by Lucy Score
“No reason for you to walk home, shower, and walk back to Liza’s. Not when there’s a perfectly good shower here.”
“I can’t go to breakfast in my uniform,” she said in exasperation. “Doing the walk of shame to family breakfast is not happening.”
“Fine. Give me a list.”
She looked as if I had just spoken to her in Swahili. “A list of what?”
“What do you need to get through breakfast without shame. You shower. I’ll get your stuff.”
She stared at me. “You’re working awfully hard for just a hook-up.”
I couldn’t say why, but that statement pissed me off. Standing up, I picked a pair of jeans off the floor. “Gimmie a list.” I dragged on the jeans.
She put her hands on her hips and glared at me. “Has anyone told you you’re a grump in the mornings?”
“Yeah. Every single person who’s had the misfortune of seeing me before ten a.m. Tell me what you want from your place, then get your cute ass in the shower.”
Four minutes later, I was headed out the door with an obscenely long list for a Saturday morning breakfast that my grandmother would preside over in her camo pajamas.
I jogged through my backyard to hers and came up on the cottage’s back porch. The hide-a-key had been in the same place since I could remember. In a fake rock in one of the flower boxes on the railing. I snagged the key, fit it into the lock, and found the door was already unlocked.
Great, now I was going to have to lecture her on security.
The cottage smelled like fresh air, baked goods, and lemons.
The kitchen was sparkling clean except for the opened mail on the counter. Naomi kept it in a small upright organizer, probably alphabetized, but now all the envelopes were fanned out in a sloppy stack.
The rolltop desk in the nook off the living room was open, revealing a mostly tidy workspace with Naomi’s laptop, a cup of colorful pens, and a stack of notebooks. The bottom drawer was open a few inches.
Though it was no mountain of underwear and t-shirts, I was glad to see a little disarray. I’d noticed the more stressed Naomi got, the cleaner she became. A little mess was a good sign.
I took the stairs two at a time and swung into the bathroom first to collect the toiletries and hair dryer. Then I hit Naomi’s room and grabbed shorts and—because I was a man—a lacy, girly blouse with buttons.
Haul secured, I locked the back door and headed back to my place.
When I walked into the bedroom, I found Naomi standing in the steamy bathroom with wet hair wearing nothing but a towel.
The view brought me to a sudden halt. I liked seeing her like this. Liked having an undressed, freshly showered Naomi in my space.
I liked it so much that I went on the offensive. “You gotta lock your doors, Daisy. I know this isn’t the big city, but shit still happens out here. Like my brother getting shot.”
She blinked at me, then snatched the bag of girl stuff from my hands. “I always lock the doors. I’m not an incompetent adult.”
“Back door was unlocked,” I reported.
She dug through the bag and laid the toiletries out in a neat line around my sink. I’d brought extra since I didn’t give a shit about the difference between eyeliner and eyebrow pencil.
“I lock the doors every time I leave and every night,” she argued, picking up the brush and running it through her damp hair.
I leaned casually against the door frame and enjoyed the show as she methodically worked her way through her cosmetics. “What is all that shit, anyway?”
“Haven’t you ever watched a woman get ready?” she asked, aiming a look of suspicion at me as she penciled an outline around her lips.
“It’s just breakfast,” I pointed out.
“But I don’t want to look like I just rolled out of bed with you.” The stare she gave me was pointed. I glanced in the mirror and noted that my hair was standing up in all directions. My beard was flat on one side. And I had a pillow crease under my left eye.
“Why not?” I asked.
“Because it’s not polite.”
I crossed my arms and grinned. “Baby, you lost me.”
She turned her attention back to a palette of colors and started swiping some of them on her eyelids. “We’re going to breakfast,” she said as if that explained anything.
“With family,” I added.
“And I don’t want to show up looking like I spent the last twenty-four hours having sex with you. Waylay needs a role model. Besides, my parents have enough to worry about without adding a second promiscuous daughter to their plates.”
