Chapter 8 #2
Not in a bad way. It’s just … constant.
Every minute is spent attending to them or anticipating what they need. Even when Liana was sleeping, part of my brain never stopped paying attention to her.
No wonder Dean looked like he’d aged five years in a week.
I can’t help but smile as I think about him asking what tummy time was.
For all his success, all the magazine covers and billion-dollar headlines, he’s just a first-time dad, trying to figure things out one day at a time.
My eyelids grow heavy.
I tell myself I’ll only lie here for five minutes. That’s all.
The next thing I know, someone is knocking softly on my bedroom door.
I blink a few times before pushing myself upright.
Did I actually fall asleep?
Another knock sounds. I quickly smooth my hair with my fingers before crossing the room and opening the door.
Dean stands in the hallway, freshly showered and looking nothing like the businessman who walked through the front door an hour ago.
His damp hair is pushed back from his forehead, and he traded his tailored suit for a worn gray T-shirt and black basketball shorts. Somehow, the casual clothes make him seem even more intimidating.
Or maybe just … more human.
“I didn’t wake you, did I?” he asks.
I shake my head a little too quickly. “No. I was just”—I glance back toward the bed— “resting my eyes.”
The corner of his mouth twitches.
“I figured.” His eyes drift past me for a second before finding mine again. “I ordered dinner.”
“Oh.”
“I wasn’t sure what you liked, so I ordered … probably too much.” A sheepish smile crosses his face. “I have a bad habit of over-ordering. There’s plenty if you’re hungry.”
For a second, I hesitate.
The last thing I want is for him to think I’m taking advantage of this arrangement.
“You don’t have to invite me just because I live here.”
“I’m not.” He says it so simply that it catches me off guard. “I ordered enough food for an army. I’d rather someone eat it than watch half of it end up in the trash.”
I smile. “When you put it that way …”
“Come out if you want. Or don’t.” He shrugs. “No pressure.”
“I’d actually love to.”
“Good.” He starts down the hallway before glancing back over his shoulder. “Oh … and thanks again for today.”
Before I can respond, he’s already disappeared around the corner.
I quietly close my bedroom door for a second, catching my reflection in the mirror.
My hair is a mess.
I somehow managed to wrinkle my T-shirt by sleeping in it.
And yet … a smile spreads across my face anyway.
Dinner with my boss isn’t how I pictured spending my Monday night.
Then again, almost nothing about the last four days has gone according to plan.
When I step into the kitchen, the savory smell of soy sauce and garlic immediately fills the air.
Liana is fast asleep in her swing, one tiny hand curled into a fist as it gently rocks back and forth. The white noise machine hums softly beside her.
“That thing’s definitely her favorite,” I say quietly as I walk past her, careful not to wake her.
Dean glances up from the high-top table tucked against the floor-to-ceiling windows. He’s in the middle of unpacking what looks like enough Chinese food to feed an entire family.
“I thought the contraption looked ridiculous when Frieda insisted I buy it.” He opens another container and shakes his head. “I’ve discovered there’s an entire industry dedicated to convincing new parents they need gadgets for everything.”
“I hate to break it to you”—I slide onto one of the barstools, using the footrest to hoist myself up— “but they’re not entirely wrong.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Oh?”
“Give it another month.”
“That’s supposed to make me feel better?”
“No.” I grin. “Just prepared.”
He huffs out a laugh before peeling the lid off another container. “I might have gone a little overboard.”
I glance across the island. “Might have?”
The table is covered with sweet and sour chicken, beef and broccoli, orange chicken, lo mein, fried rice, and egg rolls.
I look back at him. “Were you expecting twenty people?”
He shrugs his shoulders. “I may have a problem.”
“I can see that.”
“I hate running out of food.”
“So, your solution is to order the entire menu?”
“It’s worked so far.”
I shake my head, laughing as he hands me a pair of chopsticks. “I don’t think either of us is going hungry tonight.”
Ten minutes later, with our plates halfway empty, Dean looks across the table at me.
“How’s Noah doing? I haven’t talked to him in ages.”
I set my fork down and pat my mouth with my napkin.
“He’s good. Living in California with his wife and two kids now. He works in finance.”
A genuine smile crosses Dean’s face. “I’m glad to hear that.”
He leans back in his chair, a smirk slowly spreading across his face.
“What?” I ask suspiciously.
He chuckles, shaking his head. “I was just thinking about all the dumb stuff he and I used to get into.”
I can’t help rolling my eyes. “You two probably gave my mom at least fifty gray hairs.”
His laugh grows louder. “You’re probably right.”
Images from those summers flash through my mind.
Noah sneaking through the back door long after my parents thought we’d all gone to bed. Dean following behind him, both of them trying—and failing—to be quiet.
I’d always pretend I was getting a glass of water. In reality, I was just hoping to catch another glimpse of Dean before he headed home.
“We were idiots,” he admits. “Not like you.”
I tilt my head. “What does that mean?”
He shrugs, reaching for his glass of water. “You were always the good kid.”
I raise an eyebrow. “The good kid?”
“Sure.” He smiles like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You followed the rules. You listened to your parents. You were always polite.” He laughs softly. “I remember thinking Noah could learn a thing or two from his little sister.”
My smile stays in place. Inside, something sinks.
That’s how he remembers me.
Not as the hopeless fifteen-year-old who spent entirely too much time wondering what he’d think if she wore her hair down instead of in a ponytail.
Not as the girl who volunteered to help wash Noah’s truck because Dean happened to be next door.
Not as the teenager whose heart practically beat out of her chest every time he said hello.
Just Noah’s well-behaved little sister.
I should be relieved. It means he never noticed. Never had to awkwardly pretend my crush didn’t exist.
So, why does that somehow sting?
Because fifteen-year-old me spent years imagining a future with Dean Ledger while twenty-seven-year-old Dean barely saw anything more than a plain, boring Goody Two-shoes.