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Logan, Esther, and Bobby were there instead, looking at my house in horror. Then they each looked at me in horror, each hugged me, demanded to know if I was okay, then to see Nathan. As predicted, Logan and Esther offered up their place for Nathan and me to stay for as long as we needed.
Of course, Lance interrupted this by telling them that Nathan and I were already “sorted.”
Esther rose her brow at this, looking back and forth between us with a knowing gaze.
Bobby went murderous again. Logan was contemplative.
But again, there wasn’t time for this interaction to continue, as this was the point my insurance agent arrived. Again, Lance took over talking to him. Or grunting at him. Peppering him with death threats. Again, I let him.
There were visitors, calls, barked orders for me to “get the fuck off my feet”—from Lance—for the rest of the day.
Nathan was a dream, excited about having a day off school, with adults everywhere, treats for every meal—Bobby brought half the diner with him at lunch—and movies that he was never allowed to watch in the daytime.
But then the time came.
The time of the day where Nathan was getting tired, I was beyond tired and we were both yearning for a home that didn’t exist anymore.
It was at this point Lance walked in the door to Karen and Eliza’s, narrowed his eyes to where I was cleaning dishes in the kitchen and declared it was “time to go.”
I had already explained the temporary living arrangements with Nathan, to say he was excited was an understatement. He all but sprinted out the door once Lance had made his commands. First thanking Karen and Eliza for letting us have a sleepover.
My kid had some manners at least.
I did not sprint. Not just because I physically couldn’t.
But because I’d been alternately dreading and looking forward to this moment all day.
An enclosed space.
With Lance.
The man I’d seen a week ago with his tongue inside my mouth, giving me the best kiss of my life, cementing his place under my skin, in my bones.
My mind should not have been consumed with that all day. It should have been consumed with my son’s possible psychological trauma. The fact we didn’t have a home or belongings. Wondering if my insurance would payout, even with Lance going full badass on them. Figuring out how we would rebuild, with the Greenstone Security bill still looming on the horizon. And then, of course, Robert.
So yeah, any one of those things would have been appropriate to settle on. Dwell on. Instead, it went to wondering how in the heck things would go with Lance, once we were alone.
And now, I wouldn’t have to wonder.
Chapter Eighteen
Despite Nathan being so excited at the prospect of having “sleepovers with Captain” he crashed pretty darn fast. He would have gone headfirst into his Happy Meal—something saved for very special occasions or when I was too tired to cook—if I hadn’t carried him to his new bedroom.
His new kick-ass bedroom.
Rosie had been to visit.
That much was obvious as soon as we walked in the door and there were seven bottles of wine on the dining room table.
‘One for every day of the first week you have to co-habitate with the only caveman left from the ice age’ was the accompanying note.
It did not stop there.
The fridge was stocked.
With everything you could think of. Snacks. Sodas—all diet, and I knew this was a woman because all women knew that sodas had to be diet, no matter how much sugar you consumed in other forms—fruit, fancy looking salad containers.
The pantry was the same.
There was a bowl of crystals on the coffee table. I knew this came from Polly.
When Lance showed me to ‘my’ room—right frickin’ beside his room—there was a comforter that I knew he did not pick out. It was like my old one. But so much better. It was the deepest purple that it looked like you could dive into it. The fabric was so soft I was surprised it didn’t melt under my fingertips. There were throw pillows.
Scented candles.
The bathroom off this room—I had the master, which I was sure was Lance’s doing—was filled with products.
Glass containers of moisturizers that I had only gazed at longingly in department stores. Makeup I didn’t even recognize. Perfume. It was like a counter at a department store.
The drawers in the bedroom weren’t full, but they had things in them.
Beautiful silk things in the top drawer. Beautiful, sexy things I’d never owned.
Cashmere frickin’ socks.
Sweats.
Lululemon leggings.
I’d cried. Right there, in front of the leggings, after the shower Lance insisted I take right after I’d put Nathan to bed.
Then, I’d called Rosie, sobbing, making no sense, babbling about Lululemon leggings.
“Babe, you’re welcome, I’m guessing with all the crying and babble, it’s a thank you,” she interrupted somewhere. “But you don’t need to thank me. That’s the most fun I’ve had since I tortured human traffickers in Venezuela.”
