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He taps his fingers on the table, lips tipped up in the corner. "You just know it all, don't you?"
"Yeah, I do. I only got it wrong once. It was a big one, I'll admit. But still, if we're talking averages, mine is stellar."
He shakes his head, a kind of humor in his eyes. "You are a weird woman. You have such a handle on some stuff, but you're still a wreck in other areas. Guess that makes you...human." He stands, pulling out his wallet and dropping two hundreds on the table. "We ready to go home?"
Am I ready to go home with this beautifully damaged man, and crawl into his bed? Am I ready to draw comfort from him, and maybe lend a little of my own?
I scramble out of the booth, dragging my bag out after me, then duck under his arm and through the open door. "Yeah, I'm ready." I wait until he's about to close my Jeep door for me and head to his truck to head home. "Tonight...I call big spoon."
25
BREE
Mind whirling, I keep my eyes on Bree's tail lights, staying close enough that no other car can get between us. Not that there's much traffic this late on a Thursday night. I'm rattled, I can admit it. Bree rattled me. In a few minutes, in a mostly empty diner on a Thursday night, she tore apart my worldview and put it back together again. And I don't know how to find my footing.
Her analysis of my tragedy forces me to look at it in a way my pain wouldn't let me. I don't understand why I felt the need to claim responsibility for Abuelita's death. I'm sure I should unpack that with someone.
Or maybe, there's no big mystery to it. Maybe a seven-year-old kid sees the world from a very selfish point of view. Maybe that's just the way it is. Something happens, and they see it as a result of their impact on the world. If mom's mad, I must have done something. How many times did I think that about my dad when I was a kid? If only I hadn't cried so much. If only I'd been tougher, he would have kept me. It's not true. My dad was a waste of air, a blight on the world, and his choices have nothing to do with me.
I feel light enough to fly away, but I don't want to go anywhere but where Bree is. Because if Abuelita's death isn't my fault, then maybe I do deserve Bree.
I make it to Bree's Jeep door, standing back until she sees me, then moving to open it for her. She's jumpy in parking garages. She already told me that. And I don't plan on doing anything that might spook her tonight.
We ride the elevator in a peaceful silence, neither one of us needing to fill the space with empty words. It feels like we said everything we need to say tonight. There's no need to add to it right now. And she's right where I want her to be. We watch as the numbers tick past her floor, and continue on to mine. A little smile plays on the corner of her lips.
Opening my door to her tonight feels big, bigger than I ever imagined. Last night I was in such a fucking panic, that I just needed her with me. I wanted her safe and couldn't think past that.
Tonight though? I'm walking the woman I'm falling in love with into the home I hope she'll share with me one day. A home I want her to love.
I tug her big bag off her shoulder, and lower it to the floor just inside the door, then wave her into my space. "Get comfortable." She doesn't hesitate, toeing off her shoes and padding through the living room to the windows.
"Every apartment has such a great view," she murmurs. I stare at her bare feet, then down at my own shoes, then kick them off, suddenly conscious of how much disgusting crap must come in on the bottom of my shoes. I don't want her walking on filth of any kind.
I join her at the window, admiring the view of the lakeshore and lake. "Ransom wanted it to be nice for all of us. He laid out the apartments so we all have city and lake views. It's easy enough to do when there's only two apartments per floor.
She turns, and leans her back on the glass. "Two massive apartments. I mean the ones downstairs are huge too, but this? It's epic."
I slide my hand behind her back and gently nudge her away from the window. It's strong. She won't fall through. I get that intellectually, but my gut is screaming at me to get her to safety and I can't ignore it.
She gives me a wry smile, and I get the feeling she knows exactly why I moved her. She wanders through the living room, running her fingers along the framed pictures on the shelves on either side of the fireplace, stopping on one.
I don't have to look to know which one. It's a picture of me and Abuelita a few weeks before my birthday. I'm sitting on her lap on the old brown couch she had. We're both beaming.
"She's beautiful, " she whispers, running her finger across the glass. "You two look so happy."
"We were."
She nods, head turning to look at me. "You were lucky to have each other. I'm sorry it got cut short, but I'm so glad you had as much time with her as you did."
So am I.
She carefully puts the framed picture back on the shelf, then wanders across the apartment. Her fingers dance along the wall outside my bedroom. She stops at the doorway, looking inside, her hands on either side of the doorframe. The pointer finger on her left hand taps the wood frame once, twice, three times, then she drops her hands, and steps inside. Her head and shoulders turn, her blonde hair veiling her face. "Are you coming to bed?"
I change into shorts in a daze. Any numbness or sense of peace about this is gone. Bree is going to be in my bed tonight, and I don't know how to handle it. I should act like this is normal, play it cool, but I don't think I have it in me.
"Nick."
Her voice is muffled through the door, but I still catch every word. They reverberate through me like electricity. "I didn't pack pajamas, and I really don't want to go downstairs, just in case Cara's at our place. Can I borrow a shirt? Maybe one of your baggier ones?"
