Chapter 17
CHAPTER 17
CARLIE
Is it weird to be excited about a potluck picnic date? Is it weird to be having a potluck picnic date?
The grin on my face every time I think about it feels like it’s not weird but kind of great. Law said he was bringing the meat for our potluck, and that meant I got sides and bread. I went with easy and just made some basic rolls last night after I had dinner with the girls and Chad, but the side I chose is my grandma’s amazing potato salad recipe. I can’t stop thinking about what he’s going to bring and making guesses.
“Froot Loops!” I call out to the girls, who are coloring quietly at the table. Once I bought them Bluey coloring books, this became their favorite after-breakfast activity this week.
Scarlett giggles but then shakes her head vigorously. “That’s not meat, Carlie. He can’t bring Froot Loops.”
The other fun game they like this morning almost as much as I do? Hearing me make silly guesses about what Law will bring to our potluck. “Good point,” I say, and go back to wiping off the counter. The girls seem to have found comfort in the ritual of me straightening up after breakfast, and it makes me wonder if their mom did that. I’ve been careful not to ask them about her. I haven’t found the right way to discuss that with Chad, even though Naomi thinks the girls would adjust better if they had more information about Shelby. But how do I approach their dad and question his parenting decisions?
I pull open the dishwasher. Chad and I have an unspoken agreement that he loads it at night—unless he’s called out before dinner—and I unload in the morning. To be honest, it’s helped me out a lot in searching through the kitchen and finding things. I’ve acclimated to this house a lot quicker because of it. The girls also laugh over the way I line things up above the dishwasher when I can’t find the home for it and the girls can’t help. Which is often.
“A vacuum!” Zoey suddenly shouts, and I have to keep myself from beaming proudly. Neither girl has offered up their own suggestion in the game we’ve been playing. She begins giggling uncontrollably, even when Scarlett shakes her head and cries, “That’s not even food!” Then they both just giggle harder.
I can’t help staring at them as they laugh together. They’ve been so shy around me. I haven’t seen them let loose like this.
“What, Carlie?” Scarlett asks. Her giggles are calming, but she’s still smiling widely.
I think fast. “Pancakes.”
“No!” they shout together, and they giggle more.
I go back to unloading the dishwasher, still grinning to myself. Their giggles fall away, and they go back to coloring, but they’re interspersing it with chatter that I love listening to.
I pull a spoon out of the dishwasher that seems very disproportionate. It’s got a regular-sized head but a long, thin handle, and I’ve never seen it before.
“Girls?” I ask, holding it up. They both look over, then shrug and shake their heads. “Is it for a T-rex to eat his cereal?” I ask with faux innocence.
“No!” Zoey cries, laughter trembling in her little voice.
“There’s no T-rex living here,” Scarlett says, shaking her head at me and smiling.
I shrug and set about exploring the kitchen, seeing if I can find matching utensils or something similar. After several drawers, I come to the junk drawer, which I haven’t come across yet. I smile to think that there’s a junk drawer in this gleaming kitchen full of stainless-steel appliances and cool gadgets.
I start to push it closed when I notice a phone sitting on top. Why is there a phone in the junk drawer? I tap at the screen, but it doesn’t light up. It looks like a nice phone, newer than mine, and I can’t figure out why it would be in the junk drawer until I turn it over.
The case is custom, a picture of Chad and a woman I can only assume is Shelby. She’s an older version of the girls, just like I guessed. I swallow. This can’t be Shelby’s phone, though, right? No one leaves their phone when they take off. It must be her old one.
“Hey.” I hold the phone up for the girls to see. “Is this a phone you play with?” I figure that’s why it’s in here. The housekeeper or someone stuffed it in the drawer when they were straightening up.
Scarlett’s eyes light up. “That’s Mommy’s phone!” She hurries forward, taking it from me and tapping on the screen, frowning when nothing happens. “It’s dead. No wonder we can’t talk to her.”
She stares at it for a moment, and I don’t know what to do. In the week or so that I’ve worked here, I’ve just felt innately that I’m not supposed to mention Shelby ever, and now Scarlett’s staring at her mom’s phone and realizing that her mom can’t call.
I take it back and set it gently back in the drawer. “Let’s put it away, and I’ll talk to your dad about it when he gets home.”
Scarlett nods and goes back to the table to color, but I keep the drawer open, staring at the phone. It feels like something’s stuck in my chest, filling it up. Why would Shelby leave her phone?
Chad gets home around four, making for the most normal day I’ve had with the girls since I started working. I text Law that I’m done and ask if I can come over early. We planned on five tentatively, but with the unpredictability of when I’ll need to work, the real time was up in the air. He texts back that of course I can come over whenever I want. I go home first to pick up my contributions to our potluck dinner, and then I head over.
“Hey.” He smiles at me when he opens the door, and my heart skips a little. He leans over and kisses my cheek, and part of me wants to put my hand up and tilt his face so his lips land on mine. I love that Law is taking this slow, just like I asked him, so is it wrong that I want to skip to the part where we’re kissing? Listen, I can’t trust you completely yet, but let’s make out.
“Potato salad and rolls.” I hold up the containers I brought the food over in. “A bit predictable for a potluck, but I promise you won’t be disappointed.”
He puts his hand on my back as we walk toward his kitchen and dining room. “I was a bit predictable too. Smoked pulled pork.” He points to a foil pan on his island.
“It smells amazing. And it will be perfect to eat on these rolls,” I say.
