Chapter 26
Chapter Twenty-Six
Cora
Life seems too good to be true. If you had told me a week ago I’d be sitting in the passenger seat of Atlas’ car, heading to his mom’s house, I’d have said that you were crazy, then laughed. But here we are.
I’ve heard him talk about Emma in passing, and the guys all seem to speak highly of her, so I’m hoping she’ll be okay with Noah and me.
I took a nap for an hour or two, and when I came downstairs, Noah was ready to go.
Atlas had already helped him with his homework and apparently ordered a Halloween costume for him as well.
I know Noah loves superheroes, so I wasn’t surprised to hear him say he wanted to be one again.
At this point, I think we’re just rolling through the rolodex of characters.
I wondered if I was still sick or dreaming because when I got to the kitchen, they were folding laundry and debating superhero choices.
Noah had a stack of towels he was working on, and Atlas had what looked like my clothes in his hands.
I didn’t think there were any bras or panties in that load, but judging by Atlas’ knowing smirk, I’m betting there was.
Pulling up to a brick rancher house, I rethink my choice of attire for the tenth time. As if sensing my unease, his hand finds mine.
“It’s fine, Cora. You look beautiful,” he assures me, squeezing my leg.
“Gross. I’m hungry,” Noah cuts in. “Can we go in now?”
Laughing, Atlas turns back to him. “Yeah, Emma’s got some good stuff made.”
Grabbing the bag of treats I made Atlas stop for, I climb out.
As we walk up, Noah at my side, I take in my surroundings.
There’s a bench sitting on the porch and some hanging plants.
I try to figure out how someone like Atlas—tall, dark, and tattooed—grew up in what looks like a little cookie-cutter house.
Knowing better than to judge, I shake the thought away. It’s not fair to make assumptions, even though it’s not what I was expecting. Atlas doesn’t bother knocking. He just opens the door and yells, “Emma! We’re here.”
Why would he call his mom Emma?
A petite woman with light brown hair in her late forties or early fifties comes around the corner. We’re dressed pretty similar in jeans and a sweater, but when our eyes meet, a flicker of recognition passes through me. Why does she seem so familiar?
“Oh, look at you!” she exclaims, rushing over to hug me. “Aren’t you just a pretty thing?” She pulls back and glances at Noah. “And what a handsome little guy you are.”
“Emma, this is my Cora and her brother Noah,” Atlas offers proudly. I send a questioning gaze in his direction. His Cora? This is all happening so fast.
“Come in, come.” Threading her arm through mine, she leads me down a hallway I’m guessing takes us to the kitchen. I try to steal a glance at the photos adorning the walls, but she’s pretty quick. One catches my eye, but she continues walking, so I make a mental note to snoop later.
“Let’s eat. Atlas said you were still recovering, but I figured you’d be sick of soup by now, so I made some chicken pot pie instead. It’s a bit heartier, so I hope that’s okay,” she explains in one long breath as she walks away.
I nearly jump out of my skin when Atlas pulls me to his side. “Just go with it,” he whispers in my ear.
Clearing my throat, I hold up the bag I brought in with me. “I know you said we don’t have to bring anything, but I was taught to never show up empty handed to dinner.”
Offering me a smile, Emma takes the bag from me, peering inside.
I made Atlas stop at Twin Roasts. When he told me we were going to meet his mom, I sent a text to Mila asking if she’d make some extra brownies for me.
I didn’t tell her they were for dinner. I’m not quite ready for that conversation yet.
Fortunately, when I stopped to grab them her and Mara were already gone.
“Oh, I love Twin Roasts! Their coffee and baked goods are amazing,” she gushes.
“I’m glad you like them. My friends actually own the shop,” I explain as she unpacks the bag, setting the boxes on the counter. “I wasn’t sure if you were a peanut butter person or not, so I got a set of each.”
“That was very thoughtful of you, baby.” Atlas kisses my forehead.
Trying not to melt into a puddle on the spot, I steal a glance at Noah.
He’s taken a seat at the table, looking a little lost. Instantly, my heart aches a bit.
This is new territory for both of us, and I’m suddenly worried it’s too much for him.
“Noah loves the peanut butter ones, so I figured if you guys didn’t, I’d just take them home for him.
” I laugh, earning me a hopeful expression.
“Well, Noah,” Emma starts, “I happen to love peanut butter, so how about we just share that box?”
“Maybe,” Noah says, causing all of us to laugh.
