Chapter 31
Chapter Thirty-One
CHRISTINE
I stare at the ingredients laid out along the counter for French toast. I will make something edible today. There will not be any fires. And there is no backup cereal left, so I have no other choice.
Casey shoots me a supportive thumbs-up from the table, but before I can dip the first piece of bread in the egg mixture, the doorbell rings.
I frown and motion for Casey to wait here. It’s my weekend with him, so Julian—or rather, Dina —shouldn’t be here, but after the fiasco at the skate park…
I peek through the window, and my shoulders sag in relief.
“What are you doing here?” I ask as I swing the door open.
Fletcher smiles sheepishly from the porch as the sound of little footsteps galloping toward us grows.
“Fletcher!” Casey launches himself to hug him. “You came!”
I raise an eyebrow and meet Fletcher’s eyes over my son’s head.
That sheepish smile grows. “He may have texted me earlier to see if I’d help with breakfast.”
“I—he texted you?” I pat down my pockets to find that my phone is, indeed, missing.
Now it’s Casey’s turn to look sheepish.
Not that I can blame his doubt in my abilities, but still. “How’d you even know my passcode?”
He rolls his eyes. “It’s my birthday. You use that for everything.”
This kid is too smart for his own good. I’m never going to make it out of his teenage years alive.
“So.” Fletcher rubs his hands together, still crouched down at Casey’s level. “What are we making?”
Casey leans forward as if to whisper something conspiratory to him. “French toast.”
“You know what? That’s my favorite.”
Casey beams. “Mine too!”
I press my lips together against my smile. This is the first I’m hearing of this, and I’m willing to bet anything else that’s a favorite of Fletcher’s, coincidentally, is also his favorite.
Casey sprints back to his spot at the table as Fletcher follows me to the stove.
He glances around appreciatively. “Seems like you’ve already got things under control here.”
I hold back my wince and stand up straighter. “That’s right. I do.”
I flip on the burner closest to me, set a flat pan on top, and submerge the first piece of bread in the egg mixture.
Fletcher clears his throat behind me.
“What?” How could I possibly already have done something wrong?
He steps up behind me, close enough that I can feel the heat from his skin, and winds an arm around my waist to ease the heat down to medium.
“Butter?” he murmurs, his lips right beside my ear.
I turn, and it places our lips dangerously close to each other.
This whole no sex while we get to know each other idea is great and all, in theory.
How long he’s going to make me wait, he didn’t specify.
And that vibrator in my nightstand, yeah, it’s not cutting it these days.
It takes me a moment to peel my gaze up to meet his. “Hm?”
His lips tug into a half smirk. “Butter in the fridge?”
I nod and watch with my eyebrows dug in as he turns to retrieve it. Butter? For what?
I finish coating the first piece of bread, but before I can throw it on the pan, Fletcher hurries over, a hand held up for me to wait, and plops a generous spoonful of butter onto the pan.
“I—I already sprayed it with that oil stuff,” I say.
He makes a clicking sound with the corner of his mouth. “Yeah, not the same. Trust me.”
“Maybe you should do this,” I mumble.
“No, no, you’re doing great.” He spreads the melting butter around with a spoon, then gestures to me. “Go ahead. Put it in.”
My gaze snaps to his, and it must take a moment for what he said to click, because then his eyes widen. Suddenly I feel like I’m fourteen again because it is taking everything in me not to laugh.
I set the toast in the pan, and his hand brushes my lower back as he passes to my other side, whispering “Filthy mind” as he goes.
I bite my lip to hide my smirk, then nod at the cabinet above him. “Mugs are in there if you’d like some coffee.”
While I wait for the toast to be ready to flip, I hunt down my phone—beside Casey at the table—to see what exactly he texted Fletcher that made him get over here so fast.
Can you show mom how to not burn breakfast?
Maybe I’d be embarrassed if it weren’t fucking hilarious.
And thank God the string of messages above it were PG.
Casey shrinks into himself as I read, as if waiting to be reprimanded. I smooth a hand over his hair and plant a kiss on the top of his head.
“I’m going to get better at this. I promise.”
“I know! You just haven’t had practice. Like with my skate camp. I wasn’t good at first either.”
Fletcher watches us from across the kitchen, his hip propped against the counter and a steaming cup of coffee in his hand. A soft smile rests on his lips, and it grows as he meets my eyes.
He nods toward the pan on the stove. “Ready when you are.”
“Oh!” I hurry over and snatch the spatula off the counter.
“I’d test the edges all around first—helps it not stick too.”
I do as he says, marveling at how easily it lifts. Plus, there’s no smoke or thick burnt scent in the air. I flip the bread, and a perfectly toasted side stares back at me.
I’ve never gotten this far before.
