Chapter 6 #2
Carol’s snort breaks through my perusal. “You might think I’m off my rocker, but I’m not blind, Henley.”
Nick shrugs behind her. “The way your eyes were locked on her ass as she walked away doesn’t do much to support your argument.”
“Look, I appreciate your concern, but I haven’t even been a father for a week yet, okay? Can you please just give me time to adjust to that before trying to marry me off? Jesus, is this what it’s like to have overbearing parents?”
Carol swats my arm. “Watch who you’re calling overbearing.”
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I say, “Seeing you always reminds me where Dilynne gets her sass from.”
“Damn right. The last thing I want is for any of my kids to roll over and just take what life throws at them. You’re a fighter, Henley, just like your sister.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not feeling very victorious right now.”
No. The past few days feel like all of my questionable decisions over the years are coming back to haunt me.
Living for today, never settling down with one person, having the freedom to come and go as I please—I never realized how much I took those things for granted until Meghan dropped a baby bomb on me.
But that doesn’t mean that I need someone else in my life, a woman to complete my little family.
Families disappoint you. Parents turn out to be selfish.
Remy already got the short end of the stick with me as her father, and a mother that left her behind without a second thought. The last thing I want to do is bring in another person who might end up disappointing her too.
***
The smell of garlic and herbs hits me when I walk through my front door, finally home after a long day at work.
The field trip today went well, except for the group of fifth graders who thought it would be funny to fill condoms with water and throw them at each other on the obstacle course.
Not even sure where they got condoms from, but honestly, it was hilarious.
Remy sees me first, letting out a coo that pulls Elodie’s attention from the stove where she’s stirring something. “Hey, you made it.”
“Yeah. Long day.”
“Well, dinner’s almost ready, so wash up.”
“Yes, Mom.”
Elodie rolls her eyes with a hint of a smile. “Well, they say the older you get, the more you turn into your parents, right?”
“I wouldn’t know.” Comments like those always sting because I didn’t have stellar parents as examples and by the time Carol and Nick took us in, I was a thirteen-year-old kid, jaded by the cards life had dealt me.
Even though I respected them and appreciated everything they did for me and Dilynne, I fought like hell not to let them close enough to hurt me.
Elodie keeps talking as I wash my hands at the kitchen sink. “This recipe is one that my mom makes, one-pan chicken and rice. It’s just a few simple ingredients, but it packs a punch of flavor.”
“It certainly smells good, but you don’t have to cook, Elodie. I’ve managed to feed myself over the years just fine.”
Shrugging, she begins dishing out the food onto two plates and sprinkling something green on the top of it, along with freshly grated cheese.
Is this woman the baby-whisperer and the long lost child of Gordon Ramsay?
After drying my hands, I walk over to my daughter and lift her from the high chair, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “How was your day, little one?”
Elodie places the plates down on the table that’s perfectly set with placemats, silverware, and napkins—little things that make this place feel more like a home.
“She got a little fussy today at the grocery store. She kept trying to eat her toy and was drooling everywhere. I think she could already be teething.”
“This soon?”
Elodie nods. “There was a baby at the daycare that cut his first tooth when he was four months old. Every kid develops at different rates.” Taking her seat, she reaches for her glass of water, takes a sip, and then inhales deeply over her plate. “God, I’ve been thinking about this all day.”
My mouth begins to water as I assess my plate. “It smells amazing, but again, you didn’t need to cook.”
“Well, like I said, you haven’t exactly given me a list of job duties and cooking is something I don’t mind doing, especially when I have a proper kitchen to do it in. My place in L.A. barely had room for a microwave.”
I blow on my first bite, watching the steam waft through the air. “I didn’t even know I owned placemats.”
Elodie covers her mouth as she chews. “I actually bought those today at the store. Your table needed some color, and they help protect the wood.”
“Ah. Good to know I’m not just that sleep deprived.” When I finally taste her cooking, I have to fight the urge to moan from how good it is. “Damn, El. This is incredible.”
