Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
A weird dance between wariness and excitement tangled in Liz’s stomach as she pulled up in front of her brother’s house. “We don’t have to do this, you know,” she said to her passenger.
“I know.” Carson draped an arm across her headrest. “Tell me if you want to leave, and we will. Or if you want me to leave.”
“I drove.”
“Thanks, Captain Obvious.”
Liz rolled her eyes. “I mean, where the hell would you go?”
“I don’t know. Back to the inn?”
“How?”
“Uber? Or Uncle Arnold. Davis? I’d figure it out.”
Liz weighed his offer. Weighed the thought of spending more time together.
More time getting to know each other again.
More time remembering what was. Although the easiest thing would’ve been to tell him to scram, the larger part of her screamed to do the opposite.
Surprisingly, it wasn’t just the hormones doing the screaming.
She legitimately enjoyed their day together. Enjoyed wandering around town. Enjoyed seeing him being welcomed back into the fold. And obviously, enjoyed beating the rubber finger condom off of him during their thumb war.
“Emily might kill me if she found out I told you to leave,” Liz finally said.
“Your brother might kill me if I step foot inside.”
She bit back a grin. “Well, I guess that’s a chance we’ll have to take.” Liz wasn’t going to lie. She definitely enjoyed seeing Carson squirm. But she had no doubt that if things ever got heated, Carson would be able to take Trent even down a leg. Her brother wasn’t a fighter.
“Not like I don’t deserve it.”
“Carson—”
Cupping the back of her neck, he shook his head. “Stop. I do. You know it. I know it.”
“It wasn’t one-sided.”
His shoulder jumped a fraction of an inch as he rolled his head toward her and locked eyes with her. “I still shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions like that.”
“Me neither.” The familiar ache that lived in her chest after the loss of her parents squeezed her heart, and she tried to breathe through it.
“Liz.”
The tenderness in his voice nearly broke her. Nearly broke through her carefully crafted dam. She blinked against the unexpected wetness gathering in her eyes. Then swallowed against the ball of emotion threatening to choke her.
She closed her eyes, her breath catching when she felt his finger against her lashes, brushing against a tear she hadn’t felt form.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured.
Taking a moment to gather herself, she allowed the briefest tinge of sorrow to pass through her before ushering it away. She’d come a long way, but it still surprised her sometimes what situations sent her over the cliff of loss. At least it was getting easier to step away from the edge. “Thanks.”
“No problem.” Carson waited for her to take a few breaths and continued. “I don’t know about you, but my taco reserve is running dangerously low.”
Liz felt the remaining weight drop away at Carson’s faux look of worry. “We should probably do something about that. Don’t need you going all hangry beast on me.”
“Um, excuse me? If anyone goes hangry beast, it’s you.”
A knock at Carson’s window made them both jump. “You guys coming in?” Trent called. “Or are you going to sit out here argue-flirting to death?”
“We were not argue-flirting,” Liz huffed, scrambling out of her car. “That’s not even a thing.”
Trent rolled his eyes. “Please. Em’s been watching you for like five minutes. If she asks ‘Will they kiss now?’ one more time, so help me…”
“Ugh. So annoying.” Liz pulled the crutches from her backseat and waited for Carson to extricate himself from the passenger seat before handing them over.
The familiar strains of Taylor Swift greeted them at the front door, while the smell of ground beef and onions drew them toward the kitchen.
“Smells great,” Carson said.
“Yeah, it does,” Liz echoed. “Hey, Squirt,” she said to her niece, who was dumping freshly-grated cheese from a cutting board into a bowl.
Liz grimaced at the irritation that flashed on her niece’s face.
“I mean, Emily.” She turned to Carson and stage-whispered.
“Apparently she’s too cool for nicknames now. ”
“I’m twelve,” Emily shot back.
“Yeah, but you’ll always be a squirt.” Liz sidled up next to her, kissed her on the head, and stole a handful of cheese.
“Aunt Liz!” Emily scowled and took a protective stance around her bowl. It was a toss-up whether she more scandalized by the kiss or the cheese theft.
“Are you aware your aunt has a nickname?” Carson asked.
