13. Chapter 13
Chapter 13
Adam
I’ve been attending church with my foster parents since my return, so when Katie asks if I’ll be going to church with her today, I glance at her.
"Why are you looking at me that way?" she asks, curiosity shining in her eyes.
"I’m just not used to Katherine Linder wanting me to join her family at any function," I say, still a bit skeptical. "That would be two days in a row."
"I don’t think I’ve ever heard you call me Katherine before," she says, handing me a cup of coffee.
"I figured if you hate Katie that much, I should try to keep the peace and call you Katherine."
She looks disappointed, so I quickly add, "Isn't that what you want?"
"I want you to keep calling me Katie," she murmurs.
"But you hate it," I point out.
"I can’t imagine you calling me anything else," she says, her gaze steady on mine.
"This isn’t a side of you I’m used to," I confess.
"Are you complaining?" she asks, stepping closer—close enough for me to see the vibrant shade of green in her eyes.
"No. I’m just wondering when the Katie I’m used to will reappear and remind me I’m the unwanted brother she never asked for."
"You're not my brother," she says, raising an eyebrow.
"Ah, there she is," I say, a hint of amusement in my voice.
"Adam," she begins softly. "Do you really see me as a little sister?"
"No," I say honestly. "I tried for so many years to be like a brother to you. To have with you what I was so easily able to build with your sisters, but you never let me in."
"My sisters love you," she says. "I'm sorry I never gave you a chance. To be honest, watching you with them last night made me a little jealous. It's obvious you all love each other like siblings—I felt left out."
I set the cup of coffee on the counter beside her, letting my gaze sweep over her beautiful face. "Where does that leave us?" I ask.
"I guess it leaves us at square one," she says. "A clean slate to build on."
She extends her hand toward me. "Hi, I'm Katherine."
"Nice to meet you, Katherine," I respond, taking her hand in mine. "Can I call you Katie?"
"No one calls me Katie," she teases. "You'll be the one and only."
***
Katie and I have been living under the same roof for five weeks now. We're together constantly—at home, in the office, at her parents' place, and even at church. It feels almost like time has rewound. Like I’m that teenager again, fumbling to find my place in a family that doesn’t belong to me. Only this time, Katie is different. And things between us? They're different.
I’ve lost track of how many times I've glanced at her, only to find her already looking at me. When she meets my eyes, she doesn’t look away; she smiles. Her laugh—soft and genuine—is a sound I could listen to on repeat, especially when it's a reaction to something I’ve said. It’s as if her joy is tied to my humor, and I can’t help but feel good about that.
When we’re with her family, I’m not the outsider anymore. Katie doesn’t scold me for intruding on their conversations; instead, she pulls me in, her voice joining the mix effortlessly. She even makes sure to sit next to me during the sports games, her focus shifting between the screen and me, as if both are equally captivating.
In the evenings, we slip into an easy rhythm. We cook dinner together—sometimes she perches on the counter, reading off the recipe, guiding me through the steps as if it's second nature. There’s a dishwasher, sure, but we always end up washing the dishes by hand, side by side. And on Thursdays, we have a standing date to watch Survivor together—something I never imagined myself watching. But with Katie beside me, everything’s enjoyable. I could sit through anything, even paint drying, as long as she’s sitting next to me.
Tonight, after dinner at Jon’s, I’m pouring hot chocolate into two mugs when Katie’s phone rings.
"Katie!" I call out. "Your phone is ringing!"
She rushes into the room, pulling on her favorite sweater—a yellow cardigan with a missing button that has definitely seen better days. She’s had it for years, and judging by the frayed and tattered sleeves, it might have even doubled as Tater’s chew toy at some point.
I grab her phone and hand it to her along with the mug of hot chocolate.
"Thanks," she says, flashing me a warm smile. Then, answering the call, she adds, "Hi, Sheri. Uh-huh. Hmm. Give me a sec."
She excuses herself, and I watch as she disappears into her bedroom.
Taking my hot chocolate, I step outside to sit on the swing and wait.
"Is everything okay?" I ask when she joins me outside a few minutes later.
She walks over and puts her cup down on the table before plopping down on the swing beside me with a sigh.
"That was Sheri," she says.
"What's wrong?" I ask, catching the shift in her mood, the slight hesitation.
"Get this," she says, avoiding my gaze. "She wanted to know if you're available."
"Available? For what?" I ask.
"To date," she says, but there's an edge in her tone—accusatory, familiar. I know that tone far too well.
"Me?" I blurt out, unable to hide my surprise.
"Yeah, you," she says, her voice rising.
"Isn't she engaged?" I ask, amusement creeping into my voice.
"That's exactly what she said," Katie mutters. "'It's too bad I'm engaged,' she told me, 'but I have an older sister who's single and ready to mingle.' Her words, not mine."
The look of disapproval she shoots my way is another thing I recognize all too well.
"What?" I say. "What did I do?"
"Her name is Melissa," she continues. "She's a teacher. Loves kids—of course she does. She just hasn’t been able to find the right guy." She recites every word through gritted teeth, her eyes blazing with agitation.
"Why didn’t she call me?" I ask, fully aware that Sheri has my number—and regretting the words the moment they leave my lips.
"She had the audacity to ask if I’m interested in you," she says, clearly upset.
I can sense the tension emanating from her in waves, but I still have to fight the urge to smile.
"What did you tell her?" I ask, bracing myself for the worst—yet deep down, hoping for the best.
"She turns to me and shoots me a glare sharp enough to silence me on the spot. She's jealous. I can't believe it—she's actually jealous.
"I told her your love life is none of my business," she says.
"Oh, good," I reply, enjoying the way she shifts uneasily. "Did she leave Melissa's number?"
Her eyes widen with disbelief. "What happened to you being emotionally unavailable?" she retorts.
"I'm thirty-two years old, single, and ready to mingle," I say, watching as she opens her mouth, ready to cut me down with words—but nothing comes out. When I realize she's completely speechless, I start laughing—a deep, full laugh that rumbles through me.
She gives me a playful shove with her shoulder and bursts out laughing too. "You're horrible!" she manages between fits of laughter.
We lean back on the swing, letting it sway gently. I take a sip of my hot chocolate, allowing the comfortable silence to settle between us.
It doesn’t take long before she glances at me. “Are you going to call her?” she asks, her tone suddenly serious.
"No," I say, shaking my head.
When I don’t elaborate, she looks at me again. "Why not?" she asks.
I hesitate, debating whether to give her a plausible excuse that she might believe or to be honest—open Pandora’s box and have her questioning everything.
"I'll give you the easy, uncomplicated reason," I say.
"Okay," she says. "I'm listening."
"I don't have time to date," I begin. "Between work piling up and trying to settle into my new life in Cold Spring, my plate is already full."
"I see," she says, pausing for a beat. I sigh, thinking that’s the end of it—until she shifts beside me. "So, what's the truth?" she asks.
I meet her gaze, my voice steady. "Why would I want to go out with another woman when I can come home every night and spend time with you?"