“Naomi, having sex doesn’t make you promiscuous,” I said, torn between amusement and annoyance.
“I know that. But every time I make a decision anywhere in the neighborhood of what Tina would do, I feel like it’s my job to make it clear that I’m not her.” She put down the eye shadow and picked up one of those eyelash curler things.
I was starting to get a clearer picture of the woman I couldn’t stop thinking about naked.
“You’re a piece of work, you know that?”
She managed to give me a scowl despite the fact that she was using that contraption on one of her eyes. “Not everyone can strut through town, not giving a shit about what other people think.”
“Let’s get one thing straight, Daisy. I don’t strut.”
She crossed her eyes at me in the mirror. “Fine. You sashay.”
“Why do you feel like you have to keep proving to your parents that you’re not Tina? Anyone with eyes and ears who spends thirty seconds with you can tell that.”
“Parents have expectations for their kids. That’s just the way it is. Some people want their kids to grow up to be doctors. Some people want their kids to grow up to be professional athletes. Some people just want to raise happy, healthy adults who contribute to their communities.”
“Okay,” I said, waiting for her to finish.
“My parents were in the latter group. But Tina didn’t deliver. She never delivered. While I was bringing home A’s and B’s in school. She was bringing home Ds. In high school, when I joined the field hockey team and started a tutoring program, Tina played hooky and got busted with pot in the baseball dugout after school.”
“Her choice,” I pointed out.
“But imagine what it was like seeing the parents you love so much get hurt over and over again. I had to be the good one. I didn’t have a choice. I couldn’t afford any kind of teen rebellion or bounce between majors finding myself in college. Not when they’d already struck out with one daughter.”
“Is that why you decided to marry that Warner guy?” I asked.
Her face shuttered in the mirror. “Probably part of it,” she said carefully. “He was a good choice. On paper.”
“You can’t spend your entire life trying to make everyone else happy, Naomi,” I warned her.
“Why not?”
She looked genuinely baffled.
“Eventually you’re going to give a little too much and you won’t have enough left over for yourself.”
“You sound like Stef,” she said.
“Now who’s being mean?” I teased. “Your parents don’t want you to be perfect. They want you to be happy. Yet once again, you’re jumping in and cleaning up your sister’s mess. You stepped into the role of parent with no notice, no preparation.”
“There was no other option.”
“Just because one of the choices is shitty doesn’t mean it’s not an option. Did you even want kids?” I asked.
She met my gaze in the mirror. “Yeah. I did. A lot actually. I thought it would be through more traditional means. And that I’d at least get to enjoy the baby-making end of things. But I’ve always wanted a family. Now I’m making a mess of everything and can’t even fill out an application correctly. And what if I don’t want this guardianship to be temporary? What if I want Waylay to stay with me permanently? What if she doesn’t want to stay with me? Or what if a judge d
ecides I’m not good enough for her?”
She wielded a lip gloss at me.
“This is what it’s like living in my brain.”
“It’s fucking exhausting.”
“It is. And the one time I do something that’s purely selfish and just for me, it blows up in my face.”
“What did you do for you?” I asked.
“I had a one-night stand with a grumpy, tattooed barber.”
THIRTY
BREAKFAST OF SHAME
Naomi
“You don’t have to come along, you know,” I pointed out. “You didn’t get much sleep in the last forty-eight hours.”
“Neither did you,” Knox said, making a show of locking up the cabin before we left. I knew he was making a point.
I didn’t like people who made points. At least not before I’d had my coffee.
We made the short walk to Liza’s in silence. The birds were singing, the sun was shining, and my mind was spinning like a dryer with a lopsided load.
We’d slept together. As in fell asleep in the same bed without having sex together. Not only that, but I’d woken up with Knox “Viking” Morgan spooning me.
I didn’t know much about no strings. Hell, I had so many strings attached to so many things, I’d been tied up in knots for most of my adult life. But even I knew that sharing a bed and cuddling was way too intimate for what we’d both agreed to.
