32. Sophie
THIRTY-TWO
SOPHIE
“I even left a tip,” Cooper says with a defeated shrug.
“You left a tip for the Tooth Fairy?” I ask, uncertain that I heard him correctly.
“She does good work,” he claims.
“Oh, well, yeah, sure, that’s true.” Tipping the Tooth Fairy seems a bit like tipping an ATM, but I don’t share that. “Did you ask your dad?”
“He got home late. Melissa was babysitting.” Melissa is Cooper’s older half-sister and babysits a lot when their dad is working a later shift at the hospital. He probably didn’t even know about the tooth.
“Has the Tooth Fairy ever missed a pickup before?”
“No, she’s always on time. I hope nothing happened to her.” He looks at me with wide eyes filled with concern.
“She probably had a busy night. There are a lot of kids losing their teeth right now.”
“Maybe she should hire some help.”
“There’s an idea. But also maybe tell your dad. Sometimes parents have a direct line to the Tooth Fairy.”
“Really?” He perks up. “Santa too?”
“Oh.” Shit, I’m digging myself into quite a hole here. “I’m not sure, to be honest. Santa is a pretty big deal.”
“But the Tooth Fairy is busier. She works every night.” His voice rises as his enthusiasm grows for the work habits of fictional entities. “And everyone loses teeth, but not everyone celebrates Christmas.” He’s got me there.
Foster
Hey! You good if I pick you up tonight?
My body fully relaxes when I see Foster’s message. Interesting.
Yes! Same time?
Thought maybe we could grab dinner?
Sure, where?
Little place I know.
Two hours later, Foster is standing at my door looking better than any man has the right to look in a simple blue crew neck sweatshirt and jeans.
“Hey!” His face lights up when he sees me, his eyes doing a quick sweep of my outfit before stepping over the threshold. “So, I was thinking we could try something.” My heart rate spikes when he stops directly in front of me.
“Oh?” I swallow as his hands slide down my arms. I hold my breath when I feel him wrap them around my wrists and lift my arms to his shoulders before his slide around my waist. He’s not touching my skin, but you’d think we were both naked by the way my entire body reacts. I’m almost expecting his lips to meet mine, but instead I find myself pressed against his body as he hugs me.
Hugging is new. It’s not unwelcome, but it’s new.
“Hi,” he murmurs, his lips right next to my ear.
“Hi,” I whisper back.
It doesn’t last long, but when he releases me it takes all my brain power to drop my arms. When I do, he steps back, scratching his neck and looking nervous. “So, was that okay?”
“Hugging me?” I ask, slipping on my shoes and grabbing my coat.
“Yeah, it’s a more intimate step than, ya know, well, not hugging,” he stammers, the tips of his ears turning pink. It’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.
I could tell him that, yes, hugging is fine. That I am actually a pretty big fan of hugging, but I would much rather show him. This time I am the one to step forward and slip my arms around his waist. His arms wrap around my shoulders the minute our chests connect, and I release a sigh that I hope doesn’t come off too intimate. Although that’s what we’re doing, isn’t it? Being intimate?
“I love a hug,” I say, giving one more squeeze before stepping back. “I’m starving. What’s for dinner?”
Fifteen minutes later, Foster pulls up in front of his apartment.
“Is this the little place you know?” I laugh, stepping out of the car.
Foster meets me at the front of the car and reaches for my hand, which I take without hesitation. “You wanted intimacy, sunshine. Cooking dinner together is an easy way to achieve that.”
“Together? You’re going to let me touch?” I catch the grin and tiny shake of his head before he tips his face to the sky and breathes out. “What?”
“Nothing. Yes, I’ll let you…” He looks at me, his eyes dipping to my lips before he swallows. “Help.”
“Well, lucky me.”
We don’t say much on the walk up to his apartment, and when he unlocks the door I definitely stand a bit too close, but I can’t seem to help it.
Gary weaves around our feet meowing as soon as we step through the door, and I watch Foster bend and pick the orange tabby up. He starts licking Foster’s exposed forearm instantly, his yellow eyes zeroed in on me.
“Don’t worry, buddy, he’s all yours,” I assure the cat, scratching behind his ears. He doesn’t ease up, though, if anything his licks become more intense.
“Okay, I think that’s enough,” Foster says, setting the cat back on the ground. “I’d like my tattoo to remain intact, thanks.” Gary scampers to the window and starts chattering at something. “That’ll be his nemesis,” Foster explains, heading to the fridge. “Drink?”
“Sure, what do ya have?”
Foster opens the door and starts naming things off. “Water, orange sparkling water, aloe…”
“Aloe?” I ask, confused.