“Thanks.” Her proud smile almost makes my lips tilt up too. “I still think my mom’s is better, but that just might be me being too critical.”
“Your mom taught you how to cook?”
“Yep. Me and my brother. She was a big believer that homemade is always better.”
I keep shoveling food in my mouth. “I’m more of a convenience guy, myself. Never really was taught the basics of a kitchen, but I manage. I can grill a mean burger.”
“I honestly don’t mind cooking, Henley,” she says softly. “You can add it to my list of duties.”
I wipe my mouth with my napkin. Remy continues to sit on my lap, kicking and waving her hands around while watching us eat. “I’m paying you to take care of Remy, not be my personal chef.”
She finishes chewing, dabbing at the corner of her mouth with her napkin. “I’ll tell you what. How about I make a list of the jobs I’m willing to do, and then we can agree they are included in what you’re paying me, especially since you’re letting me live here rent-free.”
I twist my lips as I consider her proposition. “Fine.”
She claps her hands once, standing from her chair and walking over to the couch, flipping pages of scribble over until she finds a blank one. “Okay. Elodie’s duties,” she says as she writes, her handwriting just as soft and feminine as the rest of her.
Jesus Christ, Henley. You’re admiring her handwriting now?
“So, we agree that anything pertaining to Remy is my responsibility, and I agree to cook at least three nights a week. The other nights you can eat cereal for dinner if you wish. But please let me spend some time in your kitchen while I can.”
I look over my shoulder to admire the kitchen with its top-of-the-line appliances that I barely use. “Fine. Three nights a week and no more.”
“Deal. Now, what about laundry?”
“You can do yours and Remy’s, but I’ll do my own.”
“That’s fair.” She scribbles more words on the paper. “What about cleaning?”
“Cleaning?”
“Yeah, mopping floors, dusting…”
I hold up my hand to stop her. “You’re not a fucking maid, Elodie.”
She’s taken aback by my tone. “I know…”
“I have a cleaning company that comes every two weeks to do the deep cleaning. If you want to tidy up between those visits, you’re more than welcome to. But you are not going to mop my fucking floors all the time, do you understand me?”
I can’t tell if the look in her eyes is one of fear from my command, or appreciation.
If this woman only knew how commanding I can be in other aspects of life.
“Understood,” she finally croaks out, swallowing roughly.
“Okay then.” Turning her attention back to the paper, she writes a few things down and then glances back up at me. “Grocery shopping is okay?”
“Yeah, I can handle you taking on that responsibility. I don’t remember the last time I saw my refrigerator that full.”
She chuckles. “Any other errands you need done?”
“No. Just make sure that my daughter is okay while I’m at work. Knowing you’re here with her this past week has made this transition a lot easier to handle.”
She reaches over and places her hand on top of mine, but almost immediately, she retracts it—as if the touch burned her. There’s definitely electricity coursing through me now, and I’m wondering if she feels the same. “I’m happy to help, Henley. You’ve given me purpose when I really needed it.”
Purpose. There’s a word that’s unfamiliar to me as well.
Is Remy my purpose now?
My daughter peers up at me from my lap in that moment and when our eyes meet, that feeling I’ve been fighting returns—panic mixed with infatuation.
Panic for the tiny human I’m now responsible for, and infatuation with how incredibly perfect she is.
I never knew I could be so obsessed with another human.
God, I have a daughter.
Clearing her throat, Elodie motions to my plate. “Are you finished?”
“Uh, yeah. But you cook, I clean.”
“Sounds fair.” She heads to the kitchen and I watch her go.
There’s a woman in my house—my house that no other woman besides my sister, Laney, or Carol has ever stepped into—and part of me is surprised by how much I like it.
I’ve gotten used to coming home to silence and bland evenings with no one to talk to but myself. Do I miss my space? Maybe a little. But this place is different now—the smells, the sounds, the feelings.
