Chapter 23 Olivia
Charlotte hands a battered, gray stuffed bunny to Taylor. “Here’s Muffin. You and he will be fine with Auntie Livvie, you’ll have fun, right? Remember you had fun with her at the Fourth of July festival?”
I crouch down to my niece’s level. “Is his name Muffin? He’s very handsome. Do you think he’d help us bake some cookies?”
Taylor sticks a thumb in her mouth and nods, just once, at the word ‘cookies’. It’s the first time I’ve been given free, unaccompanied rein inside my parents’ house since I came home from hospital nearly two months ago, and I’m taking care of a four-year-old.
What could possibly go wrong?
“Thanks.” Charlotte’s only half-looking at me. “I appreciate you babysitting. With Mom and Dad away, I didn’t know who else to ask. All my friends will be at my party.”
I smile, grateful for her new-found trust in me, even if it’s reluctant.
And even if it means I’m not invited to my sister’s birthday party.
I guess that would be too much to hope for.
“I’m happy to do it. My birthday gift to you.
You have a great time and relax tonight.
I can put her to bed in the lavender room, so just pick her up any time tomorrow. ”
“You’ll be sleeping in the main house with her, right? Not in the pool house?”
I nod. “Of course. I have special permission from Mom and Dad to sleep in the green room tonight, so I’ll be right next to her. It’s all good. And I have your number in case there’s an emergency. Which there won’t be,” I add quickly.
Charlotte gives me a thin smile. It’s clear she’d prefer not to owe me any favors, but she’s out of options, and I’m more than willing to watch Taylor, no strings attached. My sister steps out of the house and gets into her car, waving at her daughter beside me, before she pulls off.
“Happy birthday!” I call after her. Closing the front door, I turn to Taylor.
“Okay, kiddo. What do you want to do first?” I check the clock over the mantel.
“It’s 5 p.m. We have cookies to make, and I’ve set up an art station because I seriously need to see how amazing you are at painting.
I’ve heard good things, but I need to see for myself.
Then we have fish sticks and peas for dinner at six, followed by a cookie and ice cream for dessert.
Then we finish with a story and bed around seven. Sound good?”
Taylor stares up at me, her brown eyes wide. It’s possible she’s never been given an itinerary before. Or options.
Muffin the bunny looks equally unimpressed.
I laugh. “O–kay. Cookies first, I think. We can paint while they’re baking.”
Taylor warms up to me over mixing cookie dough and adding chocolate chips, of which many are sampled. She insists on decorating each cookie with smiley faces made of M)
I raise my eyebrows. He wants to come over. And that was a kinda flirty emoji. I’m surprised. After our last coffee chat, Adam had given me the distinct impression that it was up to me to contact him if I wanted to see him.
But a babysitting buddy would be good, especially after Taylor is in bed. The truth is, I’m deeply uncomfortable in this version of my parents’ home, and I could use a distraction.
Sure, if you’re game. I figure Taylor wouldn’t like a dude she doesn’t know showing up, but she’ll be asleep by 7:30/8. Come round after? Bring wine, I’d better not raid my folks’ pricey collection! :)
I’ll be there. See you at 8.
I twist my mouth, watching Taylor. She’s managed a credible red circle, admittedly rough, and two wobbly eyes. She’s cute as she concentrates, head tilted to one side, tongue sticking out.
Was that a good idea, inviting Adam to the house, and telling him to bring wine? It might seem a little cozy.
Might give him the wrong idea . . .
No. He’s just a friend coming round to hang out.
“That looks awesome, Tay!” I clap my hands together. “Your mom wasn’t kidding about you being a great artist. How about Muffin’s little nose, maybe in pink?”
The oven timer beeps and I head over to open the door. The delicious scent of fresh cookies wafts into the kitchen.
“Cookies!” Taylor shrieks, jumping up, knocking blue paint over the paper tablecloth.
“Hold up, kiddo. Yes, they’re done, but they’re still way too hot to eat. Super, dangerous hot, okay? You can have a couple after dinner. I’ll cook your fish sticks now. You keep painting. How about a mouth? Poor Muffin doesn’t have a mouth. How’s he going to eat his cookie?”
She looks at her painting, considering. “’Kay, Auntie Livvie.”
Wow. That actually worked.
My niece produces a masterpiece as I cook her fish sticks and frozen peas, ketchup on the side, which I am reliably informed is her favorite meal.
She eats it happily enough, a smudge of pink paint on her otherwise flawless cheek.
I lean against the counter, munching on one of the more singed fish sticks, watching this gorgeous little girl.
So perfect. So amazing. A tiny person who doesn’t even exist in my world.
After a well-earned dessert of soft, warm cookies and melting vanilla ice cream, I persuade Taylor upstairs to wash her face and brush her teeth, which she does ineffectually on both counts.
In the lavender room, so-called for its varying shades of purple and lilac, I tuck her into the double bed and lie down beside her, the light low.