I mean, don’t get me wrong. Waking up with Knox’s hard—and I do mean hard—body at my back, his arm draped heavily over my waist was one of the best ways in the world to wake up.
But it wasn’t part of the agreement. There was a reason for rules. Rules would keep me from falling for the grumpy, cuddly Viking.
I chewed on my lower lip.
Men got tired and didn’t want to walk women home or let women walk home alone only to be eaten by wildlife. The man had gone through a traumatic twenty-four hours. He probably wasn’t making the most rational decisions, I decided. Maybe Knox was just a restless sleeper. Maybe he spooned his dog in bed every night.
Of course, that didn’t explain why he’d volunteered to run next door and grab a bunch of my stuff while I showered. Why he’d put actual thought into an outfit for me. I glanced down at the high-waisted green and white shorts, the cute lacy top. He’d even grabbed underwear for me. Sure, it was a thong and didn’t match my bra. But still.
“’Bout done thinking everything to death?”
I shook myself from my reverie to find Knox shooting me one of those almost smiles.
“I was just running through my to do list,” I fibbed haughtily.
“Sure you were. Can we go in now?”
I realized we were standing in front of Liza’s house. The smell of Stef’s World Famous Maple Bacon wafted through the screen door.
There was a single woof followed by a chorus of barks as four dogs barreled through the door and off the porch.
Waylon was last, ears flapping behind him, tongue lolling obscenely from his mouth.
“Hey, bud,” Knox said, dropping to his knees to greet his dog and the other three as they jumped and yapped their enthusiasm.
I bent down and exchanged more dignified greetings with the pack before straightening.
“Okay, so what’s the plan?” I asked him.
Knox gave Waylon’s ears a last ruffle. “What plan?”
“Breakfast? With my family?” I prodded.
“Well, Daze, I don’t know about you, but my plan is to guzzle half a pot of coffee, chow down on some bacon, and then go back to bed for another four or five hours.”
“I mean, are we still…you know…pretending?”
Something passed over his face that I couldn’t read.
“Yeah. We’re still pretending,” he said finally.
I didn’t know if I was relieved or not.
Inside, we found Liza and my dad standing sentry behind Stef as he peered into the oven at two baking sheets of bacon that smelled like heaven. Mom was setting the table in the sun-room. Waylay was making her way around the table, still in her new, pink tie-dye pajamas, carefully pouring glasses of orange juice.
I felt a swift rush of affection for her and then remembered I had to come up with a suitable punishment for her today. I really needed to get to the discipline chapter in my library book.
“Mornin’, lovebirds. Didn’t expect to see you here, Knox,” Liza said, spotting us as she shuffled over to the coffee maker in a blue fuzzy robe over lightweight camouflage pajamas.
Knox draped an arm around my shoulders. “Mornin’,” he returned. “I couldn’t pass up the bacon.”
“No one can,” Stef said, pulling the trays out of the oven and setting them on the two cooling racks I’d discovered hidden behind the hutch in Liza’s dining room.
Waylay padded in on bare feet and sniffed with suspicion. “Why’s it smell weird?”
“First of all, gorgeous, you smell weird,” Stef said, giving her a wink. “Secondly, that’s the caramelized maple syrup.”
Waylay perked up. “I like syrup.” Her eyes slid to me. “Mornin’, Aunt Naomi.”
I ran my hand through her messy blonde hair. “Morning, kiddo. Did you have fun with your grandparents last night, or did they make you scrub the floors?”
“Me and Grandma and Uncle Stef watched The Princess Bride. Grandpa fell asleep before the shrieking eels,” she said. “Am I still grounded?”
Mom opened her mouth, looked at me, then shut it again.
“You are,” I decided. “For the weekend.”
“Can we still go to the library?”
I was new at this discipline thing, but I figured the library was safe enough. “Sure,” I yawned.
“Someone needs her coffee,” Mom sang. “Late night?” She looked pointedly at Knox and then winked at me.
