Chapter 13
THE PRE-brEAKFAST CLUB
Cricket
To my utter surprise, Heath asks me to watch Lavender while he’s showering Monday morning.
We’ve avoided each other since the thing in that building with the things I don’t like talking or thinking about.
Or possibly it’s just been me doing the avoiding.
I’ve heard he was busy inspecting all of the property’s unused buildings and delivering some other bad news to Mabel and also out acquiring more supplies for fixing up the mother-in-law house and taking Lav to a friend’s birthday party.
The single moms probably hit on him.
He probably has a girlfriend and just doesn’t talk about it.
Or possibly he’s one of those men who will only have one great love in his lifetime and he hides his grief well in the interest of being strong for his daughter, which is so swoon.
No, Cricket. No swoon.
I’ve muzzled myself multiple times to keep from asking anyone here if it’s normal for new residents to get a crush on the single dad.
If I don’t say it out loud, then I’m not really feeling it.
That’s the pep talk I’m giving myself as I knock softly at the upper door to the staircase early Monday morning.
Heath opens it like he was standing there waiting, which he probably was, since I texted him that I was on my way up.
He’s in a black T-shirt and gray sweatpants, and his brown hair is disheveled and his stubble is extra stubbly and his green eyes still have a sleepy quality that, when combined with the way he smells like warm cotton, suggests he was in bed when I texted him.
I didn’t hear any footsteps before I texted that I was up and ready, so he probably was.
I keep my eyes trained on the bridge of his nose.
“Reporting for duty,” I whisper.
I actually showered this morning, and my hair’s still damp.
“You hear her yet?” he murmurs.
I shake my head.
“Found raw hamburger in her bedroom last night.”
So that explains why he texted.
He has a real problem.
“Mm, protein.” Mm, protein? Oh my god, Cricket, stop talking.
“It was still cold, so there’s that.”
“Do you want me to ask Mabel what we can do?”
“Already did, but if Pip can sneak Lav food with six other adults in the house, we’re fighting a losing battle.”
Interesting.
They must have a secret hiding space.
And probably an accomplice.
This smells like a job for someone who also had a lot of secret hiding places as a kid, even if all of my accomplices were imaginary.
Fluffy meows at me.
I look down at her sturdy black-white-and-orange body and smile. “Morning, kitty.”
And then I notice where I’m standing.
I’m in a kitchen with slate tile floors, cedarwood cabinets, and granite countertops with flecks of tan, brown, and burgundy.
The oven, fridge, and dishwasher are all stainless steel, though the fridge is covered with drawings and wallet-sized photos of Lavender.
A coffee maker and KitchenAid mixer sit on the countertop near the sink, and there’s also a large ceramic bowl with tangerines and oranges next to a matching crock holding cooking utensils.
The kitchen leads into a wood-plank floor living room with oversized brown leather furniture adorned with colorful throw pillows and blankets in bright pinks and purples.
There’s a rug beneath a simple wooden coffee table that’s scattered with drawings and a juice box and three Play-Doh containers.
Family photos are hung on one wall, and a sliding glass door on another wall overlooks the acres of grapevines.
There’s a hallway branching off between the two rooms that I assume leads to the bedrooms.
“This is lovely,” I whisper to Heath.
Downstairs is nice, but far more basic, with laminate flooring, simple furniture, a kitchenette out of an IKEA catalog, and prints of rainy Paris days hung on the walls around the TV.
But this level—it’s elegant while also maintaining a homey feel.
Not so upscale that Lavender can’t be a kid here.
Heath grunts. “I’m gonna hop in the shower. Help yourself to coffee or food or whatever. And don’t take your eyes off the cat.”
I salute him. “You got it, boss.”
You got it, boss?
I have issues.
“Thanks again.” He pads softly down the hallway.
And I wander through the kitchen to watch, because I don’t notice the mirror at the end of the hallway that lets him see me watching until it’s too late.
He makes eye contact with me in the mirror, points to a doorway, and mouths what seems to be Lavender’s room.
I nod like my face isn’t beet red at being caught ogling his ass, and he disappears into the doorway on the other side of the hallway from his daughter’s room.
“That went well,” I whisper to Fluffy, only to realize Fluffy has disappeared.
Shit.
“Fluffy?” I whisper.
No answer.
Like I’d expect any less of a cat that refused to budge off the porch over at the main house last night.
We’re still not sure how she got there. Walking across the fields isn’t something you expect Fluffy to do on her own. I don’t know the cat well, but I know her well enough to know she’s constitutionally incapable of wanting to move if she doesn’t have to.
Or, you know, if there’s not food involved. Apparently in Lav’s room.
“Fluffy?” I whisper again, looking everywhere I can think to look in the kitchen and living room.
She’s not under the couch. Not that I think she could fit. The couch is on short legs, so theoretically, she could get under here, but practically—I just don’t see that happening.
Nor is she behind it, or under the coffee table.
Is there a secret passage into Lav’s room?
Doesn’t appear to be a cat door anywhere in the hallway, and when I pause at Lavender’s door, I don’t hear anything.