Once the first piece is ready to go, Fletch takes it over to Casey, who eagerly digs in.
“I can take over,” Fletcher offers.
“Absolutely not.” I swat him away with my spatula. “I’m on a roll now.”
He retreats to the table with a smirk, and peers at my laptop I left out. “Oh! Is this the new site Gracie made?”
“Yes! She just sent over the final version today.”
“Do you mind if I…?” He waves a hand at the screen.
“Oh yeah, of course.”
He scrolls through each bit slowly. It’s fairly basic since I’m still starting out—a home page, portfolio, testimonials, and contact form—but it’s a million times better than anything I could’ve come up with on my own. I haven’t officially started accepting clients, but thanks to Marti’s party, I’ve got a generous little waitlist going already.
“Wow, this looks amazing,” Fletcher murmurs.
I beam. “Doesn’t it?”
CC Events fades from the center of the screen when you first click into the site, then the rest of the design swims into view. I wanted a subtle color scheme—something that felt luxurious. Gold, black, and white, mostly.
I thought coming up with the name would be the hard part, but I’d settled on it almost immediately. For obvious reasons, I didn’t want the Brooks name anywhere near it. And my maiden name doesn’t hold any fonder memories for me. And maybe it’s a little vain, but I wanted my name on it in some way. Something unequivocally mine that I built by myself. The answer seemed obvious from there.
CC. Christine and Casey.
Between this and helping Jacks study nearly every day for the past week, it feels like the cloud that’s been following me around since the divorce has finally lifted. Each day feels a little less aimless, a little less pointless. I feel more useful, hopeful. Like this new phase of my life has a direction.
That reminds me. I cock my head as I slide another finished piece of toast onto a plate. “Where’s Jacks this morning?”
Fletcher shrugs. “She’s a runner now, apparently. Has been going for a run on the beach every morning.”
“Are you working at the bar today?”
He nods and checks his watch. “Need to be there at ten thirty to open.”
“Well, thank you,” I say as I carry my coffee and the rest of the toast to the table and take the seat beside him. “For sharing your morning with us.”
He smiles, slides a piece of toast onto his plate, and meets my eyes as he says, “I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.” He lifts his cup toward Casey. “What are you two up to today?”
Casey practically starts vibrating in his seat. “Rollercoasters!”
A hint of concern pinches Fletcher’s eyebrows together as he looks at me, but the unspoken part is clear. You’re going on a rollercoaster? Even when heights leave you no better than an opossum playing dead?
There are enough other rides in the park to distract Casey, and when it comes to the handful of big ones, I’m hoping being strapped in against my will and closing my eyes will suffice.
But I have a budding daredevil for a kid, so I know he’ll love it. And if I don’t ride them with him, I don’t think he’ll do it—don’t think they’ll even let him on. And I’m not going to be the reason he can’t. His height was a good excuse…for a while.
I shrug and feign nonchalance. “Promised him we’d try the amusement park down in Beach Haven once he grew some more…”
“And we measured last night!” Casey jumps in. “I’m fifty inches!”
The concern doesn’t ease from Fletcher’s expression. “What’s the requirement?”
“For most of the rides, forty-eight,” I say.
“Which means I’m tall enough now!” Casey’s expression sobers a bit. “I wish you could come too.”
“Me too, bud. That sounds like a lot more fun than work. Next time.”
Casey thrusts his pinky across the table. “Promise?”
Fletcher chuckles and wraps his pinky around Casey’s. “I promise.”
“Do you think Jacks would want to come?”
Fletch’s eyes shoot to mine. “You don’t have to do that…”
I shrug. “I know she’s still finding her groove around here, and I want her to feel welcome. Plus, she could probably use a fun day before her test next week. Especially with how hard she’s been studying. And the more the merrier, right, Case?”
He nods vigorously.
Fletcher’s eyes soften as they linger on my face.
“You can ask her so she doesn’t feel too much pressure to say yes to me if she doesn’t want to.”
“Casey,” says Fletcher, though his eyes stay locked on me.
“Yeah?”
“I’m gonna need you to look away for a few seconds.”
“Why?”
Fletcher’s lips tug into a crooked smirk. “Because I’m about to kiss your mom.”
“Ew!” Casey slaps both hands over his eyes as Fletcher wraps one hand around the back of my neck and pulls me in to kiss me. It’s brief and sweet, but he keeps his hold on me even once he leans back, his eyes studying my face like he’s deciding something.
He digs his phone out of his pocket and his thumbs rapidly dart across the screen. “Hold on.”
“What?” I murmur.
He waits for a moment after he finishes typing, and as his phone buzzes with a response, he looks up, grinning widely. “Anna’s gonna cover my shift.”
“You’re coming with us?” Casey asks.
He turns his smile on Casey. “How do you feel about bumper cars?”