Chapter Seven Lily
Chapter Seven
Lily
“Well, hello,” I greeted them.
“Hi,” Maggie said. “What’s your favorite color?”
I blinked. “Favorite color to wear and use in everyday life? Or just in general? Because there’s a difference.”
Maggie peeled off her yellow coat to reveal a yellow shirt. “To wear,” she stated.
“Black,” I said on a sigh. She did not look impressed by this answer. “Boring, I know, but it goes with everything.”
“Huh.” Then she shrugged. “Mine is yellow. My bedroom is yellow, and my bedspread is yellow. I tried to get Dad to paint the family room yellow, too, but he said no. I’d have yellow everything if I could get away with it.”
I smiled. “How’s it going, Bryce? How was your day?”
“Stupid. We didn’t learn anything.” Bryce dumped his backpack onto the floor, tossing his winter bag on top of it. “I don’t understand why we can’t just do, like, a four-hour school day. I think the teachers would be happier too.”
“Wouldn’t you learn less if you were only there for four hours?” I asked.
Maggie unloaded her mountain of crap in the same pattern as her brother. “It’s impossible not to learn anything at school. You’re just not paying attention, which is why your grades aren’t as good as mine.”
Bryce rolled his eyes but didn’t seem too bothered by his sister’s ribbing.
He sat on the floor to greet Larry, grinning when he received a small lick on the hand for his efforts.
The kid was gentle, I’d give him that. I figured a preteen would come in like a freight train, but he was surprisingly careful when he reached forward and scratched Larry on the top of his head.
Then he straightened, taking a deep inhale. “Did you make cookies?”
“Of course. It’s the greatest thing I can contribute to society as a whole—fresh-baked cookies on a cold school day.”
His eyes rolled back in his head like he’d already bitten into one. “What kind?”
“Chocolate chip,” I whispered.
He was halfway to the kitchen when he called over his shoulder, “Can I have however many I want?”
“Let’s start with two and work from there, okay?”
Maggie tugged off her winter cap, her shoulder-length hair lifting into the air from the static electricity. I shook my head and tried to smooth it down. “And your day, little miss?”
“Good,” she stated with a shrug. “I like school. It’s easy.”
“The smart kids always say that,” I whispered.
“That’s what my dad says too.” She paused. “Or that I’m too smart for my own good.”
“Yeah, you and I are going to have a chat about the background-check thing.”
Maggie scrunched up her face. “Sorry.”
I squeezed her shoulder. “It’s all right. Just don’t go spreading it around the neighborhood, okay?” When she nodded solemnly, I nudged her toward the kitchen. “Go get a couple cookies before your brother eats them all.”
There was something a little magical about making good food for people. I was no chef, and I ate takeout more than I should, but even for someone like me—a wanderer who spent more time alone than not—I could’ve sat in that kitchen all day to watch them eat those still-warm cookies.
From the opposite side of the island, I watched them do a video call with their dad.
The kids chattered happily, telling him about school and what homework they had.
Bryce showed him a close-up view of the cookies, and I fought a smirk over the fact that Barrett might go his entire life never tasting my baked goods.
After about fifteen minutes, they hung up, eyes already wandering to the rest of the cookies.
Bryce had chocolate in the corners of his mouth, but all it took was one pleading expression and I let him have a third. Maggie too. While they finished those, I poured them both a glass of cold milk.
“Feel better?” I asked when Maggie patted her belly. She nodded, then let out a contented hum.
Bryce burped, then gave me a panicked look. “Sorry.”
“I told you to stop at two,” I sighed. “The youths never listen, do they?”
The kids laughed.
Bryce called for Larry, then paused at the slider. “Can I take him outside?”
“Larry doesn’t really play,” I warned him. “But yes, use that green leash by the door. Put your coat on, though; it’s cold.”
He groaned. “I’m wearing a sweatshirt. I’m fine.”
“Coat,” I instructed. When he begrudgingly did as I asked, I gave Maggie a look. “That’s the sort of responsible-adult thing I’m supposed to say, right?”
His sister grinned. “Yeah.”
I made a swiping motion across my forehead. “Whew.”
She gave me a shy look, then flung herself against my midriff, wrapping her arms tightly around my middle. “Thank you for saying yes,” she said.
“You’re welcome,” I answered, almost unbearably touched. That pesky feeling stuck in my throat, unwilling to be pushed down with a firm swallow.