I usually hear her running down the hallway not long after the shower turns on, and I’ve been doing a good job of picturing the little girl’s smiling face rather than contemplating what a shower means for Heath’s state of dress.
I do let myself be jealous that he’s clearly not traumatized by showers though. Even now, I rush through them when I used to enjoy them.
I still can’t get naked and wet without thinking about the incident.
The initial one, I mean. The one that sparked all of the other incidents I’ve had here.
I press my ear to the door, listening closer.
And that’s when it swings open.
I leap back.
Lavender looks up at me and screams.
It’s instinctual to scream back, which makes her scream louder, which makes me realize I need to be the grown-up in the room and not scream again.
I drop to my knees on the Turkish rug running down the hallway. “It’s okay,” I gasp. “Just me. Cricket. Hi. It’s—”
There’s a whoosh behind me, and then I’m shoved out of the way by a wet, half-naked man wearing just a white towel around his hips.
“It’s okay.” Heath drops to his knees, gathers Lav into his arms, and cradles her tight. “It’s okay, baby. Did you have a nightmare? Daddy’s here.”
“There’s a scary woman,” Lavender shrieks.
And then the little sneak grins at me over her dad’s shoulder.
“Lav. We talked about Cricket coming up for coffee. Remember?”
She grins bigger.
And then she winks.
She winks.
At six years old.
I stumble back against the opposite wall, heart pounding in my throat, and gape at her.
And then a picture falls off the wall right next to me.
“It was so scary, Daddy,” Lavender says. “A big hairy monster with big wet hair and big boob-shoulders was dancing outside my door.”
Heath’s shoulders stiffen.
His bare, broad, wet shoulders.
Water drips down his neck in a steady stream from his hair, dribbling along his spine, all the way to his hips, where twin dimples stand out just above his towel.
My mouth is dry.
My knees are starting to shake.
And I don’t think it’s over worry that he’ll slip and fall and flash his junk at us.
I think it’s because I want him to flash his junk at me.
It would be fair, right?
He’s seen mine. I should see his.
Preferably without the slipping and falling. I’ve already injured him. Don’t need it to happen again in the interest of me getting a show.
“Lavender.” There’s a warning in his voice as he pulls her back and studies her face.
Her smile has disappeared, and her bright hazel eyes are round and innocent.
“Were you playing a game?” he asks softly.
“I like games,” she whispers.
“Please tell me if you’re going to play games when I’m in the shower. I worry when I hear you scream.”
If I’d done this as a kid, I would’ve been lectured until my ears bled and then grounded for a month.
Instead, he’s kneeling on the ground, at her level, gently explaining to her that he could’ve hurt himself running to get to her, so he needs to know when there’s a real emergency and when she’s just playing.
And I’m noticing how attractive the soles of his feet are.
The soles of his feet.
His very large feet.
On this very, very patient man.
I blink quickly before Heath or Lavender notices the way my eyes are getting wet.
“I thought Cricket was playing with me,” Lav says to Heath. “I thought she told you.”
They both look at me.
Heath doesn’t even glance at the picture frame that’s splintered on the floor beside me.
“Fluffy disappeared,” I say, then remember Lavender isn’t supposed to know my full purpose here is cat food patrol. “I wanted to pet her, and I couldn’t find her, so I was checking to see if your door was open and if she’d snuck in.”
“You check the cat door?” Heath asks.
I blink. “There’s a cat door?”
“Living room. In the wall next to the sliding doors to the deck. She gets stuck regularly.”
“Oh. I didn’t—I didn’t see it. Oh. That’s what you mean when you say Fluffy’s being Fluffy. That makes sense. I’ll go check.”
Heath looks at the picture frame.
I look at the picture frame. “Sorry. I’ll—”
“Bad hook,” he says. “Happens all the time.”
“Daddy hasn’t even put a new picture in it yet,” Lavender tells me.
I glance again, and I notice the barcode on the picture inside the frame, which has an unfamiliar couple in wedding attire.
“You really just go with the flow all the time, don’t you?” I say to Heath.
A muscle tics in his jaw. “Don’t have much of a choice.” He looks back at Lavender. “Will you please go help Cricket find Fluffy and then show her how to use the coffee maker?”
Her eyes light up like she’s just gotten a bicycle for her birthday. “I get to use the coffee maker?”
“You get to tell her what to do. That’s even better. No more screaming until I’m out of the shower or unless there’s a real emergency, okay?”
“Okay, Daddy. C’mon, Cricket. You might have to tug hard on Fluffy. She likes to get stuck.”
Heath gets back to his feet with his towel still firmly in place around his waist, then offers me a hand.
I shouldn’t take it.
I should get myself up off the floor on my own.
But I reach for his hand anyway, feeling the same crackle down my arm that I felt across my entire chest when he held me as he carried me out of the fermentation building the other day that I’ve been trying to not think about.
Ever.
Being here will heal my soul.
But it’ll also wreak havoc on my hormones.
Could be worse though.
He could be wreaking havoc on my heart.