57. Maisy
57
MAISY
Tatum, Lucy, and I set out empty platters for appetizers, burger toppings, and condiments in Jensen’s kitchen— our kitchen. It’s been a month since I moved in, and Lucy came up with the idea of a house re-warming party, which I thought was genius. It’s a chance for me and Jensen to claim the house as our own. To usher in our lives together with a fresh start.
The windows and patio door are open, allowing us to enjoy the crisp fall air. Laughter and lighthearted banter flow from outside where the kids play and the men argue about the best way to grill a burger. The only people who couldn’t make it today are Marcus and Judge. They’re busy launching their own personal security company. Potential clients are knocking on their door, and I’m thrilled the cousins’ hard work is paying off.
My professional reputation took a hit after I withdrew from the Jamaica job at the last minute. I’m working hard to redeem myself, reaching out to my limited number of contacts and the connections I’ve made through Tatum and Graham. I express my willingness to take on any job available to regain a small foothold in the industry. Until then, I’ll continue working on myself, help Jensen when he needs me, and lean on our friends for support.
Jake strolls inside with Lennon in his arms, like he knows Tatum misses her son. They don’t exchange words. She kisses Lennon’s head, and Jake wanders back outside.
“That was sweet,” I say through sniffles while slicing an onion.
Lucy piles leaves of lettuce on a plate. “All our men are sweethearts. We picked some good ones.”
Tatum and I share a doubtful look before she asks, “When is Rock ever sweet?”
Lucy tilts her head to one side and sighs, her eyes taking on a dreamy, faraway look. “When he’s begging me to let him come.”
“Who’s coming?” Jensen asks, his eyes darting between the three of us as he strides into the kitchen.
To hide my smile, I turn toward the sink and wash my hands. Lucy and Tatum are hopeless, breaking into a fit of giggles at his expense.
He crowds me against the counter and speaks low in my ear. “You ladies are trouble.”
“Only one of us,” I say, jerking my chin at Lucy.
Chuckling, he kisses my cheek before pulling the container of hamburger patties out of the refrigerator. He stacks the packages of buns on top and asks, “Who wants their buns toasted?”
Lucy raises a hand and says, “Me.” She smirks like she knows something we don’t.
A deep growl comes from nearby, and we all turn to find Rock with Marcella in his arms. Because I’m the closest to him, he hands me his daughter and commands, “Watch her.” Then he throws Lucy over his shoulder and takes off down the hall while she laughs. Those two are absolutely shameless.
Jensen shakes his head and says, “Just like old times,” referring to the days when Rock lived here after college. He adds, “You might want to turn on some music. They get pretty loud.”
Once Tatum finds a playlist and connects her phone to the Bluetooth speaker, we get back to work prepping food. We try our best to ignore the moans coming from down the hall—Rock’s moans—but we fail epically, snickering like schoolgirls.
I help Tatum as much as I can with Marcella planted on my hip. The toddler and I came to a mutual understanding during one of our many staring contests. She smiled at me. I smiled at her. And now we’re besties for life.
Graham and Miguel, the last couple to arrive, come rushing through the front door. Miguel has a gift bag in one hand and drags Ainsley behind him with the other. Her facial expression can only be described as dazed and confused .
Miguel announces, “Everyone, meet Ainsley. She’s adorable, and I’ve adopted her.”
I roll my eyes. “That’s not how adoption works, Miggy.”
“We know Ainsley,” Tatum says, her gaze bouncing between the unlikely pair. “Where did you two meet?”
Graham ruffles his already tousled hair. “She’s our neighbor. We were checking out our new place and met her by the mailbox.” The resignation in his eyes tells me he argued with Miguel about claiming a grown woman, and he lost.
“So you just threw her in your car?” Tatum asks, jaw gaping.
My jaw’s on the floor too. Not only because they potentially kidnapped Ainsley but also because they’re talking about her like she’s not standing here.
“Of course not,” Graham says. “We gave her a ride.”
I wasn’t aware anyone lived near the land the guys purchased. Addressing Ainsley, I ask, “Where do you live?”
She fidgets with the hem of her Bruno’s shirt. “Oh, um…I was on my way here anyway because you invited me.”
“Exactly. We carpooled,” Miguel says, throwing up his hands like he’s exhausted with having to explain himself. I’m about to repeat my question to Ainsley about where she lives, but he shoves the gift bag at Jensen’s chest. “Open my gift,” he says.
Surprised, Jensen shuffles the meat container to one hand. He fumbles with the bag, but I catch it before it falls. Marcella’s pudgy, little toddler fingers go straight for the bow, but we don’t need to open it because Miguel ruins the surprise.
“It’s an autographed picture of me for your bathroom.” He waggles his eyebrows at Jensen, who turns and raises his own at Graham.
Graham shrugs and says, “I can’t help you, friend.”
Apparently, Miguel misunderstood the gift assignment. Everyone agreed to give us framed photos of me and Jensen from the years we were apart. We have plenty of pictures of us together as kids, and a few from recent months, but we don’t want to leave any gaps in the history we’ll hang on the walls.
Our changes to the house are coming along, as are the changes within me. Adding to the bi-weekly virtual visits I’ve scheduled with Dr. Sims, I signed up for a monthly group session at Irina’s studio, which starts next week. In the meantime, I’ve been painting my feelings and watching online videos to learn proper techniques.
Needless to say, Jensen will not be joining me at art therapy. He’s making good progress with Dr. Sims and the speech pathologist he’s been seeing. While he still has plenty of hard days, the number of good days increases. Soon enough, he’ll have more good ones than bad.
The circus disperses to the backyard, leaving me, Tatum, and Marcella to our kitchen duties. Brody drifts inside looking for more bagged ice for the drink coolers and takes her from me. She pats his cheeks until he makes funny noises, drawing laughter from her.
For a moment, his mask slips. Without his usual pretense, his smile reaches his eyes. He’s genuinely happy playing with Marcella, and I wish he would be himself all the time.
Lucy reappears— not looking like she got railed in a bathroom—and rejoins our food platter assembly line. Rock, who definitely has sex hair, trails after her with a swagger in his step.
Taking Marcella from Brody, he says, “Don’t let Jensen catch you flirting with his woman.”
I’m about to defend Brody, and point out Jensen’s not a jealous person, but he speaks for himself. “He has nothing to worry about. Maisy’s one of the few women who was never down to hop on my ride.”
Rock grunts and retreats to the backyard with his daughter. Now that his hulking mass is out of the way, I notice Ainsley standing a few feet behind Brody. She doesn’t seem shocked by his comment. Rather, her lips turn down in disapproval, and he visibly tenses when she speaks to me.
“I need to head out. Sorry I can’t stay and eat. I’m helping Charlie open the bar.”
“Do you need a ride?” I ask.
Her ponytail swings when she shakes her head. “I can walk. It’s not far.”
Sensing she’s ready to bolt, I don’t push the issue. “Okay. Thanks for stopping by. Let’s hang out soon if you get any free time.”
“I’d like that.” She gives us all a shy wave and leaves.
Brody taps a finger on his thigh, stealing glances at the front door. After a minute passes, he says, “Be right back,” and goes after her.
Tatum, Lucy, and I exchange knowing looks.
“I said it to Jake months ago, and I’ll say it again. There’s something going on there,” Tatum says, frowning.
“Definitely something,” Lucy and I say in unison.
We gather up the loaded platters and head outside, leaving our curiosity about Brody and Ainsley behind for another day.