“You know where else you two should go today?” Dad said. Now that the bacon was safely out of the oven, he was peering over Liza’s shoulder as she flipped an omelet.
“Where?” I asked warily.
He turned to look at me. “Car shopping. You need a car.” Dad said it with authority as if the idea of getting a car had somehow never occurred to me.
“I know, Dad. It’s on the list.”
It was on a literal list. A spreadsheet actually, comparing makes and models ranked by reliability, gas mileage, and cost.
“You and Waylay need something reliable,” he continued. “You can’t get around on bikes forever. It’ll be winter before you know it.”
“I know, Dad.”
“If you need money, your mother and I can help out.”
“Your father’s right, dear,” Mom said, handing Knox a cup of coffee and the second to me. She was wearing plaid pajama shorts and a matching button-down top.
“I don’t need any money. I have money,” I insisted.
“We’ll go this afternoon,” Dad decided.
I shook my head. “That’s not necessary.” I hadn’t finished my spreadsheet yet and I was not walking on a car lot without knowing exactly what I wanted and what it was worth.
“We’ve already got plans to look at cars today,” Knox announced.
Crabby Viking says what? Car shopping plans were news to me. And unlike having a boyfriend, the purchase of a car wasn’t nearly as easy to fake for my parents.
He drew me into his side. It was a possessive move that both confused me and turned me on. “Figured I’d take Naomi and Waylay to look for a ride,” he said.
Dad harrumphed.
“I get to come too?” Waylay asked, climbing up on her knees on the barstool.
“Well, since it’s our car, you have to help me decide,” I told her.
“Let’s get a motorcycle!”
“No,” my mother and I answered together.
“Well, I’m getting one as soon as I’m old enough.”
I closed my eyes, trying to ward off all the catastrophes that rolled through my mind like a high school driver’s ed filmstrip. “I’ve change
d my mind. You’re grounded until you’re thirty-five.”
“I don’t think you can legally do that,” Waylay said.
“Sorry, Witty. I’m with the kid on this one,” Stef said, leaning on his elbows next to her at the island. He broke a piece of bacon in half and handed one piece to my niece.
“Gotta vote with Way,” Knox said, squeezing my shoulder, one of those sort-of smiles dancing at the corners of his lips. “You can only ground her until she’s eighteen.”
Waylay punched a fist into the air victoriously and took a bite of bacon.
“Fine. You’re grounded until you’re eighteen. And no fair ganging up on me,” I complained.
“Uncle Stef,” Waylay said, her eyes going wide and solemn. “This is the best bacon I’ve ever had in my life.”
“I told you,” Stef said triumphantly. He slapped a hand onto the counter. The dogs, mistaking the noise for a knock, raced to the front door in a fit of barking.
“Got some news,” Liza announced. “Nash is coming home.”
“That’s awfully soon, isn’t it?” I asked. The man had two bullet holes in him. It seemed like that deserved more than a few days in the hospital.
“He’s going stir-crazy cooped up in there. He’ll do better at home,” Liza predicted.
Knox nodded in agreement.
“Well, that means his place will need a good cleaning. Can’t have germs getting in bullet wounds now, can we?” Mom said as if she knew people who got shot every day.
“Probably need some food too,” Dad chimed in. “Bet everything in his fridge is rotten. I’ll start a list.”
Liza and Knox exchanged confounded looks. I grinned.
“It’s the Witt Way,” I explained. “It’s best to just go with it.”
“I slept with Knox twice in the last forty-eight hours and then I slept with him slept with him last night. And I don’t know how much of it’s a mistake. And it was just supposed to be one time and definitely no sleeping, but he keeps changing the rules on me,” I blurted out to Stef.
We were on Liza’s front porch, waiting for Waylay to get her stuff so we could go back to the cottage and get ready for premature car shopping. It was the first time I’d gotten him alone since The Sex…and subsequent arrival of my parents.