“I—” I start, then the thought hits me. “I owe you cookies.”
Confusion mars her face for a moment before understanding dawns, remembering our conversation in her smokey kitchen. She shakes her head, and I know exactly what she’s about to say, so I say it with her.
“You don’t have to do that,” we say at the same time, and her eyes widen before that blush overtakes her cheeks, that shyness creeping back in.
“You can say this next part with me, if you want,” I tease. “But I want to.” I say it slowly, teasing her a little more. She stares atme, and I can tell by the sparkle in her eyes that she’s trying not to smile. Taking on a more serious tone, making sure she hears every word, I remind her, “I like doing things for you, Rumi.”
And I’ll tell her again and again until she believes it.
She lets out a sigh, but I see the way her lips curve up. “Well, Ava says I’m still banned from using the oven at the house.” It’s such a lazy excuse, and a poor attempt to change the subject, that I don’t think she’s actually trying to get out of the plans.
“Perfect. I just moved, and I’d be honored if you and Evee join me for breaking in mine.”
Her mouth opens, but she doesn’t say anything, and I’m worried I said something wrong.
“What?” I ask her.
She grabs the towel she has tucked in her apron, wiping down the counter before throwing it over her shoulder, her hands going to the front pocket of her apron, toying with something she has in there.
“You want Evee to come too?”
“Of course,” I answer. “Unless, you don’t want to bring her?” I frame it as a question, not exactly sure how to approach this.
I figured she’d want to bring Evee, that it’d be easier for her, but maybe not. Maybe it’s a pain in the ass to bring a baby to a new place—I don’t fucking know. Or maybe she doesn’t want to bring her daughter to some man’s house who she barely knows. Or maybe I made up this whole friendship and connection in my head, and I’m making the biggest ass out of myself right now.
“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” I tell her, hoping I fix whatever mistake I made. “I just want to get to know the both of you.”
“No, it’s just that—” She stops when her voice cracks, her eyes glistening, and I want someone to come punch me in the face right now because I obviously did somethingverywrong. “That’s really sweet,” she says, emotion heavy in her voice.
I don’t say anything, not wanting to say something else that makes her upset, so I wait.
“I was really nervous to make friends, not only because I’ve never been good at it, but because I wasn’t sure if people would want to be friends with a single mom, so it means a lot that you want to include Evee.” She removes her hands out of her pockets, wringing them together before running them down the front of her apron. She seems nervous at the admission, but it makes me release a breath I didn’t know I was holding.
“Does Friday night work?” I grab two straws, taking the wrapping off and balling it up between my palms, just to do something with my hands.
Apparently, we’re both nervous.
“Friday works for us,” she says.
“There’s a park not too far from my new house.” The thought barely registers in my head before I say it out loud. “Maybe we can take Evee.”
“Okay,” she echos. “She would love that—the park I mean. She loves the park,” she stammers out.
“Great. I’ll text you my address.” I put the two straws in the coffees still sitting in front of me, tossing the balled-up wrappers in the garbage underneath the counter. “We can figure out something for dinner too.”
“Great.”
I think she’s going to say something else, but we hear the incoming chatter coming from behind her—where I assume the back office is—-Ava holding Evee, her little hands rubbing her eyes, her bed head on full display after her mid-morning nap. Luke and Emerson follow close behind her, the three of them talking about a party at the end of the month, but I don’t hear much of the details.
“Look who’s awake,” Ava sing-songs, passing a still-sleepy Evee to Rumi, her small body curling against Rumi instantly,her head falling on her shoulder, her mouth around a pacifier that’s clipped to her little yellow onesie. She has white shorts with matching yellow flowers, her feet covered by the same color socks.
“Hi, Evee girl,” I say, leaning down to see her pretty blue eyes—I swear to God, her lashes could blow me away, the same way those eyes could bring me to my knees.
Just like her mom’s.
CHAPTER 19
RUMI
