waylay and I had yet to connect, and I was willing to attempt to buy her affection.

  “Do I get to pick the clothes?”

  “You’re the one wearing them. I might retain veto power in case you decide to go for a fur coat or velour tracksuits. But yeah. You get to pick.”

  “Huh. Okay,” she said.

  She wasn’t exactly jumping up and down and throwing her arms around me like she had in my imagination. But there was a twinkle of a smile happening at the corners of her mouth as she ate her turkey and provolone.

  After lunch, I sent Waylay upstairs to get ready while I reviewed the mall research I’d printed at the library. I was only halfway through the store descriptions when there was a knock at the front door. Fearing it was another “drop-by” from Yolanda, I took a moment to run my fingers through my hair, check my teeth for lipstick, and close the lid on the rolltop desk so she couldn’t judge my obsession with notebooks and planners.

  Instead of Yolanda, I found the most annoying man in the world standin
g on the porch in jeans, a gray t-shirt, and aviators. His hair looked a little shorter on top. I guessed when you owned a barbershop, you could get a haircut whenever you wanted. It was annoying how attractive he was, all bearded and tattooed and aloof.

  “Howdy, neighbor,” he said.

  “Who are you and what have you done with blond Oscar?” I asked.

  “Let’s go,” he said, hooking his thumb toward his truck.

  “What? Where? Why are you here?”

  “Liza J said you needed a ride. I’m your ride.”

  I shook my head. “Oh, no. I’m not doing this with you today.”

  “Not playing games, Daisy. Get your ass in the truck.”

  “As charming as that invitation is, Viking, I’m taking Waylay back-to-school shopping. You don’t strike me as a ‘spend the day shopping with the girls’ kind of neighbor.”

  “You’re not wrong. But maybe I’m a ‘drop the girls off at the mall and pick them up when they’re done’ kind of neighbor.”

  “No offense. But no. You’re not that either.”

  “We can stand here arguing about it for the next hour or you can get your ass in the truck.” He sounded almost cheerful, and that made me suspicious.

  “Why can’t I just borrow Liza’s car?” That had been the plan. I didn’t like when things didn’t go according to plan.

  “Can’t now. She needs it.” He leaned around me and called into the house. “Waylay, get a move on! Bus is leaving.”

  I heard the thunder of feet upstairs as my niece forgot to play it cool.

  I put a hand to his chest and pushed him back until we were both standing on the porch. “Listen, this trip is important. I’m trying to bond with Waylay, and she’s never been back-to-school shopping before. So if you’re going to do anything to ruin it, I’d rather take a Lyft to the mall. In fact, that’s what I’m going to do.”

  He looked downright amused. “And how are you going to do that with a piece of shit phone that’s too old to download apps?”

  Damn it.

  Waylay vaulted into the living room, landing with both feet before rearranging her expression into a look of boredom. “Hey,” she said to Knox.

  “Knox is going to drive us,” I explained with zero enthusiasm.

  “Cool. How much stuff are you planning to buy if you need a whole entire pickup truck?” Waylay wondered.

  “Your aunt said she plans to buy out half the mall. Figured it was best to come prepared,” Knox said.

  I caught the little half smile on her face before she led the way down the porch steps and said, “Let’s get this over with.”

  My suspicions were further heightened when we got in the truck, and I found a coffee for me and a smoothie for Waylay.

  “What’s your game?” I asked Knox when he slid behind the wheel.

  He ignored me to frown over a text.

  There was something about the way he hesitated that gave me a bad feeling. “Is Liza okay? Did something happen at Honky Tonk?”

  “Relax, Daisy. Everybody and everything is fine.”

  He fired off a response and started the truck.

  We headed east and joined the slog of Northern Virginia traffic. I checked my tidy stack of cash again while Knox and Waylay made small talk. I tuned them out and tried to squash the anxiety. Yesterday at the library, I’d logged into my accounts to confirm some budget numbers. Money was tight. The bar shifts and free rent were helping. But my income wasn’t enough to impress any judge in any court, especially not if I added a car payment into the mix.

  I had three options: 1. Find a day job while Waylay was in school. 2. Borrow against my retirement savings. 3. Sell my house on Long Island.

  Inwardly, I cringed. It had represented so much more to me than just three bedrooms and two baths. It was a gratifying step that was part of a larger plan. I’d landed a good job at Warner’s family’s investment firm, fallen for him, and bought a nice house to start a family.

  If I sold it, I was officially saying good-bye to the dream. Then where would I go after my six months of temporary guardianship with Waylay were up?

  By the time we got to the mall, I was marinating in the misery of regrets and failures.

  “Thanks for the ride,” I said to Knox, who was now on his phone carrying on a conversation that seemed to consist of monosyllabic questions and answers. I hopped out, still clutching my coffee.

  Waylay climbed out of the backseat and slammed her door.

