Chapter Twelve #2
“I do miss sleeping in, going out to a boozy brunch I didn’t have to make.
Binge-watching Britbox until my favorite Thai delivery arrives.
” I close my eyes and smile. But the recitation of my former life doesn’t spark a sense of nostalgia.
It sounds hollow, lonely. And the truth is, on most Sundays, I was working and cleaning up after the slob I used to live with.
“What are your Sundays like that you’re so willing to give them up?”
He shrugs. “I usually just do laundry, catch up on work, run, get takeout and early bed. It was nice to be with…family today.”
“Even after the melodrama with Mae?”
“They’re nice. It’s clear you love each other.”
The affection in his voice makes me smile. “I complain about them but I do love them and no one has my back like they do. Leaving New York was a lot easier because I was coming home,” I admit.
“So…when did you and your almost fiancé break up?”
“April sixteenth.”
His eyes narrow. “The day after we met?” he asks and glances toward me.
“Yeah.”
“So… I made an impression.”
I roll my eyes. “It was already in the works, but meeting you did a lot to clarify things.”
He smirks. “I heard multiple orgasms can have that effect in women.”
“We both know you turned me out. Stop gloating,” I snap.
He holds up a hand. “Okay, sorry. I didn’t realize you were still in your feelings about it. I’ll leave it alone.”
“I’m not in my feelings,” I mutter and look out at charming bungalows that line the street leading to my parents’ house for a minute. When he doesn’t respond, I sigh in resignation. “Okay, I guess I am,” I admit. “Honestly, I’m thrown that you’re here.”
He huffs a laugh. “Yeah, me too.”
I shake my head. “No, I mean. The way I was with you that night…” I bite my lip. I hate when people drag things out so, I force myself to spit it out.
“I don’t have one-night stands. I didn’t think I’d ever see you again. If I’d known there was even a chance I wouldn’t have—”
“What? Let me eat you through your panties?” he says in a voice so low and silky it makes me cross my legs to try and create some friction discretely.
“Exactly,” I agree.
“Or try to tear my clothes off?”
I nudge his arm in protest. “I did not.”
“Oh, the scratches on my chest and hips are evidence that you, in fact, did.” He grins.
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry.” I giggle and then slap a hand over my mouth in surprise at the weird giddiness in my gut where my embarrassment and regret should be.
“I’ve never had a one-night stand, either, Sin.”
“So why me?” It shouldn’t matter, but it does. I have to know.
“I didn’t want the night to end. I’d do it again. I have not a single regret that we met.”
Heat spreads from my chest up my neck and into my face. I tuck a lock of hair behind my ears. “I’m glad to hear that. Me neither.”
“I’m glad.” He pulls into my parents’ driveway, throws the car into park and turns so he’s facing me. “Friends?”
“Yes, absolutely.” I’m relieved as I shake his hand and ignore the way my palm tingles even after I let go
He opens the door and then hesitates. “Are we going to tell your family we met before today?”
Horror makes my eyes wide. “No, no, no. You’ve seen how rabid my mother is about us being single?
If she thinks there’s a small chance of something between us, she’ll start planning.
Next thing you know, you’ll be bringing a box of Schnapps to my dad and ring shopping.
” I wrap my hands around my throat and stick my tongue out to mime choking myself.
He snorts a laugh. “Say less. What happened in April stays between us.”
“Deal.” I stick my hand out for his to shake.
“Deal.” He mimics the gesture but crooks his pinky finger.
I smirk. “You want a pinky promise?”
“We’re still getting to know each other. I need the reassurance that you’ll keep your word.” He winks and wiggles his pinky.
“Fine.” I roll my eyes but can’t fight my smile and wrap my finger around his and tighten it.
The brief brush of skin on skin sends little sparks of awareness up my arm. My heartbeat picks up. I tug my finger to free it, but he tightens his to hold me.
“What are you doing, weirdo?” I ask, trying to keep my voice light.
“Just savoring how good it feels to touch you one last time.”
I look up from our hands to find his gaze still trained on our fingers.
I have to swallow before I can speak “One last time?” My voice is hushed.
