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“I am!”
“I know.”
“Quit agreeing with me.”
“You’re a fuckin’ great dancer,” I said, trying to keep my voice serious. “I apologize.”
“I totally could’ve danced at the club,” she huffed. “If I’d wanted to.”
“I’d rather see you on a pole,” I replied without thinking. She pinched me hard. “What? It’s not like I want anyone else seein’ you. But pole dancing is hot as fuck and I bet you’d be good at it.”
“How is this even a conversation we’re having?” she asked in disbelief.
“No fuckin’ clue.”
She laid her head against my chest. “I know that we’re not good yet,” she said with a sigh. “But I still feel a little better.”
“That’s what dinner with my grandparents’ll do to ya.”
“That helped,” she agreed. “But talking about shit helped even more.”
“Yeah.”
“Thank you,” she breathed.
“For what?”
“For all of it. There are a million different horrible ways all of this could’ve played out.” She tipped her head back to look at me. “Believe me, I imagined most of them.”
I scoffed. “Not for us.”
“I’m still scared,” she said with a sigh. “But not of this. Not of you.”
“Really?” I murmured. “Because I’m terrified as hell.”
Chapter 9
Emilia
After our discussionin the kitchen, Michael and I came to an unspoken truce and things became surprisingly… normal. Or at least our version of the word.
Michael’s home transformed as I unpacked the Subaru bit by bit and little cars, building blocks and stuffed animals were strewn across the house. A basket of bath toys found a place under the sink in the master bathroom, the only bathroom with a tub. Rhett’s shoes and mine became tangled up with Michael’s in a pile by the front door.
I went grocery shopping and started making dinner for the three of us. Michael went to work and came home smelling like the garage. I brought Rhett to visit Heather and called around to different preschools—he wasn’t old enough for any of them and I was secretly relieved. I wasn’t ready yet. Michael took Rhett out to the hammock when it wasn’t raining and half the time Rhett fell asleep while they swung lazily from side to side.
If I stared a little too hard when Michael washed his hands before dinner, mesmerized by the way he scrubbed his muscled forearms, he didn’t mention it. When his eyes nearly popped out of their sockets after Rhett had splashed me with bathwater, making my white shirt nearly transparent, I didn’t say a word either. We partnered on tasks that required both of us and otherwise orbited around one another, close but never too close.
Wednesday’s dinner at Callie and Grease’s house was chaos in the best way. Kids ran from one end of the house to the other and cousins, aunts and uncles filled every piece of furniture. Their voices filled the house from floor to ceiling, a symphony I’d never thought I’d hear again.
Only two people had cornered me, Michael’s aunts Molly and Rose. The two were like night and day, Rose asked pointed if not aggressive questions while Molly talked around the subject but basically asked the same things. I wasn’t surprised by their questions or the fact that they’d somehow culled me from the rest of the group, but I had been surprised by the way Michael had immediately noticed and saved me. He was on guard the entire night, his shoulders and neck visibly tense, but I thought the whole thing had gone surprisingly well.
I wasn’t so optimistic for the festivities at the club, though. I stared at my clothes spread out on the bed, my hands on my hips. I didn’t have much, I’d never really needed much, but now I was wondering if I should’ve bought something new to wear. The problem was I had no idea what someone wore to a party at a motorcycle club. It wasn’t as if I had a Harley tee lying around in my wardrobe. None of my shirts were name brand, if I was being honest.
Long ago, I’d seen the women that flocked to club parties in their mini skirts and booty shorts, but even if I’d had those—and I didn’t—I wouldn’t have worn them. For one thing, it was cold outside and I was still getting used to the Oregon temperatures again. For another, wearing a mini skirt while chasing a two year old sounded like a wardrobe malfunction waiting to happen. Plus, I was someone’s mother. I liked feeling sexy as much as the next girl, but my days of flaunting my ass around were mostly in the rear view.
I sat on the bed with a huff.
“Hey, my cousin Charlie stopped by,” Michael said, striding into the room without knocking. “She left a bunch of clothes—” His mouth snapped shut when he realized I was sitting there in my underwear.
