Chapter 20
chapter
twenty
NATE
My legs are somehow too heavy yet numb as I rush toward Maren’s house.
I haven’t taken a full breath since she called—it’s the dresser incident all over again times ten. A terror like no other, knowing my kid is in danger.
When I barge into Maren’s house, I’m not sure what I expect to find—possible tears and a mountain of tissues, maybe even my daughter’s favorite movie on the TV—but none of that’s the case.
I round the corner in the house I know so well, following the voices, and when I peer into the kitchen, I’m instantly confused. If I didn’t know this house left, right, and upside down, I’d think I was in the wrong place.
I’m surprised by the music blasting and the high-pitched singing overpowering the volume from the Bluetooth speaker.
Maren and Teagan take turns singing into a spatula, then use the utensil to stir something in a bowl. Streaks of flour decorate the counter and my daughter’s nose.
Maren has a chunk of whatever they’re mixing stuck in her hair, the strands clumped together at her temple.
And it smells like how I imagine Willa Wonka’s chocolate factory might—sweet and joyful, if a scent had a feeling.
“Daddy!” Teagan halts their performance and scurries toward me, holding up the large sweater wrapped around her shoulders. Tied over it is an adult-sized purple apron with the Cream and Sugar logo stitched front and center.
I catch my daughter mid-air and squeeze her, releasing a full, long breath of relief.
Blood filters to the rest of my body once again, and I imagine color seeps into my face now that I know she’s okay. She appears to be, anyway.
“Let me get a good look at you.” I spin her around, assessing every inch of her.
Maren assured me that Teagan’s okay. On my way over, I called Chief Hoskins, who assured me as well. But I still study my daughter to confirm it myself. I need the extra peace of mind.
“I’m fine,” Teagan draws out, like our house nearly catching on fire is old news already after only a half hour.
“Teagan, you could have been seriously hurt.” I grip her shoulders. “Where is Nan-Nan? She was supposed to be with you while I was at work. How did you even get home from school?”
“I walked.” She shrugs.
“You what?” Shrill alarms go off in my head yet again.
“Nan-Nan never showed up.” She holds her chin high as she says, “Then I remembered you said you used to walk to school and back all the time, so I did too. I couldn’t do that in LA.
This was fun. I saw a lot of cool trees—just like you said.
The mossy ones that look like feathers growing on sticks. ”
Teagan talks like she’s not aware of the turmoil she’s causing me.
“But you… Nan-Nan was…” I pinch the bridge of my nose, all the blood draining from my face again.
Of all the reasons I figured she might send me to an early grave, this was not in the cards.
Over her shoulder, I meet Maren’s gaze. It’s overflowing with concern, and it does nothing to ease the tension in my body.
I dip back down to meet Teagan at eye level. “Next time, please call me, Nan-Nan, or G-Dad. You wrote down our numbers, right? In your pretty purple notebook? Then wait for one of us. You shouldn’t be out walking by yourself.”
“You said it’s safe around here.”
“It is, but that doesn’t mean you should run around alone with none of us knowing where you are. Do you understand?”
She hangs her head, and my stomach sinks.
I pull her in for another hug. “I’m glad you’re okay, kiddo,” I whisper in her hair and give the top of her head a kiss. “Can you go wait in the living room so I can talk to Maren?”
“Can I stay with her after school from now on?” Teagan asks.
Maren and I lock gazes.
“It’s fun here. I’m Miss Maren’s assistant for the Thanksgiving Bake-Off.” She flashes me a wide grin like the one she gave me the first time I told her we were going to Disney Land. “She’s making sure I don’t burn the kitchen down again.”
“Is that what set the smoke detector off—you were baking?”
Her smile falters.
“Add that to the list of things you should not do alone.” I frown.
“I’m sorry, Daddy.” Tears well in her eyes, and my heart stammers.
“I know, baby.” I crouch in front of her, sinking onto my knees. “I’m just worried. You know that, right?”
She swipes at the corners of her eyes with the loose sleeve of the crocheted sweater.
“I love you, kiddo.” I kiss her forehead and force a smile. “Can I talk to Maren real quick? Then you and I are going to go home, all right? Nan-Nan and G-Dad will be over for supper.”
Teagan nods and trudges out of the kitchen.
I stand upright and put my hands on my hips. The rays from the late afternoon sun shine after her, and I struggle to calm my racing heart.
“She’s just a kid, Nate.”
I don’t move at the sound of her voice, as I sift through all my colliding thoughts and emotions.
“We used to get into all sorts of shit at her age, remember?” Maren’s voice rises. “I don’t mean to overstep or anything. But the good thing is that she’s okay, and—”
“Thank you,” I whisper and slowly turn to fully face her. This is the first time we’ve been alone in the same room since she ripped me to pieces, and I wasn’t fucking prepared for this.
With my emotions running high from the fear of what could’ve happened to Teagan, seeing Maren again like this—her wavy hair tucked into a low, messy bun and her shoulders bare in a fitted tank top tucked into jeans with a cutout high on her thigh—it’s torture.
