Chapter 4 #3
She nibbles a jojo as her expression turns wistful.
“We kept the joke going long after I was grown up. For his seventy-fifth birthday, I got him the watch of his dreams. A Breitling Navitimer.” Catching my blank look, she shrugs.
“It’s considered the ultimate fisherman’s watch.
My grandfather always dreamed of owning one but could never afford it.
They’re not cheap, but I tracked one down for under ten grand. ”
“That’s your idea of a bargain?” Christ on a cracker. “I’m sorry, continue.”
Hazel swallows some corndog. “This was the same year my dad got arrested. I’d already ordered the watch when I found all the evidence that he’d done what my cousins accused him of.”
“Oh, Hazel.” That breaks my heart. It’s one thing imagining pre-teen Hazel adoring her father. Quite another to picture the Hazel I know watching her hero fall off his pedestal. “That must have been hard.”
“It was,” she admits. “Want to know the really stupid thing?”
“Always.”
“I took the watch in to have it engraved with Numr Ne Ad. And then everything blew up and I forgot to go get it until after the trial. When I finally picked it up, I discovered the jeweler had taken it upon himself to correct my inscription. He didn’t even call to check.
Just decided I’d written it down wrong.”
“Because obviously, men always know best.” I hold up a hand. “That was a joke.”
“I assumed.”
“Is it still mansplaining if it’s done in an engraving?” I glance at my own watch, which still isn’t working. There’s probably some sort of metaphor here. “Mansgraving? Engsplaining?”
She snorts. “I guess. The jeweler engraved the Breitling to perfectly spell out Number One Dad. I burst into tears in the shop. Then I got embarrassed and paid him anyway. Took the watch home and stuffed it in a drawer. It’s probably still in there somewhere.”
“That’s heartbreaking.” I wish I could hold her. “I’d hug you if my shoes didn’t still smell a little like sewage.”
“You hug with your feet?”
It’s my turn to laugh. “Funny girl.”
“Woman, not girl,” she says primly, folding her bare corndog stick into a grease-stained wrapper. “Don’t let me keep you from your shower.”
“You’re not.” I stuff another big wedge of potato in my mouth, ignoring the quick flash of memory. The image of Hazel pinned to the wall in her big, marble shower.
If we were destined to end up conceiving on accident, we sure as hell did it up right.
Clearing my throat, I come back to the moment as Hazel starts in on the chicken strips. “I hosed off my shoes well enough to get through this feast,” I assure her. “Besides, I’m enjoying your stories.”
“There isn’t much more to tell you.”
“What was your parents’ marriage like?”
“Not great. How about yours? Before your dad left, I mean.”
“I don’t even remember my mom and dad being together. When anyone asks, I just say I was raised by a single mother.”
“Hmm.” She finishes her mouthful of fried food. “I tell people I was raised by a single dad. I honestly couldn’t tell you why my parents got married in the first place.”
“Love, maybe?”
Hazel shakes her head. “They were polar opposites. After they split, Mom always said, ‘The only thing opposites attract is heartache.’”
“They must’ve had something in common.”
She shrugs. “Not much, besides growing up poor.”
“Hard to picture your dad being poor.” Last time I saw Owen Spencer, he was driving a brand-new pickup on his way to the courthouse in one of his fancy suits.
“He was the first one in the family to go to college. Worked like crazy to pay for it. Mom always liked the finer things. Maybe because she couldn’t afford food or clothes growing up? She likes designer labels and expensive jewelry, and my dad was determined to give them to her.”
“Why did they finally divorce?”
Hazel considers a chicken strip shaped like a cello. “Dad cheated,” she mutters. “Probably should have tipped me off, huh?”
“What do you mean?”
“A man with questionable moral fiber won’t stop with a single offense.”
“I’m not sure I believe that.” I’m sensing I should be insulted, but I can’t put my finger on why. “People can change. For better or worse.”
“Hmm.” Her tone says she doesn’t agree. She’s touching her ring, the one on her pinky. That thin silver band that looks dinged-up and cheap.
“Where did that come from?”
Hazel looks up in surprise. “The ring?”
“Yeah. It’s different from everything else you wear, but you never take it off.”
She blinks. “Nobody’s ever asked about it. Not even Lucy remembers.”
“Lucy?”
She looks down at the ring. When she doesn’t speak, I figure I’ve reached my quota of personal details from Hazel. I pushed it too far and she’s done now.
“Lucy and I turned twelve the same summer,” she says softly. “Lucy in June, me in July. Our grandmother took us out for a special ladies’ lunch at Weirdoughs. She saved up for weeks so we could order whatever we wanted.”
“This was your dad’s mom?”
