35. Cole
After we leave the restroom,I head back to the table to pay the bill. I pull Riley’s jacket over her shoulders, enjoying her small, satisfied smile.
In the car on the way home, we sit in comfortable silence together. I have trouble keeping my eyes on the road. All I want to do is watch her as she stares out of the window, a dreamy look in her eyes.
As soon as we step through the front door, Archie comes running into the hallway. “You have to see what we made!” he says breathlessly.
Indulgently, Riley and I follow him back into the living room, where Kerry is sitting on the floor, surrounded by a winding maze of toy train tracks. She looks up a little sheepishly, grimacing.
“Oh, wow,” Riley says with a laugh. “You guys were busy, huh?”
Kerry gets to her feet and carefully picks her way through the train tracks, doing her best not to step on any of them. “We sure were.”
“It’s all of the trains for a whole city!” Archie crows, triumphant. “What do you think?”
“I love it,” I say, ruffling his hair. “Very impressive.”
“Sorry about the mess,” Kerry says to us in an undertone. “I’ll stay and help him clean it up, if you like.”
“That’s okay, Kerry,” I tell her. “You should head home. It’s totally fine—we’ll take it from here.”
She lets out a relieved sigh. “Okay. Thank you, Mr. Sullivan. See you later.”
Kerry waves good-bye to Archie, then heads for the door.
“And now,” Riley says firmly, her arms folded, “it’s way past someone’s bedtime. Wouldn’t you agree?” She glances at me for backup.
“That’s true,” I say. “Come on, bud. Let’s get you to sleep.”
“Aw,” Archie complains. “Can’t I stay up just a little longer? Please?”
“It’s already really late,” I tell him. “You’re gonna be tired tomorrow.”
An idea seems to occur to him—I can practically see the lightbulb flashing in his head. “But I have to stay up to put my trains away, right? I have to clean up the mess.”
I lock eyes with Riley, helpless. I hope she picks up on my silent plea: Help.
“Nice try,” Riley says, jumping in. “It’s super late. You can pick up your trains first thing after breakfast tomorrow.”
Defeated, Archie groans, following me to the stairs. Riley and I work in tandem to get him in bed, and I listen to her tell him a bedtime story. It’s the latest in an apparent series, which seems to involve the misadventures of his favorite toys.
Despite his protests earlier, Archie is out like a light halfway through the tale. Riley and I sneak out of his room and into the hallway.
In the aftermath of sex and a nice dinner, she’s closer to me than she would usually be outside of the bedroom. Her body feels good against mine, with my hands on her hips.
“You know,” I murmur to her, “you’re one of the most extraordinary people I’ve ever met.”
“So are you,” she whispers, keeping her voice down so that Archie won’t hear us from the next room. “I had no idea when I first met you, but I’m really, really glad we met.”
I smile, bending down to kiss her. The heat from earlier stirs in my chest again, and I feel an inevitable tug of desire.
For a moment, I consider pulling her into my bedroom. It’s against our rules; we agreed that, in order to keep the lines between us professional clear, we would keep our sexual encounters confined to one place. But something about tonight makes me want to break every rule and blur every line.
I stare into her eyes, hesitating.
Then, eventually, reality settles back in. I want to bring her to my room, to throw her down on my bed for a second round, to indulge in every pleasure and to hold her close afterwards, to fall asleep wrapped around her.
But I know that I can’t. However close I felt to her tonight, there’s still one last wall between us, one last layer of protection. I can’t bring myself to break through it. The closer she gets to me, the more likely it is that we both get hurt, and the worse that hurt will be.
I step back after our kiss. I smile, wondering if she can see something a little strained behind the expression. If she can, she doesn’t show it.
“Thank you for a wonderful evening,” I say.
She blushes. “Thank you. I had an amazing time.”
“Good night,” I say, turning toward my room. Before I can close myself in, I hear the click of her own bedroom door closing.
* * *
Riley
The fish sectionof the pet store is mesmerizing to any kid on Earth, and, let’s be honest, most adults. The rippling sound of a dozen water filters, the sheen of multicolored scales, the low lighting… it’s the perfect place to keep a child entertained.
As soon as he sees the fish tanks, Archie darts straight over to them, pressing his palms against the glass.
“Look at these ones!” he says excitedly, jabbing his finger at a school of shiny neon tetras. “Look at the colors!”
“Don’t tap the glass,” I warn him. “They don’t like that.”
He withdraws his hands quickly, but the look of wonder doesn’t fade from his face.
A few weeks ago, Archie’s pre-K got a tank full of fish for the classroom, and Archie has been talking about it non-stop, asking for a fish of his own. I’ve known for a long time that he loves animals; it’s high time he got his first pet.
I ran the suggestion by Cole before coming here, and he agreed to it on the grounds that he wasn’t going to be the one to feed it. At the memory, I can’t help but chuckle and roll my eyes.
Cole can act like a grumpy hard-ass, just like he always has, but it doesn’t fool me anymore. I’ve seen the softer side of him now.
“I don’t know what fish to get,” Archie says, his eyes round. “There are so many different kinds!”
I look around for a store attendant, but there’s no one in sight. “Let’s look for a fish that will be easy to take care of,” I suggest. “This is your first pet, so we don’t want to get one that’s going to be picky, right?”