  I expected him to accelerate away, leaving us in a cloud of fumes, but instead he got out and shoved his phone in his back pocket.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Are you shopping with us?” Waylay asked. She didn’t sound horrified—she sounded excited.

  Damn you, Knox Morgan.

  “Got some things on my own shopping list. Figured you ladies could show me the ropes.”

  We entered the air-conditioned mall, and with a cursory glance in my direction, Waylay made a beeline for an accessories store.

  As soon as she disappeared into the store, I grabbed Knox’s tattooed arm. “What. Are. You. Doing?”

  “Shopping.”

  “You don’t shop. You don’t go to malls.”

  He rolled back on his heels, looking amused. “That a fact?”

  “You’re the kind of guy who wears his clothes until they disintegrate, and then you either start wearing something some female relative got you for Christmas or you order the same exact thing you wore out online. You do not go to malls. You do not shop with girls.”

  Knox moved into my space. Those eyes, more gray than blue today, went serious. “You got a problem with me tagging along?”

  “Yes! What are you doing here, Knox? I’m trying to bond with Waylay. Everything else I’ve tried so far hasn’t put a crack in those walls. She’s got a poker face at age eleven because of the amount of disappointment she’s already faced. I want to see her smile. A real smile.”

  “Jesus, Naomi. I’m not here to fuck that up.”

  “Then why are you here?”

  Waylay knocked on her side of the store window and held up two pairs of earrings to her unpierced lobes. I gave her a thumbs-up and mentally added “Pierce Waylay’s ears” to the list.

  “I got my reasons. Just like I got my reasons for not telling you.”

  “That’s not an acceptable answer.”

  We were almost touching now, and my body was getting confused between the cold air conditioning and the heat pumping off his spectacular body.

  “Only answer you’re getting for now.”

  “This is why you’re single,” I pointed out. “No woman in her right mind would put up with that.”

  “I’m single because I wanna be,” he countered.

  I was mid eye-roll when he decided to change the subject. “So you’re trying to buy your way in with Way?”

  “Yes, I am. Girls like presents.”

  “Do you like presents?” he asked.

  I shook my head. “No, Knox. I don’t. I freaking love presents.”

  It was true. I did.

  Warner had half-assed his way through the past few years of Christmas and birthdays, making me feel materialistic when I’d shown any disappointment at the thoughtless gifts in the wrong sizes.

  Knox cracked a half smile. “So, where’s the funding coming from for this spree? I know what you make at Honky Tonk.”

  I craned my neck to make sure Waylay was still inside. She was trying on a braided headband in pink and purple. It looked freaking adorable, and I itched to go in and drag her to the counter with it.

  “Not that it’s any of your business, but I sold my wedding dress.”

  “Things that bad?” he asked.

  “Bad?”

  “You just sold a wedding dress to pay for your niece’s back-to-school shit. You don’t have a phone. And you don’t have a car.”

  “I have a phone,” I said, digging out Liza’s old Blackberry and holding it up in his face.

&n
bsp; “The letter E just fell off the keyboard.”

  Damn it. E was in a lot of words.

  “I don’t need your judgment. Okay? Today, the priority is school stuff for Waylay. I’ll figure out the rest. So you do your thing, and I’ll shower my niece with stuff.”

  That half smile was back and it was wreaking havoc with my nervous system. “Deal.”

  I headed toward the store, then stopped short to admire the window display. A wall of hot, hard chest crashed into me.

  “Problem?” Knox asked. His beard tickled my ear.

  I turned around to face him and gritted my teeth. “You’re not going to leave us alone today, are you?”

  “Nope,” he said, walking me backwards into the store with a hand spread across my stomach.

  I thought for sure we’d lose him in the first tween store, but he’d stuck through all of them. Including the shoes. He’d even voiced a few opinions when Waylay asked for them and he’d made faces at her to keep her entertained while she got her ears pierced.

  She was glowing. Her frosty “don’t care” demeanor had started to thaw on the second pair of shoes and had melted into a puddle when I insisted she get the sundress with pink and yellow flowers. And that was before Knox had whipped out his credit card when she gasped audibly over a pair of hot pink sneakers with bedazzled flowers.

  “Why do you keep feeling your forehead, Aunt Naomi?” Waylay asked.

  “I’m trying to see if I have a fever because I’m definitely hallucinating.” The only alternative was I’d accidentally managed to fall into an alternate timeline in which Knox Morgan was a nice guy who liked to shop.

  We ran into Waylay’s friend Nina—with the nice breath and black hair—from school. I was happy to be introduced to her dads, Isaac and Gael, who seemed to accept it when Knox introduced himself only as our ride. Nina asked if Waylay could go to the arcade with them. I gladly said yes and was exchanging phone numbers with Isaac when Knox pulled a twenty-dollar bill out of his wallet.

  “Go wild, Way,” he said.