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Right. Too early for Paula to be here. So I guess I count in this situation.
Still, I’m not going to let Mr. Grumpy Pants be rude to whoever delivered the packages. They’re for his daughter after all. He could stand to be a little grateful.
Reese lets out another huff as I head to the front door. Instead of taking his not-so-happy ass back to his room, he follows me. I can’t tell if he’s watching me because of his paparazzi paranoia, or if he’s just looking for a new way to be annoying.
I pull open the door without looking to see who it is. I can practically feel the death glare at my back from Reese because of the security lapse.
“Good morning!” I greet.
I’m far more chipper than the postal worker out front. He deadpans me. I may as well be the least interesting thing on a list of the least interesting things in the world. He doesn’t even bother to keep his eye roll to himself before he looks down at his clipboard.
“Order for Olivia Carter?”
His attitude doesn’t dim the shine of my excitement. “Yep, that’s me!”
“Cool. Sign.”
He holds out his clipboard and a dried-up pen. I scratch on the paper where he indicates, wiggling with glee.
“Wait here.”
I watch him as he treks to his truck. It’s gotta be a good sign when he brings out a dolly and rolls it around to the back.
He unloads one box.
And then another.
And another.
The whole time, I’m vibrating with excitement.
“I’m not sure the house is structurally prepared to handle that much shit.”
Ah, there’s the Reese Dalton we all know and love. Wait, did I say “love”? I meant “loathe.” I fold my arms and look at him over my shoulder. “These aren’t for me. They’re for Violet.”
He wrinkles his nose up. “She’s a baby. What’s she need all that shit for?”
I manage not to scoff, but only barely. “Because her room looks like a prison cell and it’s no place for a growing young girl. I used the expense card that you told Paula to give me. Don’t worry, I didn’t bankrupt you. Yet.”
Reese blinks at me, though I’m not sure if it’s sleepiness or confusion. “You bought… stuff… for Violet’s room. On your own.”
“Is that a problem? Paula said that I could use the card for anything that would make taking care of her easier. Having her in a warm and inviting room will help her mellow out if she has a space that feels safe to her. As she gets older, it can get more personalized. She didn’t deserve to live in the baby equivalent of a bachelor pad just because her father is one.”
I wonder if I’m being too harsh when a flicker of guilt makes its way across Reese’s face.
No. Don’t fall for it. Violet matters more than Reese’s personal feelings.
“I see,” he finally says. “Cool.” I don’t get another word in before he turns away from me and heads up the stairs.
Damn. Did I hurt his feelings?
“Your boxes.” The exhausted postal worker is back at the door. A large stack of boxes in varying sizes ranging from dainty to hulked-out wait on the front stoop.
“Thanks! Do you think you’d be able to?—”
Before I can even ask if he’d be willing to help cart them up the stairs, he’s on his way back to his truck. He drags the dolly behind him like it's done something to offend him.
Welp. I guess we’re doing this on our own.