Charlotte has left a copy of Goodnight Moon in her supply bag, which I read to Taylor as she snuggles beside me, thumb in mouth, Muffin tucked under her arm.
“Goodnight, stars,” I recite, my voice thickening. “Goodnight, air. Goodnight, noises everywhere.”
Is it the story or my niece’s sudden affection that’s bringing me close to tears?
It’s hard to think of a world without her in it. This marvel of a girl.
I kiss Taylor on the forehead, as she’s struggling to stay awake, and turn out the light. It’s 7:40 p.m. by the time I get downstairs, and I just have time to clear up and eat a slice of toast with cheese before the doorbell rings promptly at eight.
Adam is on the doorstep, a bottle of red wine in one hand, a bunch of vivid blue hydrangea blooms in the other. He’s wearing a pressed gray cotton shirt and jeans, and his dark hair is freshly washed.
He looks like he’s arriving for a date.
Is this a date?
“Adam . . . Thank you. You shouldn’t have.”
He looks at the wine. “You told me to.”
I laugh. “I meant the flowers.” I take them from him. “Come in. Taylor’s in bed.” I glance upstairs. “She should be asleep by now.”
I motion Adam into the living room while I go into the kitchen area and put the blooms in water, taking a moment to grab a corkscrew and two tall stem glasses.
I walk across to sit beside him on the couch and open the wine, fumbling over the foil.
There’s a slight tension, an awkwardness. But maybe it’s just me.
“Did you work today?” he asks.
“Yeah, the lunch shift, but I left at 4:30 p.m. so I could be here for when my sister dropped Taylor. It’s so nice to have a Saturday night off, even if I’m staying home.
The restaurant’s so busy on Saturdays, and I’ve been pulling a lot of double shifts.
” I pour the rich, burgundy liquid into the glasses and pass one over to Adam.
“That’s a lot of earnings you’re . . . not paying any tax on,” Adam observes with a sly smile.
I throw up a hand. “Yeah, yeah. You’re not on duty tonight, Detective. Gimme a break.”
He grins. “Fair enough. Cheers.”
We sip our wine. The silence stretches out.
“You wanna watch a movie?” I ask brightly. “I have a couple good ones lined up on Netflix. My folks let me add my user profile to their account, which I consider a major breakthrough in our relationship.”
Adam laughs. “Sure. Let’s see what you got.”
We settle down to watch The Square, which turns out to be an unsettling and brilliant Danish–English drama about an art installation and a museum curator’s downfall. It’s suitably engaging and unromantic, to my relief. I don’t want Adam getting any ideas.
By the time the movie is done, we’ve finished the wine and are slouched closer to each other on the sofa, both our feet up on the ottoman.
“That was cool.”
I sit up to clear away the bottle, reaching out for Adam’s almost-empty wine glass, but he puts a hand on my arm.
“Liv.” His voice is low, rough, as he straightens. “Come here.”
Uh-oh. Guess he got the wrong idea anyways.
He’s studying my face, waiting for me to lean in, inviting it. I push my lips together and give a tiny shake of my head.
“Adam. I’m sorry. I can’t.”
His brow furrows. “Why not? We’d be so good together.”
“I know. I know. I’m just not ready. To be with another man, when I’m not over the last one.”
Adam’s face falls. “Your old boyfriend? Still? He’s the one you want, even though he’s with somebody else? Even though I’m the one available, the one who’s here with you, right now?”
I turn away, unable to explain to him what I can’t explain to myself. That I love Jake, irrespective of which reality we’re in. Whether he loves me back or not.
“You’ve been wonderful,” I tell him honestly.
“I needed a friend and a confidant, which is what you’ve been.
And I love hanging out with you. I’m very drawn to you, of course.
But the truth is, I’m still in love with the man I believe I’m supposed to marry, who I promised I would marry, in less than a month’s time.
I made that pledge to him, even if it was in some other space and time, or even just in my own mentally deranged mind. ”
Adam lets out a sad half-chuckle at this.
“Either way,” I continue, “it’s my commitment, and I have to be true to that. It’s the only thing that makes any sense to me.”
Adam swirls the last dregs of his wine glass, but says nothing.
“I am sorry, though,” I repeat. “I wish it was you. It would be so much easier.”
Adam looks up at me. “I told you at the coffee shop that I’d need to be your first choice, Liv.
Not what’s easy.” He stands, handing me the wine glass.
“It’s clear I’m not. And it’s not your fault.
” He rakes his hand through his hair. “I really hope it works out for you. Whatever that looks like. But I think I’d better not see you too much from now on. For my own sake.”
I nod. “I understand, Adam. I’ll miss you, but I get it. Thanks for everything. You’ve been amazing. I hope things go great for you, too.”
He gives me a twisted smile and an awkward hug, before letting himself out of the front door.
In an instant, a good, kind, loving man is gone from my life.
But I had to be honest with him, didn’t I?
As sweet and caring a man as Adam Banks is, he’s no Jake Johnson.
The love of my life, and the man who loves me.
Even if only in another world.