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Other than the sex, which I agreed would just be that one time, she told me she didn’t want to fall in love, and she told me didn’t want a real relationship. In fact, she told me exactly how she needed this to go for her even though she was agreeing to help me.
Which sucks. I was riding something with her I shouldn’t have been. Behaving in a way I shouldn’t have been given the requirements she made in order for this to work for her. Obviously, I was already in over my head.
But I was alone in that.
That’s not what she wants from me. Not at all.
I knew it. I agreed to it. I just didn’t adjust to it as I should have. Layla isn’t the one doing anything wrong. I am.
“I’ll back off,” I say. Even if the idea of it hurts like hell.
21
“The Little Mermaid,” Katy demands, standing on the edge of the kitchen wearing her mermaid pajamas and holding the mermaid doll Asher bought her earlier this week. She bumped up another level in her swim lessons last Friday because she is determined to become a mermaid when she grows up. Everything in this house is mermaids.
I even had her bedroom walls repainted to look like the ocean—I figured it’s also soothing.
But when I was having her room painted, something occurred to me. An idea for Layla I hope I can pull off even though she’s been avoiding me like the ghost of one-night stands past. Regardless of that, she’s here for three months with me and I want her to feel comfortable in my home, which I don’t think she does yet.
“Tangled,” I counter, putting the tray of cookies into the oven. They’re the slice-and-bake ones because I tried—and failed miserably—to make them from scratch Monday after court and they came out like hockey pucks. They were Aurelia’s recipe and when I sent her the photo of their charred remains, she suggested trying these because they’re foolproof.
Katy places her hand on her hip, her expression pure determination. “The Little Mermaid.”
“I love the music, Ladybug, but I don’t love the message.” Fallon pointed out that inThe Little Mermaid, Ariel changes who she is and gives up everything for a guy. Maybe it’s worth taking a stand and maybe it’s not. I honestly don’t know. I’m too new at this and half the time feel like I’m doing a shit job. But I think I’d be a bad guardian if I didn’t at least mention it.
Katy narrows her blue eyes at me. “What if I promise to stay me forever? Can we watch it then? Boys are gross anyway. Joey Long picked his nose and ate his boogers today. Holly and I nearly threw up our ice pops.”
I match her position. “As long as you promise to continue to think boys are gross until you’re thirty, I’ll agree.”
“Deal.”
I extend my hand and we shake on it, but instead of releasing her, I drag her into me and start tickling her sides and belly. She peals out a squeal of laughter, writhing in my arms to try and get away from me. I wrestle her to the floor, blowing raspberries on her belly and tickling her everywhere I can. She rolls back and forth, her laugh a full-on belly laugh now that has me in stitches right along with her.
I go in for another raspberry when the doorbell rings, startling us both. “Stay here, kiddo.” Hopping up, I jog over to the door. “Who is it?” I call through the wood.
“Mrs. Joanna Bible from social services.”
Oh shit.
I unlock the door and fling it open to find a woman who, well, is terrifying. She’s tall and broad like a linebacker, wearing a green floral dress and matching green shoes that both might be from the early nineteen thirties. Her hair is pinned up in a tight, austere bun, and her simple glasses are hanging from the tip of her nose.
But that’s not why she’s terrifying.
It’s the no bullshit, I’m here to challenge everything about you and prove that you’re an unfit parent look on her face that has me shuddering and breaking out into a cold sweat.
I plaster on a smile. “Hi. I’m Callan Barrows.” I extend my hand which she breaks when she shakes it. Good thing I’m not a surgeon. “Please come in. Katy and I were just about to put on a movie.”
A crisp nod, and then she’s stepping over the threshold, visibly scrutinizing everything she sees and then she starts making notes on a tablet she pulls out of her worn messenger bag. “How long have you resided in this home?”
My heart starts to pound in my chest and through my ears as I think. I swear, being an intern wasn’t this stressful. “About five years now, I believe.”
Her lips purse to the side in dismay as if that’s the wrong answer. Fuck. Maybe it is. I can’t remember now.
I scoot past her, heading for Katy. “Katy, this is Mrs. Bible. She’s here to meet with us and will ask us some questions.”
Katy gives her the stink-eye. Probably because she’s six and the woman smells like cabbage soup and appears to hate everything she sees—including us.
“Hello, Katy. Is that your real name?”
