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Adam gives the eleven-year-old an annoyed look, but I lift a hand and make a ‘calm down’ motion. It’s only Rowan’s second day here. And if he’s anything like his father, he’s stubborn to a fault. It will take some time for Adam and Rowan to find their own rhythm.
Turning swiftly, I connect my phone to Adam’s bluetooth speakers. I’ve been over here enough times that it automatically pairs.
“I found a new artist the other day.” I listen to the piano trilling through the air and smile. “It’s great, right?”
“It’s boring.” Rowan sticks out his tongue.
“Just wait for it.” I approach him, take the broom from his hand and point to the sink. “Why don’t you wash the dishes?”
“Uh, I hate washing dishes.”
“We all do things we hate sometimes.” I maintain my stance so he knows he can’t wiggle out of it.
Rowan sighs as if I asked him to climb Mount Everest and swim with hungry sharks.
While he tackles his new task, I sweep in time to the classical music and bob my head a little more when the hip-hop track twines seamlessly with the piano.
Adam gives me a surprised look. “This doesn’t seem like your type of thing.”
“What is my type of thing?”
He scrubs his chin, bringing my attention to his square jaw and full beard. “Music that doesn’t bend too many of the rules.”
“Well… my type of thing is changing now.”
He gives me a thoughtful look.
I squirm and glance away, glad to point my attention to the flour on the ground.
“This isn’t too bad,” Rowan admits, rocking his head when the bass drops and the music goes harder.
I feel a thrill of validation.
After the song ends, the room settles into a productive kind of quiet. Rowan fills the sink to wash the dishes. I finish with the floor and join him there.
Adam squeezes in next to me. He smells amazing, like flames and metal and something unique to him. When his arm brushes my hand, I feel a skitter of goosebumps on my skin.
I try to squeeze in closer to Rowan, but it doesn’t work. Adam’s hand brushes my arm again and brings a spark of awareness.
“We can assembly line this thing,” Adam says in a more upbeat voice. “Rowan, you wash. Nova will rinse. I’ll dry.”
“Why do you get the easy job?” Rowan grumbles.
“You can do it on your own then,” Adam fires back.
Rowan shakes his head. “I’ll wash.”
I smile softly and accept the bowl from him. We make quick work of the dishes.
I notice Rowan sneak off while Adam and I are wiping the stove and removing all banana peels from the light fixtures.
When Adam glances up and notices Rowan isn’t around, his expression turns thunderous. I see him gearing up to yell for his son and stop him with a look.
Adam scowls. “He thinks he’s slick.”
“He’s eleven. Of course he does.”
Adam shakes his head, makes one more swipe over the stove and then whips the rag out over the sink to dry. “At least he didn’t set the house on fire.”