Maren blinks at me, her feathery eyelashes fanning over the balls of her cheeks every time her eyes flutter closed.
She’s beautiful in every way, and it fucking hurts to look at her.
I clear my throat. “Thank you,” I repeat more loudly. “For taking care of her and keeping her safe. It means a lot.”
“Of course.” She shifts to lean her hip against the edge of the counter.
It’s hard to move. To think or see straight.
But somewhere in the recesses of my mind, I imagine my mother’s worried voice, and it forces me into action. I slide my phone from my pocket. “I need to call Mom and make sure everything’s okay. She didn’t answer when I called on my way here.”
My phone buzzes in my hand, and I find my mom’s name across the top.
“Oh my goodness—I just heard! Are you okay? Where’s Teagan? What’s going on?” she rambles, and I hear the car engine starting on her end like she’s in her car, ready to race over here.
Which is probably accurate.
“We’re fine, Mom, but I’m more worried about you.”
“Me? Whatever for? I’m not the one who had the firefighters at my house.”
“Mom, you were supposed to pick up Teagan from school and watch her while I was at work. It was my first day, remember?”
Silence answers me.
“Mom?”
“Honey, I’m so sorry. I think there was a bit of a mix-up.” She pauses again, and I hear the tick of a blinker. “I thought you started next week.”
Sighing, I flick my gaze to Maren, who hasn’t moved from the other side of the counter. “I assume you’re on your way over?”
“Damn right. I need to check on my babies.”
A small smile makes its way to the corners of my lips. “We’ll see you soon.”
“Well?” Teagan reappears in the kitchen as I end the call. “Can I come here to bake with Miss Maren after school?”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, kiddo. Nan-Nan is really looking forward to hanging out with you after school.”
“I love Nan-Nan.” Her eyes grow wide as if I suggested otherwise. “But she doesn’t bake cookies as good as Miss Maren. She makes good country fried chicken and biscuits and scones too, but the cookies are just different.”
“We’ll talk about it when we get home.” I offer an apologetic smile toward Maren.
She pushes her hip off the counter and straightens, captivating me without even trying. “Actually”—she bites her lip and lifts one shoulder—“I could use a taste tester for the cookies…”
Teagan squeals and rushes over to wrap her arms around Maren’s waist.
“There’s a junior age group for the bake-off. If your dad’s okay with it, maybe you can enter too. We can practice together after school.” Both girls turn toward me, their eyes wide and expectant.
My throat clogs with something unexpected as my gaze swings from Teagan to Maren.
My daughter and my ex.
The ex I still have feelings for, but she doesn’t want to be with me.
I should say no. I should put a stop to this budding friendship this instant. It would be too difficult for me to constantly be in Maren’s orbit like that.
But then I remember my conversation with Teagan last weekend. The one where she was so sad about not having friends at school.
I can’t take this away from her. And besides, it would be good for her to have a hobby outside of collecting tumblers and playing games on her iPad.
I’m an adult. I can handle being around Maren.
“That would be great.” I toss my hands up, and Teagan practically tackles Maren again in celebration.
She’s so happy, and Maren seems happy too. She even hugs my daughter back, and Maren usually hates hugs.
I’m mesmerized by the pair. They act like they’ve known each other as long as Maren’s known me.
They laugh and nudge each other before going back to baking. Maren shows her how to know when to stop mixing. She’s patient and kind when my daughter drops a blob of the dough onto the floor.
They carry on as if I’m not standing right here. As if I didn’t plan to take Teagan home, especially after the alarming pieces of information she gave me. Walking home alone? Baking alone? What else is she going to tell me—she gave herself a piercing?
This is my fault, of course. I should’ve been more clear about my new schedule. I should’ve called my mother when school let out to confirm she picked up Teagan.
I won’t make this mistake again.
The girls continue rambling about what Teagan might want to bake for this holiday competition, which I need more details on.
I’m about to ask Maren how I’d go about entering Teagan into this bake-off, but my daughter turns to me with a bright grin, wiping her hands on her apron as she asks, “Did you know Maren and her sister play the fun fact game too? It’s just like our game, Daddy.”
Maren’s gaze snaps to mine. A mixture of curiosity and surprise swims in her amber eyes like a shot of Coke in a glass of whiskey.
But there’s something else there too. Something like appreciation, or even admiration.
The longer she stares at me, her expression morphs into a more wistful one. Her features soften, and her mesmerizing eyes lighten like they hold flecks of the sun.
Maren looks at me like she did the first time she told me she loved me.
It gives me hope, no matter how futile it might be.
And I wish like hell that I would’ve confessed every detail to her last Sunday. In all my turmoil, I only scratched the surface. I should’ve done and said so much more to prove to her that my feelings are all too real, and it has nothing to do with the fact that she lives right next door.
Calling her a convenience is a damn crime when every thought, dream, and desire has started and ended with her.