Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Daisy
The first three weeks of my second marriage had gone by without drama. Laila had finally slept in her own bed for the whole night last night. Alder had painted the whole main floor of the house. Two days ago, he’d had carpet swatches laid out on the table for us.
I hadn’t been sure Laila would adjust to another upheaval of her room, so I would pore over the selection of the carpet to make sure she’d like it. Alder had said he could have it installed during Christmas when she was with her dad, or she could be home and watch the whole process. She’d opted for Christmas—and a new set of pajamas to help her adjust.
I pulled into the garage. Laila was thumping her boots against her seat, but she hadn’t complained about the house for almost the whole week.
The bench from the mudroom was in the front of the garage, sitting on open newspapers.
“Is that darker?” Laila asked, her boots going quiet.
“Looks like he stained it.”
Laila hadn’t warmed up to Alder, but she’d fallen into a state of mostly ignoring his existence. He kept extending an olive branch, and at this point, I was ready to give him a bag of Skittles and tell him to bribe her.
Except there was no reason for him to. They cohabited just fine. Some nights, it was like he wasn’t home, except for the thumps upstairs as he worked on tearing off the baseboards to stain after he painted the rooms. The noise was better than strangers moving around me in an apartment building, and his presence was comforting. The small house Laila and I had been in before could get lonely. This large place would seem cavernous without him.
When we entered, a familiar delicious smell wafted around us. I peeked my head out of the mudroom. Alder was in his designated spot at the table, his phone in one hand and a fork in the other.
He always had food ready, whether it was sandwiches or a casserole. I hadn’t said anything because damn, he could cook, and because he’d respected the eating situation. He either took his meal before I got home, or he ate when Laila was getting ready for bed.
“Is that chicken and dumplings?” I asked.
He glanced over his shoulder. “Yep.”
“Your mom’s recipe?” Of course it was.
“She told me that you had to be the judge if I could ever make it again.”
My stomach was twisting and turning, trying to get closer to Magnolia Duke’s crockpot chicken and dumplings. She used to make it when she knew I’d be over, and she’d always have a dish to send home for my parents. My dad had usually eaten at the bar, but my mom loved the dish almost as much as me.
“Ew.” Laila had been saying that about all his food. Yet I hadn’t missed the gusto she ate with once she forgot her self-imposed stubbornness.
“Let’s eat right away,” I said to her as I helped her hang up her coat and put her boots on the mat.
Alder rose and cleared his place just as I entered the kitchen. He loaded his dishes in the dishwasher and went to the living room. Disappointment ricocheted inside of me. He was adhering to the roommate agreement, but did he have to be so compliant? The urge to have him at the table and have him ask me how my day went grew stronger each day.
Which was exactly why I had asked for guidelines.
I dished up a plate for me and Laila. I blew on her food and waved my hand over it until it was cool enough to eat.
I scooped the first bit of gravy and dumpling into my mouth and groaned. I was a decent cook, but I’d never gotten the recipe for this. Why would I have needed it? Magnolia had possessed a sixth sense for whenever I had a craving. I had briefly thought of reaching out to her and asking for it, but much of the enjoyment was that I hadn’t had to make it.
I chewed through seconds and deliberated on thirds when Laila announced she was done.
“Hang on.” I popped my head into the living room.
Alder was measuring the doorway, his broad shoulders flexing under his T-shirt. He’d taken off his flannel, and his biceps were on full display. The muscles bunched and stretched as he moved the measuring tape to get the height and width.
The tape snapped into its enclosure, and he grabbed the pencil from behind his ear and dug a sheet of paper out of his back pocket. His ass. I’d been trying—and failing—not to admire his legs as he wandered through the house like my very own handyman porn show, but I hadn’t gotten a good look at his tight butt. Did he keep active in the gym? Were those ass muscles toned from pumping into his gorgeous dates all night?
He scribbled some numbers down and spun, tucking the pencil back behind his ear. “Daze?”
I yanked my gaze up. Oh no. I’d been staring at his butt. That was an unspoken guideline I hadn’t thought of putting down. No lusting after the ex you’re married to.
His questioning gaze was on me. It was the glint of amusement in his hazel eyes that kicked my brain back on.
“Leftovers?” I faintly gestured toward the kitchen. “Do you want all the leftovers, or can I take some for work?”
“Take as much as you need.” His low drawl went straight for my belly, twining its way down.
