46. Cooper
46
Cooper
I sit with little York, his dark hair flopping as I bounce him on my knees. His giggle is contagious, and Lula next to me can’t contain herself any longer. She rolls onto her side, joining in on the laughter and joy of her little brother.
My niece and nephew are a great distraction from what I’m not getting—a text back from Leah.
I sent her this an hour ago:
Me: Hey, I have news on our case. But my brother called a family meeting right after work. Can you meet up later?
But I’ve heard nothing.
I’m not sure what’s happening.
In between meetings, I sent her another text:
Me: Does eight work? I can meet you at your place.
I’m attempting to not be needy. I’ve never been needy in a relationship before. And I’d rather not start now. But the most I’ve gotten are three blinking dots.
Maybe it’s been a crazy day. Maybe she’s still at the shop. Maybe she’s changed her mind about us.
I hone in on my nephew and those chubby cheeks that are swelled to the max with his beaming grin.
“Again!” Lula chants, smacking her hands to her thighs.
Mom peeks her head into the living room, the smile on her face wrinkling the skin around her eyes. “You’ve got some happy campers in here.”
“Yep,” I say, standing and tossing my fourteen-month-old nephew into the air. He squeals as he falls back into my arms. “Still waiting on Annie and O?”
“Yes. She’s at her sixth-month checkup. And Miles said they wanted everyone here.”
I nod. I think I know what’s coming. I’m sure Mom does too. But it’s not ours to share. So, I keep my mouth shut.
There’s a tap on Mom’s front door. I peer at my mother. Owen and Annie wouldn’t knock.
“Can you get that?” Mom asks.
“Yeah. Of course.”
“Lula,” Mom says, her tone sing-songy. “Alice and I are painting rocks for Grandma’s garden. Do you want to help?”
Lula bounces her way to the end of the couch cushion and clumsily hops to the ground. She trots like a horse over to Mom, and the two disappear through the kitchen entry.
I chuckle, watching my little niece go, and walk to the door, York in my arms. The little man smacks my cheek, a wide smile on his face.
“Thanks, York.”
I swing open the door—and Leah, hair in a mess of curls on top of her head, strings falling around her face, in a polka-dotted shirt and jeans, stands before me. Her lips are red, and while they aren’t frowning, they aren’t exactly smiling either.
“Hey,” I say just as York smacks me in the face again. He lets out a low chortle and rocks in my arms. I pat his back and keep my eyes on the girl. “Did you get my text? I have news, but my family is having a meeting?—”
“They have a lot of those, don’t they?”
“Um, sort of. It was always a thing for Mom.”
She rubs her hands together, though spring is in the air and the weather has definitely warmed up.
Why is Leah nervous? Why are her brows furrowed like that? Why won’t her eyes quite meet mine?
“Come in.”
“Are you sure?” She peers around, but Mom’s small living room is empty besides York and me. Everyone else is out back or in the family room.
“Yes. Like I said, I have news.” I’d hoped for hugging, for kissing, and if I’m being honest, maybe a “ You’re my hero, Coop .” It’s a selfish hope. And mostly, I’m just glad it all worked out. I couldn’t fail Leah again.
“Can we go somewhere we won’t be interrupted?”
“Um. Yeah.” Is she breaking up with me? Not that I’d change any of the things that happened today if so, but man, that isn’t how I saw this day going.
My heart squeezes and my stomach knots.
The irony and pattern of my life this past year says that Leah breaking my heart is a very real possibility.
York and I lead Leah into my bedroom—my childhood bedroom as well as my current bedroom. The few clothes on the floor and my messy nightstand do nothing in my favor. But what else am I supposed to do? I won’t force anything on Leah. I want her to be happy. Whether that’s with me or not.
The knot in my throat tells me that it matters—sure, I won’t force anything. And yes, I want her to be happy. But I can’t deny that my happiness, my joy, my hope is in her hands, and it feels awfully fragile at the moment.
“I can see you have something to say. And I’m not trying to stop you.” I swallow. “But can I tell you something first?”
“We won.” She nods, her voice husky. “I know. We won the case. PJ dropped all charges.”
Somehow this doesn’t make me feel any better. She knows? Shouldn’t she be overjoyed right now? “How did you find out?”
“PJ came into my shop. He said he felt sorry for you.” She blinks, staring at me now.
York smacks my face, reminding me that he’s still here. I jostle him side to side and stare back at Leah, trying to read her expression, to understand her words.
“He said you only pretended to like me, to be with me, to work on my case. All so you could ease your guilty conscience over high school.” She swallows, presses her lips together, and watches me. “He said you were a nice guy, and he wanted to cut you a break. To release you from the burden of being with me.”
“That’s not true,” I interject as fast as she’ll allow, ice running through each of my veins. “None of that is true. I had a case against him. I told him we wouldn’t stop. He’d siphoned your recipes, Leah. Ask your mother. I stopped by to borrow your abuelo’s book last week. I had proof. PJ was afraid. He dropped the charges because he knew he’d lose. He didn’t feel sorry for me. And he certainly wasn’t trying to save me from being with you. ”
I’m breathing heavily now. York smacks me again, and it helps a little. Thanks, buddy.
“Leah—”
“That’s what Arnold said. He said PJ lied.”
“He did. He—” I shake my head. Arnold ? “PJ is a liar.”
Her head tilts to the side and her eyes water. “Arnold said you told PJ that you…” She hesitates. “That you love me. Madly .”
Okay… not exactly how I’d planned to confess those feelings. Not to mention, I can’t quite read her expression. How does Leah feel about that specific declaration? I can’t tell. But I won’t deny the truth now.
I swallow, but my throat is as dry as dirt. “Yes. I said that.” My heart thunders in my chest and ears.
“You said it. But did you mean it?” she whispers, and her eyes are one of accusation rather than love.
With another smack to my cheek, I nod. “Yes.”
She bobs her head in nervous little nods. “I can’t say that back, Cooper.”
I blink. Listening. Understanding.
“I like you—a lot. But it’s only been a couple of months. I’m not ready. I can’t say that yet.”
But she likes me. I breathe out a sigh. “That’s okay. You don’t have to say it back.”
My words don’t seem to soothe her. Leah starts pacing in front of my bed, in front of me and York. “I have feelings,” she says. “Strong feelings.” She stops mid-step and points a finger at me. “You sang to me in high school. People made memes about that. Girls taunted me until the day I graduated. I—” She shakes her head. “I just can’t say it yet. I need some time.”
“Leah,” I say, my tone soft, relief filling me up. I adjust York in my right arm and cup her cheek with my free hand. “It’s okay. I’m not offended. We don’t need to rush anything.”
“I want to say it one day,” she tells me, her hand covering mine.
“That’s enough.” I’ll take it.
“When it’s right,” she says. She leans her head into my palm, turning until her lips graze the inside of my hand.
And then York smacks my cheek.