“Yes. I guess you could say she was more like a mother than my actual mom. And my cousins were kinda my siblings.”
“So Grandma took you to lunch,” I prompt. I picture it in my mind, pre-teen Hazel reverently nibbling those tiny French pastries.
“Yes. Lunch and then to one of those trinket shops by the beach.” She’s still touching the ring, and her voice becomes husky and wistful. “We each got ten dollars to spend, which was a lot to my grandma, but my mother found it appalling and cheap.”
“Your mom sounds like a treat.”
Hazel frowns. “She wanted me to have the best of everything. Anyway,” she says before I can pick on her mother. “I chose this little silver ring. Lucy bought crystals, I think. I’ve honestly forgotten, and I’m sure she forgot what I chose for myself. But I’ve worn this every day since.”
“That’s really sweet.” I wouldn’t have pegged Hazel Spencer as sentimental.
“It’s special to me.” Touching the ring, she gives me a limp little shrug. “Dad offered to buy me a nicer one later that summer. Mom moved away before the year was over. Every time I see her, she still insists it ruins the look of my outfits. Nobody else ever noticed before.”
“May I see it?” I expect her to slip it off her finger. To let me inspect it from a distance.
But she holds out her hand, and I’m left with no choice but to take it. To capture those delicate fingers with mine, wrapping my palm around hers. There’s something familiar in the feel of her skin touching my skin A chatter of sparks, some singing electrical current.
Her sharp inhale says she feels it, too.
“Beautiful,” I murmur, not looking at the ring.
Hazel looks into my eyes. “Thank you.”
“No, thank you. For sharing all that. You didn’t have to. We’ve agreed to co-parent, but you don’t owe me anything beyond that.”
Her eyes dart away. “Sometimes I’m not sure that’s possible.”
“Really?” I’m still holding her hand, and now I catch myself holding my breath. “Hazel? Are you having second thoughts about co-parenting?”
“No, that’s not it.”
“Talk to me, Haze.” I stroke my thumb over her knuckles, and she shivers. “Whatever it is, you can say it.”
“It’s nothing, Luke. Drop it.”
Not when I’m this close to knowing her. “Hazel—”
“I want you, okay?” She chokes out a laugh and tries to yank back her hand. When I hold on, she stops pulling away. “I am insanely, stupidly attracted to you, and I hate it.”
“Okay.” I need to tread carefully here. She’s not meeting my eyes, her gaze darting anywhere but here. “That’s a bad thing?”
“It’s a horrible thing.”
“Right.”
“It’s just stupid chemistry, okay?”
“Okay.” I’m not sure it’s so simple. “Would it make you feel any better to know I’m insanely, stupidly, ridiculously, tripping-over-my-own-dick attracted to you, too?”
“No.” Another harsh laugh bubbles out as her gaze swings to mine. “That makes it worse.”
“Gotcha.” I mean, I don’t totally get it, but—
“I know I just told you I was happily raised by a single dad. That’s true, but it’s also true that I cried myself to sleep for years over my mother not wanting me. How could she just walk away?”
“I don’t know, honey.” I stroke my thumb over her knuckles again. “I really don’t.”
Hazel looks down at our hands. Her shimmery eyes follow the path of my thumb bumping over her knuckles. There’s a rasp in her voice when she speaks. “If we got romantically involved and then we split up, we’ll break our kids’ hearts. At least if we keep things platonic, we won’t disappoint them.”
I can’t fault her logic, and yet— “What if we didn’t split up?”
She laughs. “We can’t be in the same room for more than ten minutes without arguing. I hardly think that’s a setup for a strong relationship.”
I remember the words she just shared from her mother. The only thing opposites attract is heartache.
I still want to kiss her. “Hazel—”
“Don’t say it.” She whips her free hand to my mouth, suppressing my words with the tips of her fingers. “When you look at me like that—when you say sweet things to me—it makes me want to rip off your clothes.”
“Mmhm.” I’m not seeing the downside here. Just enjoying the pads of her fingers pressing my lips. “Don’t let me stop you.”
The tip of one finger dips into my mouth when I speak. I can’t resist wrapping my lips around that delicate digit.
“Oh.” She gasps as I suck and her eyes flutter shut. “Why does that feel so good?”
Beats me, but that’s all the encouragement I need.
I suckle her sweetly, tasting salt and potato and her own honeyed heat.
A crimson flush flows from her throat to her cheeks as she lets out a low sigh of pleasure.
Caressing her fingertip with my tongue, I catalogue everything.
The silk of her skin, the hitch in her breath, the gritty-soft moan that erupts from her.
“How can I want you this much?” Her eyes flutter open and sear into mine.
“I feel the same.” Releasing her finger, I capture her wrist. “Kiss me, Hazel.”