He looks up at me and the humor that’s been dancing on his face since we started talking is gone. His eyes are bright and intent on my face. “You understand why this is the most of you I trust myself to touch?” He uncurls his finger from mine.
I shove my hand into my pocket and trace the tingling skin around the knuckle he’d had in his grasp.
He places a hand on my jaw where it meets my throat and pins me in place with his smoldering dark eyes, making it impossible for me to deny him.
My breath hitches and my heart pounds even harder, and his face drops a fraction and comes closer to mine. My lips tingle and I lean in eager to see if his lips were as soft and warm as I remember.
“Sin,” he breathes my name and puts a hand on the side of my neck and tugs me closer. Every single inch of me is leaning, anticipation building by the millisecond.
When he’s so close his breaths ruffle my lashes, I close my eyes and sigh, “Yes.”
The sound of the front door slamming coincides with the sudden retraction of his hand from my throat. “Shit,” we say simultaneously.
I scramble out of the car, my pulse racing. My alarm is tinged with disappointment that I won’t get to kiss him. “The line at self-checkout was crazy, but we got everything,” I explain as I approach my dad.
“Oh good.” My father comes down the short flight of steps. “Your mother is waiting in the kitchen. Kwame, could you join me in the study? I’m about to open the letter from your mom.”
“Of course, I’ll just take these in and be right there.”
“You go ahead.” I take the grocery bags from Kwame and hustle to the kitchen before he can protest.
“Took you long enough. The pie is getting cold.”
“Sorry, the line was long.” I open the freezer and lean my overheated face inside while my mother starts pulling bowls out.
“Adele!” My father’s voice pierces the domestic tranquility like a gun going off.
My mother and I lock eyes, alarm making them wide. “Lord have mercy,” she says breaking our stare. She abandons dessert and rushes out of the kitchen with me, propelled by panic, hot on her heels.
“What’s wrong?” I ask when I burst into the study a few paces behind her, out of breath.
My father is staring at a piece of paper and tears are running down his face. He hands it to my mother wordlessly.
She takes it, scans the first few lines and then slaps a hand over her mouth.
“Daddy, what’s wrong?” I ask shaking his arm when he doesn’t reply.
He shakes his head. “Kwame isn’t our new landlord.”
I turn to Kwame. “Are you kicking them out? Raising the rent?” I move to stand an arm’s length away from where he’s seated, my panic morphing to outrage.
He takes a step back and raised his hands “No. Of course not. I would never.”
“Just tell me why you’re not their landlord and who is!” I say struggling to keep my voice from rising.
“We don’t have a new landlord. The house is ours,” my mother replies.
I freeze mid-rant, the lava of emotion that was boiling in my blood a second ago cools instantly. “Wait. What? She gave them the house?”
“Yes. She did. Oh my God,” my mother answers from behind me. She is holding the paper in one hand and my father’s arm with the other. “I can’t believe it. But it’s true.”
“Is this for real?” I ask Kwame, stunned but starting to realize the enormity of what is happening.
“Yes. If you keep reading, you’ll see that the rent you’ve paid since you lived here has been deposited in a mutual fund account for the entirety of your lease period.
She has made you and your husband the beneficiaries of the account.
The debit cards and withdrawal slips should arrive here any day. ”
My mother screams and collapses in her chair. My father sits on the arm of it and presses a cheek to the top of her head.
I turn to Kwame. “Thank you,” I manage to croak.
“Thank my mother. She obviously cared for them a lot.”
My heart tugs at the way his eyes soften at the mention of his mother. “She was so nice to my parents. She was like their fairy godmother and now this?”
“Did you meet her?”
I smile fondly. “Only in passing. She’d stop by every time they made major upgrades to the house. It’s been fifteen years at least since I saw her last, but I remember her being so elegant.”
“Yeah, she was.” His eyes drift away from mine, and he smiles to himself. There’s such tenderness in them that I want to wrap my arms around him and absorb some of it.
I want him to smile like that when he thinks about me.
I shake that thought right out of my head. My eyes have always been too big for my stomach. And Kwame is much more than I can chew right now. I’m not biting. No matter how tempting he is.