“Right!”
“What about a betta?” I steer Archie toward the betta shelves, where the colorful fish are floating in plastic cups. “What do you think? We could get one of these little guys into a nice, comfy tank.”
Archie peruses the stack of fish, then picks out a blue one with iridescent scales. We head into the aisles to gather the supplies Archie will need to take care of the little guy.
As we pick out a piece of driftwood to place in his fish’s tank, an older woman in the aisle stops to smile at Archie. “Hello, young man. Are you bringing home a new friend?”
Shyly, Archie nods, holding up his fish for her inspection.
“Have you thought of a name for him?”
Archie tilts his head to the side, thinking. Then, at last, he declares, “I’ll call him Swimmy!”
The older woman beams. “That’s an excellent name for a fish.”
“Say thank you,” I say quietly to Archie.
“Thank you,” Archie says to the older woman.
“So polite! You’re going to give that fish a great home. Did you promise your mother you’d take care of him?”
Archie gives me a confused glance over his shoulder.
Flustered, I shake my head. “Oh, I’m not his mother. I-I’m just the nanny.”
Just the nanny. As soon as the words come out of my mouth, they start to sting.
“Ah.” The woman nods politely, though she wears an awkward grimace. “I see.” She gives Archie a last, fleeting smile. “Well, good luck with your fish.”
She moves on down the aisle. I watch her go as Archie returns his attention to the aquarium decorations, a strange sadness making me feel empty.
Eventually, Archie chooses some plastic driftwood and an underwater plant for his fish to hide in. With the tank and the food already picked out, we’re ready to go. We check out and head home.
For the entire ride back to the Sullivan house, Archie stares, wide-eyed, at the tiny creature floating in the cup he’s holding.
The betta’s fins are slightly withered, and its scales are dull, but I’ve heard that this is pretty common for a pet store betta. With a little time in a big enough tank, it’ll begin to shine brilliantly once more. Archie is enamored with it regardless of its looks, anyway.
As Archie gets to know his new fish, I can’t help but turn over the interaction with the older customer in my head. The weird feeling it gave me hasn’t faded; in fact, it’s only intensified in the time since we left the store.
I’m not Archie’s mother, but I am getting pretty attached to him. And the fact that someone mistook me for his mom… well, it takes me down mental pathways I’d already promised myself to avoid.
It makes me think about what I really want, in my wildest dreams—the things I won’t even allow myself to admit.
Back at home, Archie and I set up the fish’s little tank, filling the bottom with bright blue pebbles and carefully placing the driftwood and plant inside. We fill it up with water, then, finally, let the fish get accustomed to its new home.
We set it up in the living room, on a low table where Archie can reach the lid to feed it. He gives his fish its first pinch of multicolored flakes.
“Remember,” I tell him, “you’re responsible for this little guy, so you need to make sure you remember to feed him, okay? Later in the week we’ll learn how to clean his tank.”
Archie nods rapidly, bouncing up and down in excitement. The fish starts to pick at the food, which delights him even more.
I tiptoe over to the couch, staying out of Archie’s way as he runs through the house, thrilled. He stops to check on his fish every few minutes, exclaiming at everything the little creature does. It hides in the stalks of the undersea plant and swims circles around the driftwood.
When Cole comes home, I meet him in the foyer. From the other room, we can both hear Archie’s shout. “He’s blowing little bubbles!”
Cole raises an eyebrow. “Today was fish day?”
“It sure was,” I say, nodding. “I gotta warn you, before you come in—he’s very excited about the fish. We’re on a twenty-four-seven fish lockdown.”
Cole cracks a fond smile. “Oh, I bet.”
He hangs up his jacket in the closet, then steps toward me. His hand brushes my upper arm, and I feel a tingle of excitement in my chest, a sudden burst of energy to rival Archie’s.
Then Archie’s voice calls out again, and Cole moves away from me quickly.
“You have to come meet him!” Archie demands. He stands in the doorway to the living room, his cheeks a little flushed. He’s still as excited as he was earlier, but he’s starting to look a little strung out; I figure he must be tiring himself out.
“Of course,” Cole says. “Let me come say hi to the newest member of the Sullivan family.”
God, what’s wrong with me? Why am I getting jealous of a fish?
I follow the two of them into the living room, where Cole bends down to inspect the tank. “It looks good,” he says approvingly. “You did a good job choosing. What’s his name?”
“Swimmy,” Archie says. He’s much less exuberant than he was earlier; he sounds almost subdued. “Swimmy Sullivan.”
“That’s an excellent name. I love the alliteration.”
Normally, Archie would be curious enough to ask Cole what alliteration meant. Right now, though, he doesn’t respond at all. He seems uncomfortable; there’s some sweat on his brow.
“Archie,” I say quietly, coming closer. “You feeling okay, bud?”
“I don’t know,” Archie responds, frowning. “I don’t feel good.”
“Do you want some water?”
He swallows. “I feel like… I feel like I’m gonna throw up.”
Alarm slices through me. Biting back the instinctive swear word, I put a hand on Archie’s shoulders. “Let’s get you to a bathroom. Come on.”