Chapter 37
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Renthrow
After dinner, Cordelia’s plate looks so clean, someone would think she hasn’t been served yet.
Dark hair tucked behind her ears and cheeks rosy from the wine, she leans back with a sigh of delight. “That was incredible.”
“Glad you enjoyed it.” I pick up her plate, biting back a smile. I’m relieved the air’s been cleared between us and that she’s here. I don’t know why exactly, but I enjoy having Cordelia in my orbit again.
“You should quit hockey and just cook for a living,” she announces.
I smile at the compliment, glad that she’s satisfied with the food.
“Don’t take this the wrong way, Renthrow…”
I brace myself, waiting for her question.
“But what are you cooking tomorrow? Just out of curiosity.”
I burst out laughing. “Saturdays, we usually order pizza.”
“And Sundays?”
“I won’t have time to cook then. The team and I are playing a friendly match.”
“With which team?” She rests her chin in her hands and blinks sleepily.
“With each other.”
“Oh.”
I pause and hesitantly offer, “Do you want to come? Gordie and my mom are coming too.” I clear my throat. “I invited Brennon.”
“Okay, why not,” she agrees with a shrug. “I’m free anyway.”
Turning, I pump a fist. Nice.
When I turn back around, I meet her pretty brown eyes. “Do you want to watch a movie?”
Her eyelids flutter.
I backtrack. “Or I can take you home.”
“There’s nothing much to do at home.” She motions to me. “What movies are you into?”
I put the dishes in the sink to soak. “I’ve seen my fair share of every version of Cinderella, The Little Mermaid, Frozen…”
She scrunches her nose. “I asked about you, Renthrow. What movies do you like?”
It’s been such a long time since I’ve turned on a movie just for myself that I honestly don’t know how to answer that. “I’m not sure. I was never the movie type.”
“Do you watch TV?”
“I watch hockey games and cooking shows. It relaxes me.” I could sit and watch someone cook a meal for hours.
“Let’s do that.”
I spin around. “Really?”
“Yeah.”
“We can watch a more grownup movie. Something with action and explosions.” I glance over her tank top and jeans. “And motorcycles.”
She shakes her head. “We’ll watch a cooking show. Consider it my repayment for the meal.”
I lift a brow. “I don’t need to be paid.”
“Then consider it a tip.” She’s got a teasing smile on her lips, and I can’t help but give in. Cordelia shifts in her seat. “Can I borrow something to change into before I sit on your sofa? I’m a little grungy from work.”
“You have anything against Hello Kitty?”
She squints her eyes. “If that’s all you have…”
I laugh at her expression. “I’ll see what I can find.”
In my room, I ransack my closet for something that’ll suit her when I spot my team memorabilia. It’s a sweatshirt with my number and name in big letters across the back.
“I shouldn’t.” I shake my head and reach for a simple gray shirt instead. However, that sweatshirt keeps calling my attention, and I take a chance.
Cordelia is nonplussed when I hand her the clothes. I point her to the bathroom to change, and she returns a few minutes later.
The moment I catch sight of her in my clothes, I can’t move. The size difference makes the shirt fit more like a dress, hitting mid-thigh. The sleeves swallow her slender arms whole. With her big, pure eyes and short black hair, she looks like a dream come to life.
And then she turns around to give me a 360 view.
My heart stops for a full second.
Seeing Cordelia wearing my name on her back feels like a dangerous shock. The kind of shock that turns a man into an addict.
“What do you think?” she asks, flapping her hands in the long sleeves and then tugging at her shorts. “Don’t worry. I wore over-alls over these shorts all day, so they should be fine to sit on your couch.”
I give my attention to the television instead of the stunning creature in my sweatshirt. “I’m on episode ten already.”
“That’s fine.” Cordelia sits closer to me than I expected. She’s not right up against me, but she’s also not on the opposite end of the couch either. “Who are we rooting for?”
My throat dry, I turn up the volume without answering. On the screen, a baker with sweat running down his face runs back and forth to get ingredients for his cake.
“Renthrow?”
“W-what?”
“Do you always look angry when you’re watching cooking shows?”
“I’m not angry.”