Maggie didn’t make eye contact when she pulled away, just darted off to dig something out of her backpack. From the front pocket, she extracted an envelope, and once it was in my hand, my stomach flipped at the sight of my name in blocky masculine handwriting.
“My dad wanted me to give you this,” she said. “Can I go outside with Bryce?”
I nodded absently, my thumb running over the edge of the envelope. “Don’t forget your coat.”
When Maggie was out of the room, I took a seat at the island and tucked my thumb under the edge of the flap, pulling it across to tear open the envelope.
Inside was a piece of paper with the football team’s logo.
Barrett King, Head Coach.
God, he was so official. This job of his told me a whole hell of a lot.
Competitive. Organized. Demanding. Intensely focused.
It made a whole lot of sense after my two interactions. I tried to imagine him giving a motivational speech, and snorted.
Don’t lose, because I said so. Growl, growl, look at my hard jaw and scary dark eyes.
He’d cross his big, muscly arms and glare around the room, and do it so effectively that all the overgrown man-children playing ball would do his bidding out of fear for what would happen if they didn’t.
But I had to admit, he clearly loved his kids, because there was no fucking way he would’ve asked me to help out otherwise.
With his list of rules clutched in my hand, I watched them try to play with Larry, a smile tugging at my lips when the dog did nothing but sit down and stare up at Bryce.
He laughed loudly enough that I could hear him through the closed slider.
They’ll be hard to leave, a little voice whispered. My eyes felt a little gritty, and I blinked repeatedly.
Eventually, I’d move on from this place. I always did.
As the years passed, it got a little harder, a little bit more tiring. Each time I packed my bags, I had a lingering sense of disquiet, an insistence I wasn’t quite ready to heed that said I should stop.
That I should find a place that feels like home and allow myself the freedom to stay.
For a few more moments, I watched the kids play and let that insistence spread, just a little bit further. I pinched my eyes shut and let out a shaky breath.
When I opened them, Barrett’s handwriting came into view.
“He was not joking, was he?” I murmured.
After-school rules
1. Homework done before dinner
2. No screens until after dinner
3. Dinner should have protein, fruit and veggies. No treats until all of that is finished. I will be reimbursing you for groceries, so please keep receipts.
There was more, but I just . . . stopped reading them. He underlined will twice, which had me rolling my eyes.
“Quit yelling at me, Coach,” I muttered.
With my brow pinched, I folded up the letter and put it right back into the envelope. The kids came inside with Larry tucked in Maggie’s arms. I swear he gave me a look like See? She likes carrying me. He was always happiest when someone else did the walking, lazy little brute.
“Do you guys have homework?” I asked. “Should you do that before dinner?”
I could practically hear the man shouting about rule number one in my ear.
This is why there are rules, growl, growl. This is why I should’ve paid you.
And it was precisely why I didn’t want him to pay me. Having that man as my boss would give me hives.
They looked at each other. “Can’t we do it later?” Bryce asked. “I’ve been doing schoolwork all day.”
For a moment, I thought about what I should do.
What a responsible adult might choose in this moment.
But even using the word responsible felt like dismissing an entire gray area when it came to preteen best practices.
In a situation like this—to do the homework now or later—there was no such thing as right and wrong.
Barrett would disagree, of course, but Barrett wasn’t here, was he?
Maggie and Bryce were young, and when I was their age, the last thing I wanted was to go straight from school to doing homework. It was a fight oft repeated during my childhood.
It would be so much easier if you just got it done. You always want to do things the hard way, don’t you?
I blinked the memory away, fighting a different kind of tightness in my throat.
“Yeah,” I said, giving him a smile. “You can do it later. Anyone up for a Mario Kart battle before dinner? I can order some pizza, if that sounds good.”
They whooped loudly, flinging off their coats to run into the family room.
True to Barrett’s word, I never saw him.
The whole week passed in a pleasant blur of my new routine: ease into my morning with a cup of coffee, do yoga in the family room, run on the treadmill downstairs, beg and plead for Larry to pee outside while we both froze our asses off, then make some lunch.
I’d usually read or, if it wasn’t too cold, explore the area until it was almost time for the bus to pull to its squeaky stop in front of the house.
What shocked me most was how much I looked forward to them getting dropped off every day.