Yeah, I think my nanny is part of what’s making me feel panic mixed with infatuation as well.
“So, are you just gonna watch sports again tonight? Or are you up for a movie?” Elodie asks as she walks back to the dining room.
“Sorry. I’m a creature of habit. My evening routine was sort of on repeat before…” I gesture to my daughter.
“I can tell, but maybe you’ll be open to something new? I just need to check out for a while.”
Her comment makes me pause. “Check out?”
“Yeah. Don’t you have a ritual that you do when you just need to turn your mind off for a bit?”
“Yeah. I drink.”
Placing her hands on her hips, she scolds me with her gaze. “That’s not a very healthy way to escape.”
“Wasn’t asking for your opinion.”
She rolls her eyes and sits back down in her chair, reaching out to play with Remy’s hands. “Sorry, but there’s got to be a better outlet than that.”
“It’s not like I’m an alcoholic. But when I’ve had a long day or something is on my mind, I like a drink to take the edge off. Why? What do you do? Eat celery?”
Her mouth falls open before a laugh escapes. “What?”
“I don’t know. That was the first healthy thing that popped into my head.”
She shakes her head. “No. No celery. Popcorn is more my snack of choice, but besides that, I listen to music.”
“What kind of music?”
“Any and everything. Just depends on my mood. But lately…” Her heavy sigh sounds like she’s been carrying a weight on her chest. “It’s just not helping.”
“So, movies?”
“Yup. That’s the next best thing.”
“Do you have a favorite?”
“Now and Then,” she says proudly. “A classic, and one that never lets me down.”
“Were you even born when that movie came out?”
She swats at me playfully, but my lips curl up into a smile I can’t control. Fuck, she’s fun to get riled up. And as soon as I realize I’m enjoying myself, my lips fall and I drop my gaze back down to my daughter who lets out a big yawn.
“No, I wasn’t born yet. But my mom let me watch it when she deemed I was old enough, and I became obsessed. To this day, I still want to go to a cemetery at night and see if I can talk to the dead.”
“You’re all on your own with that one.”
Laughing, she says, “Are you scared of ghosts?”
“No, but I know better than to mess with shit I don’t understand.”
“Life after death fascinates me,” she continues. “Especially those that die young. It always makes me so sad to think of people not getting to leave a mark on this world.”
“Is that important to you?” I ask, even though my heart is pounding as I realize how deep this conversation is getting. But fuck if I don’t want to keep talking to her, keep getting to know who this woman really is.
Her smile is soft and quick. “It is. But lately? I just don’t know what that mark will be.”
Remy starts to get fussy, squirming in my arms. “Looks like she’s had enough of this conversation.”
Elodie nods, reaching for her. “Yeah, probably a little morbid for a three-month-old.” Kissing Remy’s cheek, she meets my eyes. “I’ll handle bath time while you do the dishes, and then maybe we can watch that movie?”
Nerves race through me, but I’m not sure why.
Maybe it’s because you’ve never watched a movie with a woman at home before, Henley.
But the look in her eyes right now—hope mixed with sadness—has me agreeing to her request. “Sure.” The smile that blooms across her face makes my chest swell with panic and infatuation again. Fuck.
“Sounds great. Thanks, Henley,” she says and then heads down the hallway to bathe my daughter while I sit there, wondering what the hell is happening inside my body.
You’re getting attached, Henley.
“Shit,” I grumble, standing from my chair and heading to the kitchen sink where a pile of dirty dishes awaits me.
As I clean, I wrestle with the realization that I’m getting used to this woman being around.
Finding Elodie in the kitchen, cooking me dinner, smiling at me as I walked into my house.
Having someone to talk to in the evening about the day and having conversations with her about nothing and everything at the same time.
Her dropping off my wallet this morning when I left it at home.
I like having her in my home and in my life. And that’s a real fucking problem because she’s not staying.
Nope. Remy and I are better off alone.
And I’ve been left one too many times to hold out hope that this time could be different.