Page 67

“Okay. How was yours?”

“Fine. Uneventful. Why don’t you go get changed, and I’ll put dinner in the oven? I made your favorite.”

My favorite meal was beef Wellington, which took forever to make, so I assumed he was referring to something else I liked. Then I looked over at the stove. “You made that from scratch?”

He grinned, beaming with pride. “I can’t promise how good it’s going to be. But I called your mom to get her recipe.”

It felt difficult to breathe. “That’s so much work.”

He kissed the tip of my nose. “You’re worth it.”

I most definitely was not.

Calder squeezed my shoulders. “I’ll pour us some wine.”

I took in the table again. Wine. Candles. Music. Romance. I didn’t have to think too hard to figure out how he was hoping the night would end. I’d dodged sex all week, blaming my period. But biology couldn’t cover bad decisions forever.

“I’ll be back,” I told him.

I shut the bedroom door behind me, grateful for a few minutes of reprieve. But then I noticed I was standing in a spotless bedroom. Calder had also cleaned. And my clothes were folded and stacked neatly on top of the dresser. He’d done laundry, too.

I walked over to the piles, figuring I’d stall for a few minutes and put everything away before getting changed. But one handful of clothes in, I spotted my father’s old gray sweatshirt. Folded. Washed. Fresh and clean.

“No.”

I grabbed it and lifted it to my face. Taking a deep whiff, I smelled detergent. And fabric softener. Not a trace of him anymore. It used to smell like his aftershave and coffee. Something ugly rose in my throat, turning my face hot.

I marched back into the kitchen, forgetting all about the twenty kind things Calder had done for me. “Why would you wash this?”

Calder turned and his brows furrowed. “What?”

“This.” I held it up. “My dad’s sweatshirt.”

He shrugged. “It was on the floor by the bed, and I was doing laundry.”

“You shouldn’t touch things that aren’t yours.”

Calder’s head jerked back. He blinked. “Seriously? I was trying to help.”

“Well, you didn’t help. You’ve ruined it.”

He set the bottle of wine down a little too hard. “Sorry for trying to do something nice for you.”

I let out a humorless laugh. “Why do you get to decide what’s nice for me?”

“What’s up your ass?”

My eyes widened. “Up my ass? You just washed my dad’s shirt, and now it’ll never smell like him again. He’s gone. It’s not like I can get that from anywhere else.”

He shook his head. “If I’d realized, I wouldn’t have washed it. But I didn’t know.”

“Of course you didn’t know.” I tossed the sweatshirt onto the back of a chair and turned on my heel.

“Talia—”

But I was already slamming the bedroom door shut behind me. I sat on the edge of the mattress, my hands trembling with emotions that had far more to do with me than any laundry.

A few minutes later, the door opened slowly. Calder stepped inside and spoke softly. “I’m sorry, babe. I didn’t know.”