“Thanks,” I said with a squeak and ducked into the kitchen. Laila was kicking her feet and whipping her napkin around like it was a bird.
All through the meal cleanup, I gave myself a stern talking-to. No gawking at him. No thinking about his body and how strong he was. No remembering what he looked like naked. We were different now. He might be somehow bigger and more fit. I’d had a baby and not one article of my old wardrobe remained because I couldn’t fit into it and I’d quit trying.
After the kitchen was tidied, I found Laila in her room, her tongue caught between her teeth and crayons scattered in front of her. My attention touched on the newly painted wall and dipped to the princess castle she was coloring, then yanked back to the crayon streaks on the fresh paint.
“Laila! Did you color on the wall?” Horror pushed out at my temples. Alder had rushed to paint this room for Laila, and she’d doodled all over it.
She pushed off the floor. Crocodile tears filled her eyes. “I didn’t do it.”
I pressed my fingertips against my forehead. “He painted the room just for you.” She had never colored on the wall before. Why would she start now?
“I don’t like him.”
I crossed my arms. “Well, I do. He’s helping us, and he’s not trying to replace your dad.”
Tears fell down her cheeks, and her shoulders shook.
I let out a breath and led her to the bed. I sat on the edge and lifted her to my lap.
She sobbed into my shoulder. “I didn’t mean to.”
She totally had. “I know.”
“I miss Daddy.”
“I know.” Jason had hardly been around during her waking hours when we had lived together, but I couldn’t dig into semantics. Her life had changed a lot in the last year. We were all allowed down days. Weak moments when we ogled our ex’s ass. “Do you think calling him more often would make you feel better?”
I should’ve thought of this earlier. Before the graffiti.
She nodded, her hair tickling under my chin.
“Okay.” I dug my phone out of my pocket and called Jason.
“Daisy?” he answered. “Everything okay?”
“Laila’s missing you. Mind reading her some books before bed?”
“Yeah, no problem.”
I left them, closing the door halfway. I stood for a few moments, listening to Laila’s happy chatter with Jason. The art on the wall behind her, the squiggles, the stick figures, and the—I squinted— flowers? —glared stark behind her.
What would Alder think? I’d bitten his head off about painting in the first place. Now Laila, who he knew didn’t like him, had defaced his work. She might be four, but she was smart. She’d done it on the walls to get back at Alder for being the guy in the house instead of Jason.
I pushed a lock of hair behind my ear. I’d have to talk to Alder and let him know that she was going to help me clean it off.
He was no longer in the living room, and I couldn’t find him in the kitchen. I poked my head into the garage. Not there either. I stood at the base of the stairs. I hadn’t been up there since we’d moved in. Another stipulation we should’ve included in our roommate agreement was that the upstairs was his den. Whatever he did there wasn’t my business.
I could talk to him later.
Laila’s voice still emanated from the bedroom. She would keep Jason on the line for a while. Maybe I could talk to Alder now.
I took the stairs, my mind filling in the blank walls with the portraits that used to hang in the stairwell. School pictures. Family photos. Vacation images. I had been fascinated and maybe a little jealous. They’d always looked so happy.
My childhood photos had appeared happy too. And in those brief moments, we had been. Only I remembered how my dad and brother had been at each other’s throats, so alike yet so different and unwilling to meet in the middle when it counted.
I crested the top. Technically, there were four rooms. Three were big enough to be comfortable bedrooms. Violet had taken the smaller office just to have a room of her own. That space was to my right and it was empty. The trim had been stripped out. Same with the bedroom on my left. The bathroom door hung open, but the bedroom door adjacent to it was closed. I had known what room he’d taken. The one above mine. His old room.
I tentatively approached. A crap-ton of memories resided in that bedroom. Lots of laughter and planning of our future. I faced the wood of the door. I was up here for reasons . I wasn’t imposing. The house was like a business we were running together for the next year.
Blowing out a hard breath, I knocked.
The door swung open. Alder was holding a shirt in front of his chiseled bare chest, one arm already stuffed through a sleeve. He peeked around me, then relaxed and dropped his shirt. “Oh, good, it’s just you. I was worried something was wrong and didn’t want to make you wait, but I wanted to follow the rules.”
He tossed the shirt on his bed.
No. I needed that on him now. I needed that broad chest with the sprinkling of dark hair that narrowed to a line traveling down his abs covered. My fingers twitched. All I had to do was reach out and I could feel how hot his skin was. When had he gotten so brawny?