Now that the tension has broken, we sit down to eat. Emma takes a seat at the head of the table, and I’m unsure of where to sit. Deciding to make a plate for Noah first, then worry after Atlas sits, I turn toward the stove.
I’ve made chicken pot pie before, but it’s usually with a store-bought crust to save time. From the looks of it, this one appears to be homemade. The crust is golden and flaky, and the smell of the chicken and vegetables is so strong it makes my stomach rumble.
“Here, Firefly, sit.” Atlas points at the chair across from Noah. “I already got you and Noah some. What do you guys want to drink?” He pulls open the fridge.
Glancing at the table, I notice Noah has a plate in front of him, and there are already two other full plates sitting next to each other.
I try to remember the last time someone made me dinner, let alone took care of Noah or me.
The Morgans have had us for dinner a bunch, but I’m used to serving for us.
It’s such a simple gesture, but it catches me off guard. “You didn’t have to do that,” I say, causing him to turn around, his gaze locking on mine.
“I know.” He smiles. “But I did, so eat, or no dessert for you. I’ll give it all to Noah.”
Noah’s eyes light up but immediately dampen when I let out a very unladylike snort. “That’s the last thing you need, kiddo.”
Atlas laughs as he returns to the table with a pitcher of what looks like tea in his hands. Filling Noah’s cup with water and ours with tea, he turns to look at me. “What’s wrong?”
I know I’m acting weird, but I can’t help it.
I’ve never dated anyone long enough to hit the ‘meet the parents’ stage, and I don’t even know what Atlas and I are.
He’s just sort of bulldozed his way in, and I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop.
How long until he gets bored? I can’t get used to this type of thing.
“Nothing. Thank you.” I steal a look at Emma, who’s sitting next to Noah.
She’s wearing an expression I can’t quite place, and I’m hyper-aware of Atlas’ presence next to me, especially when he pulls my chair closer to his.
The wood scrapes on the floor, and Emma gives me a knowing smile, shaking her head.
“So, Cora, tell me about yourself. Are you from here?”
“Um, basically. I’m a children’s librarian during the day, and in the evenings I moonlight as a receptionist for the shop.”
“That’s amazing! I’ve always loved reading. I hope the boys behave,” she says with a pointed look at Atlas. “Is your family local?”
There it is. The question I dread answering. It’s such an innocent, normal thing to ask, but it has Noah and me both freezing.
Putting my fork on my plate, I grab my tea to stall for a minute.
“It’s just me and Cora, oh, and the Morgans,” Noah offers, causing Emma’s gaze to shift to him.
“Just you and Cora, huh? That must be fun.” She smiles and offers me an apologetic look. I feel Atlas rest his hand on my thigh, but I don’t dare look at him.
Noah turns toward Emma and explains, “Yeah. It’s always been me and Cora, since I was really little.”
Emma gives Noah a soft smile, and nods. “That must be fun. I’m sure you guys have had some adventures.”
Noah’s eyes light up, and the tension eases from my shoulders a bit. Admitting that you’re borderline glad your awful, abusive parents are dead isn’t exactly polite dinner conversation.
“Yeah. We go to the zoo, hiking, and she takes me swimming when it’s warm. Every Christmas, we get a real tree. She lets me help cut it down.”
I try to focus on eating, or the conversation Emma and Noah seem to be immersed in, but it’s impossible.
Noah has such a sweet soul, sometimes I don’t think he realizes all he’s missing out on by lacking real parents.
I know I take good care of him, but having your sister raise you instead of your dead, drug-addicted parents isn’t exactly a normal situation.
As if sensing my discomfort, Atlas leans into me, running his hand up my thigh.
Even through the denim, I can feel the heat of his touch.
He runs his hand down to my knee and gives it a quick squeeze before he moves it back up my thigh.
I slam my legs together when he takes a lone finger and runs it up the inseam of my jeans.
I can’t believe he’d do this to me. Discreetly, I lower my hand and try to pull his off my leg, but he seizes the opportunity to twine our fingers together instead.
He pulls our joined hands to his lap, and I feel how hard he is.
Stealing a glance at Noah, I see he and Emma are still engrossed in their conversation and aren’t paying attention to us.
“Stop it,” I hiss, looking at Atlas, trying to tug my hand back.
“Never,” he whispers back, turning his head to lock eyes with me.
Normally his brown eyes look stormy and cold, but when they’re focused on me, they seem lighter.
They remind me of the color of a tree in fall, once the leaves have changed and fallen.
The wood is left to soak in the sun, and it no longer looks harsh and dark.
In its place is something that looks warmer.