Liz sucked in a thankfully cheese-free breath. “You wouldn’t.”
Carson’s eyebrow inched upward. “Wouldn’t I?”
Trent chuckled. “I forgot about that.”
“What?” Emily asked.
Liz crossed to Carson and shoved the remainder of her stolen cheese into his mouth. “Nothing.”
“Tell me!” Emily bounced with entirely too much excitement for Liz’s liking.
Carson chewed quickly then bobbed and weaved until Liz’s hand slipped from where she’d clamped it over his mouth. “Lizard Lips!” he shouted.
A delighted Emily echoed her old nickname. “Lizard Lips!”
She jabbed a finger into Carson’s gut. “Thanks. Now I have that to look forward to.”
“No problem. Glad to help, Lizard Lips.”
His smug response earned him a punch in the arm.
“Argue-flirting,” her brother unhelpfully said, wagging a finger between them.
“What’s argue-flirting?” Emily asked.
Trent dropped his head to his chest in defeat before saying, “Something that makes me want to poke my eyes out,” he muttered, rubbing his face.
“One, I have no idea what your father is talking about,” said Liz. “And two, these tacos are not going to eat themselves. This one over here,” she added, tipping her thumb toward Carson, “gets a bit hangry. In fact, he’s delirious right now.”
Emily locked eyes with her dad before they both burst out laughing.
Liz eyed them warily. “What?”
“Please,” Trent sputtered. “I’ve seen you gnawing a frozen pizza before.”
Liz scoffed. “That was once.”
“Last month you swiped the sandwich out of my hand while you were over here ranting about why purple was such a traitorous color,” Emily added.
“I did not.”
“Yes, you did.” A wicked grin spread across Emily’s face. “Aunt Lizard Lips.”
Trent reached across the kitchen island and high-fived his daughter.
“You two are the absolute worst.” She caught Carson’s smirk and swiveled toward him. “And you…”
Carson held up his hands, keeping his crutches in place with his armpits. “Parlay!”
Liz hissed out her annoyance at their old call for a truce.
“What’s a parlay?” Emily asked.
“Hopefully how I keep your aunt from killing me right here on your kitchen floor,” Carson supplied.
“It’s from Pirates of the Caribbean,” Liz added. Movies she and Carson watched together on more than one occasion. The memory washed over her, warm fuzzies replacing her previous annoyance.
“No bloodshed on my clean floors,” Trent said, scraping the taco meat into a serving dish. “Now, come on. Let’s eat before I have to call the cops to report a murder. Unless you want Library Brenda to win. She picked today by seven p.m. for a felony.”
Ugh. Liz barely contained her eye roll. “Fine. Parlay granted.” After all, they couldn’t have Library Brenda winning. Especially not so early in the game.
They were only getting started.
“Just because you’re humming louder doesn’t make it better!” Liz shouted. Honestly, did Carson think whatever the hell he was humming was anything even approximating a song? Because it sure as hell didn’t sound like one.
“Five seconds!” Emily called out gleefully.
“Four!” Emily and Trent yelled together. “Three! Two! One!” Their annoying buzzer sound accompanied the ding of Trent’s phone, since the game-regulation hourglass timer had been MIA for over a year.
Carson threw up his hands. “How do you not recognize The Sound of Music?”
“Maybe because that sounded more like the sound of a dying cow than the sound of music!”
The clunk of the rolling die was followed by Emily’s cry of “Yellow!” as Trent moved their game piece.
Carson pulled a card for them. “Who’s unscrambling the word?” he asked.
“Em,” Trent said automatically.
Her niece was freakishly good at spelling and unscrambling. It was almost a superpower.
Carson held up the card while Liz started the timer. Emily kneeled in front of him, her face a mask of concentration. Her lips moved silently for a few seconds before she screeched, “Pillow fort!”
Liz groaned, while Carson looked at the front of the card. “Wow. I never would’ve gotten that one.”
“As opposed to the ones you’ve won.” Trent gestured to the board, where it was clear Carson and Liz were the far inferior team.
Emily wrinkled her nose. “Yeah. You two are really bad at this. I thought you were supposed to be a couple.”