The walls! “Laila—uh…” My brain was sluggish. It kept reorienting on the rounded muscles capping his shoulders. Those biceps I’d seen earlier were completely visible.
He propped a hand on his hip while his other was on the doorknob. He was like a painting. Here’s what you didn’t get . “She all right?”
I shook my head and squeezed my eyes shut since I couldn’t be appropriate. “She drew on the walls.” There. I got it out. Was it hot up here? I wiped at my brow and opened my eyes. “I’ll have her help me clean it, and I’ll make sure she talks to Jason more often. She’s missing him.”
“She’s really having a hard time.”
He didn’t ask, and I nodded. “I think so. I mean, it’s probably not unusual for kids her age to draw on the walls, but she hasn’t been inclined to before.”
He grimaced. “But she’s not a chicken and dumplings fan.”
I giggled, grateful for the levity, but still concentrated to keep my eyes on his face. “I might have to ground her if that’s the case.”
“Exposure therapy. There are a lot of leftovers.”
“No, there aren’t. I saved enough for you for lunch tomorrow after I took what I wanted.” It’d been a long fifteen years without chicken and dumplings.
The corners of his eyes crinkled with humor. “I’m glad it was a hit.”
“Most of your food is. Laila won’t tell you, but she cleans her plate most nights.”
“You might have to let Mom know that she taught me a few things.”
“Yeah. I will.” The effort not to steal one last look at his chest was too much. “Just wanted to tell you in case I didn’t catch you in the morning.”
I was about to turn when he opened his door wider. “Hey, just a heads-up…”
Behind him, the king-sized bed took up most of the room. My full bed would work better in here while his bed should be in the main bedroom. The movers hadn’t thought they’d actually get it in his room.
He scratched the back of his head, and damn, the muscles . “Mom and Dad asked if they could stay here.”
Alarm posted in my veins, ready to spread through my blood until anxiety turned me into a shaking mess. Stay with us? “W-what?”
If his parents slept over, we’d have to pretend we were really married. That’d mean he’d have to sleep in my room. We’d have to touch. Maybe even kiss to sell this whole thing.
He held up his hands like he’d heard all the questions racing through my head. “I told them Laila was gone for Christmas.”
A small, cool wave of relief helped slow my heart rate. “Okay, thanks. I mean it would’ve been nice to see them?—”
“They’d like to come for the New Year.”
“Dammit.” We weren’t getting out of their visit. Of course, they’d want to meet Laila.
He winced.
I pinched my eyes shut again. “I’m sorry. I knew this was part of the deal. I’m just not ready.”
“I can tell them no.”
“We’d never turn them away if we were really married.” A pang of sorrow dinged off my heart. Not only wasn’t this real, it wasn’t our chance for a do-over. I adored his parents.
His mouth went tight. “No, we wouldn’t. I’m sorry. Lily and Eliot have a full house. Violet’s so pregnant and Evander’s getting the rest of the house fixed up. Mom said the hotel was actually booked through the second week of January. Some ice fishing tournament.”
Fucking fish. “No, of course. By the time they’re here, we’ll only have ten months or so to sell this so your dad will sign off.”
“Clock’s ticking.”
“Tick-tock.”
The crinkles of humor returned, and I smiled. The air between us grew charged.
“Mom!” Laila called from the base of the stairs. I jumped. “Daddy’s done reading.”
I yanked myself away from a shirtless Alder. “I’m coming.” I stepped farther away. “Can you let me know the dates? So I can get ready?”
“Sure. Oh—the cabinet guy will be here tomorrow. Another heads-up.”
“Yes, right.” The cabinets? Already. “You’re really moving fast. No rest for the wicked.”
“I saw what being wicked cost me.”
He’d worked hard and played hard, and it’d cost our marriage. Years had passed. For the last three weeks, he’d been toiling away at the house, taking only meal breaks. He worked like he was on the clock. “It’s okay to relax sometimes.”
His expression hardened. A distinct disagreement.
“I’ll be home a little early tomorrow,” I said. “Jason’s sister is coming through and wants to take Laila out to dinner.”
“Mommy! Daddy wants to talk to you.”
“Coming,” I called toward the stairs. With one more peek at his abs, I scurried away. Why couldn’t I have been this weak when I’d told him I wanted a divorce?