“Stressed, then. Isn’t this supposed to be relaxing?”
“I’m relaxed.”
“You’re clenching your jaw.”
“Am I?”
She tucks one leg under the other, and it makes my sweatshirt slide up over her thigh. “You know, you could really mess up your molars if you grind your teeth like that.”
I pounce to my feet. “You want something to drink?”
Cordelia blinks in surprise.
I stomp away to the kitchen, open the fridge, and stick my head in.
It was a mistake to put Cordelia in my sweatshirt.
I close my eyes, and I see a crystal-clear vision of her reaching for my shirt first thing in the morning.
Her strolling down the hallway to catch me making breakfast for us and Gordie.
I’d put my arm around her, and there’d be my ring on her finger…
“Are you okay?” Cordelia calls.
“Yeah!” I pull out of the fridge and grab the mug of water.
Friends. Cordelia and I are just friends. It’s what I asked for. It’s what she agreed to. I have no business imagining her staying over or having breakfast with us or wearing my ring—what’s with the ring? Since when have I ever imagined getting married again?
I guzzle the water down and pour another, knocking it back like a shot.
Get your head back on straight, Renthrow.
I’m walking a thin line here. Cordelia and I agreed to fake a relationship for her mother, but I have to remember the reason I’m letting her get so close.
She’s Gordie’s lifeline. If I do something stupid with her, make her uncomfortable, cross the line in a way we can’t recover from, she may not want anything to do with me.
And Gordie will be the one who suffers.
I can’t let that happen. Ever.
Gordie comes first.
Feeling like I have a better grip on myself, I turn around to offer Cordelia some water when I find her lying on the couch. Concern rushes through me until I run closer and realize she’s fallen asleep.
Her hands are tucked under her cheek, and her chest moves deeply with every breath. Not wanting to disturb her, I sit on the ground next to her. As if sensing my presence, she rolls to the edge of the sofa, and her hand flaps out in front of me.
I take the opportunity to get a better look at her and lean in close. Her skin is smoother than silk, and her eyelashes are thick and black.
My attention draws to her lips next, and my heart picks up speed. Her lips are small but full, shaped like those pouty dolls that Mom once bought Gordie for Christmas.
Exquisite.
I stand by that.
“Why are you so beautiful?” I breathe out, letting my annoyance through. “If you weren’t, this would be easier.”
My phone chirps loudly at that moment, and I jump out of my skin.
“Crap.” I grab my phone out of my pocket. Thankfully, Cordelia doesn’t stir despite the noisy ringtone. “Hello?”
“Mr. Renthrow,” a timid voice says, “It’s Mrs. Hershank, Vinnie’s mother.”
Vinnie’s the friend from school who invited Gordie over today.
I sit up straight.
“I don’t know if there’s anything wrong or…it’s just strange. Gordie’s under the table and she won’t come out…”
I scramble to my feet. “I’m on my way. Let her be until I get there.”
I end the call and look down at Cordelia.
She’s sleeping so peacefully that I feel guilty when I call out to her. “Cordelia.”
“Mm?” She sounds like she’s still half-asleep.
“Gordie’s having an episode.”
Cordelia’s eyes burst open, and she springs out of the couch with a speed that knocks me flat on my back.
“Let’s go.” She scrambles to the door, shoves on her work boots, and storms down the porch.
I push to my feet and hurry behind her.
“What happened?” she demands as I speed down the quiet street.
“I don’t know the details. I got a call saying Gordie was under the table.”
Cordelia’s lips press into a thin line.
“I know I shouldn’t have sent her to that playdate alone,” I murmur, my fingers tense on the wheel. “This is my fault.”
“It is not your fault.”
I shake my head. If I was a better dad, my daughter wouldn’t be suffering like this. If I was a better dad, Gordie would be okay.
“Hey,” Cordelia speaks firmly, “blaming yourself won’t make Gordie feel any better. Whatever she’s going through, it’s not because of you.”
I want to believe that.
With all my heart, I want to believe that I’m not the one to blame for my daughter’s pain.
But I’m the one who raised her.
And I know, deep in my chest, that all responsibility and all fault belong to me.