“A couple of losers,” Trent added.
Liz pointed a threatening finger at her brother. “Hey. Nobody likes a sore winner.”
Carson snorted.
“What?” Liz growled.
“I’m fairly certain I am the only here who would not be doing a victory dance in the event of a win.”
“Only because you’re on crutches,” Liz said.
He shrugged. “Maybe. But I still maintain this is the most cutthroat game night I have ever been a part of.”
Emily nodded sadly. “My friends won’t come over anymore when I suggest a game night.”
“Your friends are wimps.” Not that Liz’s friends were much better. At least Maya could typically hold her own. Gwen usually voted for movies instead. Although she had seen her typically bubbly friend go apeshit every once in a while. It was equal parts intriguing and scary.
“Plus, I seem to remember someone doing a rather embarrassing dance earlier today after a thumb wrestling match.”
“That wasn’t embarrassing,” Liz said, waving his words away. “That was me letting go of the extra energy I had pent up because you were so easy to take down.”
“Excuse me?” Carson drawled.
“Rematch!” Emily called out, jumping up and scurrying out of the room.
“Are you guys forfeiting?” Liz asked her niece and brother.
“Pfffft.” Trent shook his head. “More like giving you a chance to win one thing tonight.”
“Hey.” Carson scowled.
“Sorry, man. Just calling it like I see it.”
Liz patted Carson’s cheek. “Look on the bright side.”
Carson turned his scowl on her.
“At least this time your humiliation will be private.”
“Got ’em!” Emily skidded back into the room and handed Liz two Digit Defenders—one yellow and one orange.
“You guys just happen to have those things lying around?” Carson asked.
“Sure,” Emily replied, dragging a folding card table from the corner of the room and placing it between Liz and Carson. “We use them all the time in the kitchen.”
“They’re great for protecting little fingers—” Trent said.
“And big fingers,” Emily interrupted.
Trent tilted his head in acquiescence. “—and big fingers when chopping and dicing.”
“Huh.” Carson plucked the yellow protector from Liz’s hand and studied it before slipping it on his thumb.
“Ooh.” Liz narrowed her eyes. “Going with the other thumb this time, huh?” She slid the orange protector over her non-dominant thumb. “As if that’s gonna help.”
“Can’t blame a guy for trying.”
Liz felt the familiar spark of excitement as they got into position.
Felt the rev of her engine as she anticipated yet another challenge.
She curled her fingers into his and couldn’t help noticing other things as well.
The warmth of his hand. The way his forearm muscles tensed for action.
The grim determination of his utterly kissable lips. The silent challenge in his eyes.
Thank God her brother and niece held to the strict preamble announcing their thumb war. Had it not been for the countdown and following declaration, there was a strong possibility she might’ve missed the call to war and been handed a humiliating loss in a matter of seconds.
Instead, she cocked her thumb and waited for her opening.
Darted one way, then the other, before finally feigning going in for the kill.
As all of her opponents did, Carson fell for it.
Again. In a matter of seconds she had a sputtering Carson, thumb naked, while she lifted his yellow protector in the air and took it for a victory lap around the room.
Emily whooped while Queen belted out “We Are the Champions” from Trent’s phone.
“Seriously?” Carson asked. “What do you do? Sit around and thumb wrestle in your spare time?”
Liz grinned. “Maybe.” She hip-bumped Emily and joined her niece in a celebratory shimmy. “Winner gets first dibs on the cookies!” She danced her way into the kitchen, Emily close behind.
Liz pulled dessert plates out of the cabinet while Emily arranged an array of sugar, chocolate chip, and monster cookies on a platter. Craning her head to look into the hallway, she leaned closer to Liz. “So, are you and Carson officially a thing now?”
Liz swiped a monster cookie and took a bite as she considered her niece’s question.
Were they a thing? It certainly felt that way at times.
Easy. Like the years apart had rolled away, and it was the two of them again.
Except it wasn’t the same. He wasn’t the same, and neither was she.
Not a bad thing, just different. Maybe better. “I don’t know, Em.”
But she was beginning to think that she might not be opposed to figuring it out.