He picks up the plates and utensils he had sitting on the island with the pork and moves them to the table.
“Shouldn’t we be using paper plates and plastic forks?” I ask. “I mean, for the right vibe?” I pick up the glasses he has on the counter and move them over as well. He’s setting up the table like the first night we had dinner here, our place settings kitty-corner from each other on one end of his table so we can sit closer together.
“This is an upscale potluck.” He moves the meat to the table to join my rolls and salad. Then he holds out my chair for me.
“Because you’re rich and famous?”
He chuckles and takes a seat. I scoot my chair closer and slide a foot near his. He’s always so warm, and something about it soothes me. I’ve been anxious over finding Shelby’s phone all day. She must have had another one. That’s what I keep telling myself. She probably had an affair and used another phone to communicate with her lover, and then that’s the one she took when she ran off with him.
That makes total sense. So why doesn’t it sit right with me? I’m guessing it’s just because I don’t know the “real” answer and my curiosity is killing me over this.
“Were the girls tough again today?”
I look up, realizing that I was zoning out while Law dished food onto our plates. “Uh, no. They were great today. They’re coming out of their shell a lot more, so progress.”
Law puts down the foil pan of pork and leans over his plate. He’s so tall—six foot six, his bio on the Pumas’ website says—that the move puts him only a few inches from my face. He runs his thumb softly over one side of my lips. I catch my breath at his touch, which has set my face on fire.
“Then what’s with the frown?” he asks in a whisper.
I shake my head slowly. “It’s really not important.” Definitely not with his lips this close to mine.
His hand shifts so that he uses one finger to tilt my face closer to his, and he pauses, his gaze darting between my eyes and my lips, waiting.
“Yes,” I whisper to his unspoken question. The fact that he wants to make sure I’m ready has melted me even more toward him. He’s not just “probably” one of the good ones, like Jenna said. I can kick him up to “almost assuredly,” which is likely the highest I can go, being me. Short of a CIA-level background check and twenty years together, I don’t know if I’ll ever be totally sure about him, and even then … I’ve listened to stories about women who’ve been married to serial killers for years and never even realized.
I stop myself. Now is not the time.
Law closes the distance slowly even still, so that by the time his lips reach mine, I’m hungry for the touch and fully present in the moment.
It’s electric, just like I thought it would be. His lips are soft, and his chin is so smooth. He must have shaved right before I came over. The soapy scent of shaving cream even lingers a little bit. I lean more into the kiss, putting my hands on his arms. His skin is warm, and his muscles feel exactly how I thought they would.
It’s not convenient to be kissing over the corner of a table, but I can’t stop myself. So I slide out of my chair, coming to stand next to his. I giggle a little bit at the fact that I’m only a few inches taller than him, even standing over him like this. His arm comes around my waist, pulling me closer, and I lean over to kiss him more, cupping his face in my hands. All the anxious knots in my chest disappear. Every worry I have about why Shelby’s phone is at Chad’s house or if Law is really the nice guy he’s proven to be every step of the way—it all flits off, leaving me in this moment, my lips on Law’s, my heart entirely in his hands.
We give up on the table.
When we finally pull away from each other, Law picks up our plates and takes them to his family room. We sit on the big, fluffy couch together with our plates on the coffee table in front of us, talking and kissing and sometimes eating. It takes us forever to finish our food, and when we do, Law turns on the TV, flipping to a movie that’s already halfway over. It doesn’t matter. It’s mostly background noise.
For all the … talking we’re doing.
It’s late when my phone rings, and I pull away from Law to see that it’s Chad.
“I’m getting called in,” he says as soon as I answer. “The girls are already in bed.”
“I’ll be there in a few minutes,” I promise. I’m disappointed, but it’s probably a good thing. Time away from Law after we’ve taken a big next step in our relationship will keep me thinking clearly.
Law pushes himself off the couch as I hang up. “I’ll walk you over.”
We gather up my food containers, dishing out some for Law, and he adds some of the smoked pork to my containers to take with me. He carries the containers in one hand and holds my hand with the other as we walk down the sidewalk from his house over to Chad’s.
“Friday is my day off no matter what,” I say as we approach the front door. “Chad will take the girls to his mom or sister if he gets called out.” We’re still working on some kind of backup childcare with the kind of flexibility Chad needs.
“I’m glad you have one solid day off. Always being on call for him would burn you out too quickly.” Law leans over and kisses the top of my head. I let the shiver of excitement run through me, even though doubts are trying to pile in my head. I don’t want them.
“We could go out for dinner or something,” I say, turning to look up at him.
“Are you asking me out … again?” He wiggles his eyebrows.
“I am.”
He leans over, our height disparity even more apparent now, and kisses me briefly. “Absolutely yes.”
I grin, tapping quietly on the front door before letting myself in. “Night.”
“Night.” He waits until I close the door, and then through the windows on either side of the door, I see him hurry down the steps and jog across the lawns.
Chad appears in the hallway that meets the entryway and separates this area of the house from the kitchen and family room. “Front door?” he asks.
I nod toward Law’s house. “I was with Law.”
Chad smirks, and my cheeks heat. “Girls are in bed. I’ll see you later.” He strides down the hallway toward the mudroom and the door to the garage.
I put away my containers in the fridge and then stand in the kitchen, my eyes drawn to the drawer where I found Shelby’s phone. I hurry over to it, and with a glance over my shoulder at the garage, I pull it out and plug it into the charger Chad keeps in the kitchen.