Chapter 11 #2
As the click of the lock in her empty house echoed, Allison decided she’d sort out her feelings tonight.
Was it the loneliness telling her it was a good idea to try Wells’s crazy idea?
Or was it going to be her best shot at having the family she’d always wanted?
WELLS
Wells looked at the latest job application he’d received to be his line cook. It simply said: “Sup” and included a phone number.
Wells closed his eyes in irritation and swiped to the next one. This person had worked in three fast food restaurants in one year and was “Most Improved” at his anger management class.
Next.
Wells scanned the page. Interesting.
Archibald Thenardier had an associate’s degree in Food Service Management. Relevant experience, and—
“Ow.” Wells was sucked out of his focus and rubbed his aching shin. “What’s that for?”
Olivia glared at him. “Annabelle was asking you a question.”
Wells stared across the dinner table at the five expectant faces: his mom, Pop, his sister, her boyfriend Luca, and Luca’s little girl Annabelle. Luca and Annabelle had been fixtures at their weekly family dinner since November.
“Yes, my dear?” Wells said to the adorable little girl who would eventually be his niece.
“Wanna see me do my pirouettes? I can turn real fast,” Annabelle said with a big smile.
Adorable. “Faster than this one?” Wells said, throwing a thumb at Olivia, who was a professional ballerina.
“Yeah,” Annabelle said with a mischievous giggle.
Olivia tickled her sides. “You’re not faster than me, you goose.” Annabelle belly laughed.
Wells ached for the relationship his sister had with Annabelle. Luca had told Wells he planned on proposing soon.
Wells looked at Luca pointedly, and then at Olivia’s bare left hand. Let’s get a move on, buddy.
Luca slowly sipped his soda with a quiet smile, giving nothing away.
He liked the guy his sister had fallen for. He was quiet, no bullshit, and most of all, he took care of Olivia better than anyone Wells had ever seen. She’d never asked for much, and she glowed when she was with Luca and Annabelle.
Annabelle scrambled down and ran to the center of the kitchen. “Okay, are you watching?”
Wells turned, pocketing his phone, all his attention on Annabelle. “I’m watching.”
She put her arms out like she was holding a beach ball and spun around, her glittery skirt puffing out like a bell.
“Whoa!” Wells said with a shocked expression. “That’s definitely faster than Olivia.”
Chairs scooted back from the dining table, and his mom crouched down with a twinkle in her eye at Annabelle. “There might be some new coloring books in the play corner.”
Annabelle jumped, dragging his mom by the hand to the living room. He’d never realized how much his mom had been waiting to be a grandmother until he’d first seen her with Annabelle. Both she and Pop spoiled Annabelle any chance they got.
He wanted to give his mom that experience, too. She’d be the best grandmother, and Pop, who sat chattering with Annabelle, would be the best grandpa.
Luca started to remove the plates from the table, but Annabelle called him over from the living room. “Dad, come play!”
Olivia smiled up at him, nodding for him to go. Luca set the plates down, kissed Olivia’s head, and walked out to the living room.
“They’re starting to get suspicious,” Olivia said, her voice low, as she nodded toward where everyone was in the living room.
Olivia was one of the few that knew about his diner grand plan.
He’d meant to man up, talk to Pop today, but Pop had been in such a good mood as they’d cooked dinner together. He hadn’t wanted to ruin it.
A chickenshit, that’s what I am.
“They think I get up early to work out with Nash.” He shrugged, tossing his phone after seeing another bogus job application.
“And”—she pointed a finger at him—“you were on your phone all through dinner. Honestly, you’ve never looked more like Dad.”
He placed a hand on his chest dramatically. “You wound me.”
Their mom marched into the kitchen, searching the countertops. “Have either of you seen my orange glasses? Apparently that is a critical part of Annabelle’s ballet princess game.”
“You had them at Allison’s,” Olivia said, looking under some papers on the table.
Wells’s attention was caught. “Did you have fun?”
It had been three days since the snowed-in incident, and he was still waiting on her answer.
“Of course. Sewing, gossiping, complaining about you. You’d have hated it,” Olivia said, patting his cheek.
He swatted her away. “How was she?” he said, trying to play it off as if he didn’t care at all.
His sister and mom were far too smart, however, and simultaneously turned with pointed interest.
Shit.
He cleared plates from the table. “You know, I wanted to make sure that she’s”—he cleared his throat—“miserable or whatever. Back to her normal self.”
“She is a peach,” Olivia said as they put leftovers into containers.
“If you’re going to be here much longer, you two should figure out how to get along,” his mother said, rifling through drawers.
He only knew one way to get along with Allison, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to tell his mom about it.
“’Livia, come play,” Annabelle shouted from the living room.
Olivia and his mother went to the living room to play with Annabelle, and Wells wondered if he’d ever have his own little voice shouting for him to come play.
His phone pinged on the table, and he dove for it.
ALLISON
Hello. I have emailed you an itemized list of what I’ll send to my lawyer as a starting point for the contract discussions.
“Hot damn,” he yelled, smacking the table.
His mom poked her head into the kitchen. “Everything okay?”
He flipped his phone over. “Yep,” he said in too high of a voice.
Her eyes narrowed.
“The…Steelers won. Wanna see the highlights?” He raised his phone in a bluff. Not my first rodeo avoiding Martha Maroo-Canon, Esquire’s detection.
She looked at him skeptically and went back to playing with Annabelle. He casually walked to the bathroom and locked the door.
WELLS
You’re in?
ALLISON
Tentatively. Possibly.
Depending on the contract.
Wells pumped his fist in the air silently with joy.
Reading it now.
He scanned her email. Standard split custody, we’d rotate holidays. All costs split. His eyes gained speed, looking at her very reasonable list. Check, check, check, check, and fucking check.
I’ll send your lawyer my draft.
My lawyer will send YOU our draft. You can let us know your comments.
Wells raised his eyebrows, impressed. “Alright, mama bear.” Apparently she could ask for what she wanted on occasion.
He scanned their conversation. She must be flustered. She texted like a librarian with a stick up her ass.
If, that is, I decide to go through with this.
You’re so in.
Saaaaaaay it. Say “I’m so in, father of my future baby.”
Is that legally binding?
I wish.
No. But it IS fun binding. Hope binding.
Only if you promise not to make fun of me…during.
The contract signing?
No….
The negotiations?
Wells snorted, wanting to see how long it took her to type the word “sex.”
DURING.
The fourth inning?? Halftime??? What are you talking about?
When we do this!
What’s “this”???
SEX, WELLS
Wells nearly bruised a rib keeping in his laughter.
Jesus, woman. One-track mind.
Never mind, I changed my mind.
Okay okay, no more teasing. I promise—Eagle Scout’s honor—not to make fun of you *during.*
Then…
Saaaaaaaay it. You know you want to.
God. Fine.
…I’m so in.