“Aloe juice.” He holds out a bright green bottle of liquid.
“Are those… what’s floating in there?” I ask, squinting into the bottle.
“Bits of aloe,” he says as if it’s the most normal thing in the world, and I physically recoil.
“I think I’m good with water.”
“You don’t even want to try it?” He waves the bottle in my direction.
I take it from him and swish the liquid back and forth, feeling queasy as the bits bob around, suspended in the liquid. “Maybe another time.”
He grins at me, making me want to say or do anything that keeps it on his face. “Flat or sparkling?”
“Let’s go wild and have sparkling.”
“If this is you going wild, we need to get you out more.” That grin is still there as he opens the can and hands it to me.
“If you get me out anymore,” I say, taking the can, our fingers brushing as I do. Chills spread up my arm. The can is cold , I tell myself, that’s all . “My house is going to forget I exist.”
“Your house? You’d rather remind your house about you than spend time out and about with me?”
I’d never go home if it meant spending more time with you. “I didn’t say that.” I take a sip of the water but maintain eye contact. “So, what are we making?” I ask, redirecting the conversation.
“Apricot-glazed pork, mashed potatoes, and chili green beans.”
“Sounds spicy.” I wince.
Foster shakes his head as he pulls ingredients out of the fridge. “The beans are more garlicky than spicy, don’t worry. I wouldn’t do that to you, sunshine.”
The things I’d let you do to me .
What the fuck is it about this apartment?
He stops midway to the counter, staring at me, and I’m filled with dread that I vocalized that very internal thought.
Panic sets in. “What? Is there something on my face?” I stammer, lifting my fingers to my cheek, watching his eyes track my hand. Trying to ignore the way the muscle in his jaw ticks.
He clears his throat. “No, sorry, you looked…” He blinks rapidly and looks away. “How do you feel about cleaning up these beans?” he asks, his back to me.
I take the bag he holds out. “I think I can do that without cutting or burning myself.”
“If you do either of those things, I will be incredibly impressed,” he teases as he begins mincing garlic.
Foster moves seamlessly around the kitchen, prepping and cooking while I meticulously trim the beans. We work side by side for a while, chatting easily about our day, the blip of awkwardness fading and eventually disappearing completely. It feels incredibly domestic, like we do this every single night. When he moves around me, his hands rest momentarily on my hips, innocent, purpose-driven movements that feel like more in this confined space.
“Pete leaves the Tooth Fairy a thank-you note,” Foster tells me after I finish the story about Cooper.
“Does she ever write back?” I ask, throwing the final bean into the steamer.
“Apparently she writes very lengthy replies.” He laughs as he forms the pork into patties. I watch his hands work, gently packing the meat before he shapes it and places it on a parchment-lined tray. “Soph?”
I snap my head up and see he’s looking at me, his brow furrowed the tiniest bit. He was definitely talking while I was being hypnotized by his hands. It’s not my fault. “Yeah?”
“Everything okay?”
“Oh, yeah. I was totally expecting you to make balls.” I feel the burn in my cheeks when that grin I like so much reappears.
“I find patties are better for this recipe. Balls work for some things, but not all.”
Oh my god, we need to stop talking about balls when he’s grinning like that.
“Good to know. What did you say after the part about the long replies?” I’m not doing a great job of showing I can pay attention while in the kitchen. But to be fair I’m still not prepared for how distracting his hands are. Or for how the tattoos shift as he flexes. I’m not lost in my mind, I’m lost in him.
He hands me a jar of apricot jam and a spoon. “Put two heaping spoonfuls into that bowl and stir in the leftover garlic.” He walks by me and sets a frying pan on the stove. “I was saying that when I was a kid, there wasn’t any pressure to do anything aside from losing a tooth. And parents certainly didn’t go above and beyond.”
“I had a pillow. Like a little heart pillow with a pocket. I’d stick my tooth in there, and when I woke up there would be a shiny loonie.”
“You got a loonie? Cass and I got quarters.”
“It’s amazing that we didn’t figure it out earlier. Imagine the drama had we discussed how much we were making on our teeth.”
Foster pours a bit of oil into the pan and leans against the counter, crossing his arms. “It’s kind of creepy, if you think about it. A fairy trafficking in body parts, basically.”
My eyes are locked on his arms, is he flexing or are his arms always like that? Somehow my mouth conveys the one non-horny thought that I've got going. “I hadn’t thought about it before.” I shudder. “Although,” I say, dramatically flourishing the apricot-covered spoon, “my mom said it was fun to have a harmless lie to partake in.”
“Do you want to partake in the lie?”
“What do you mean?”
“Like with your own kids.”
My stomach drops at his words.