Read me, p.18
Read Me, page 18
“Okay.”
“And come to dinner tomorrow.”
“Okay.”
I think my quick agreements surprise him, but I’m honestly too horned up to deny him anything. After a hesitation, he responds with a smirk in his voice, “Get back to work, Summer.”
“Don’t tell me what to do,” I huff. Even though I do need to get back to work. Plus, I just let him tell me a bunch of other things to do without argument.
To maintain a sense of power, I hang up.
Okay, honestly, I hang up because I don’t feel capable of saying goodbye. I could spend the rest of my shift bantering with him. Plus, our conversation was quickly veering toward phone sex, which I just now decide is expressly forbidden while at work.
I must maintain some sense of professionalism.
It’s not until I’m out at the research desk, helping a woman look up information about college night classes, that I remember I had qualms about going to Christmas Eve dinner at Cole’s dad’s house.
When he retracted the offer, my heart went into panic mode.
But why does my heart have a say in any of these decisions? All Cole decisions should strictly be held between my brain and my vagina. Logic and lust.
No other L-words need apply.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
SUMMER
He got me to bite him.
The second I arrived at Cole’s house last night, he started in on his promise. Demanding hands stripped off my clothes and lay me across his bed. He tongued his way down my body, then licked me until I whimpered and begged. But my pleas didn’t get him to stop his delicious torture, so I cursed him.
Then I shoved him off me, straddled him, and sank my teeth into his pec a second before sinking down onto his hard cock.
Currently, Cole drives with one hand on the wheel. The other rubs his chest in the exact spot I left a mark. Something like a smile hides at the corner of his mouth.
Any other day I’d be all smug satisfaction. But I can’t concentrate when all I can do is stare.
He’s wearing a sweater.
Only, sweater is too tame of a word.
Some people might call what he’s wearing an ugly sweater.
But I think it’s gorgeous.
Cole has forgone his normal black attire, opting for a knitted creation worn by only the biggest fans of Frosty the Snowman. The background is an icy blue, bringing beautiful emphasis to his eyes, but taking up the entire front of the sweater is a happy, top-hat-wearing, carrot-nose-sporting snowman.
My brain can’t handle how adorable this sex-on-a-stick man looks in his seasonal wear.
“You’re quiet,” Cole murmurs. Flicking my eyes to the dashboard clock, I realize we’ve been driving for ten minutes without me saying anything.
“Your sweater.” The first words I’m able to manage.
Cole’s face stays blank, and he gives a little shrug. “Yeah?”
“How…when…where…” I can’t settle on a single question, not sure what I want to know first.
“My grandma bought it for me. She’ll be at dinner.” Cole’s mouth is tight at the corners, and I can’t figure out why.
Does he think I’ll make fun of him?
Does he love his sweater and worry I’ll judge him for it?
I lay my hand on his thigh, giving a quick squeeze. “I. Love. It. Love it. You look amazing.”
There’s a hint of a smile twitching over his lips, which I count as a success. “You look amazing.” His hand rests on top of mine, giving me a squeeze back.
The compliment warms my cheeks. I’ve never had a holiday dinner at a guy’s house before, so I wasn’t sure how to approach it. While I’m not as on-theme as Cole, I did opt for a dark green dress and a set of sparkly red flats I refer to as my Dorothy shoes. I’m my own little Christmas tree.
Five minutes later, we pull into the driveway of a small house. Cole puts his truck in park, then jogs around the hood to help me down. I don’t need help, but I like the feel of his strong fingers tangling with mine.
Before I can take a step toward the front door, Cole pulls me into his chest, tilting my chin up so he can capture my mouth in a not-family-friendly kiss. He moves his lips over mine, hot touch searing my skin.
After momentarily giving into my knee-jerk reaction to melt against him, I shove at his chest. Cole stumbles back a step, his stare fixated on my mouth, eyes unfocused.
“Rude!” Working hard to calm my panting breath, I smooth my hands over my dress to make sure there are no wrinkles.
“Summer—”
“You can’t get me all hot and bothered seconds before meeting your dad!” Planting my fists on my hips, I glare at Cole.
He blinks a couple of times before collecting himself. Cole shoves his hands in his pockets, then he has the audacity to smirk at me. “Why not?”
And there’s that bad-boy mentality.
I wish it didn’t send pleasurable shivers all along my nerve endings.
“Because I’ll have a hard time holding conversation if I’m thinking about licking that delicious dip at the base of your throat.”
Cole’s eyes widen, and he smooths a palm over his collarbone, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows.
“And for the love of Wite-Out, I’m wearing lipstick again, you dope.” Rummaging in my purse, I pull out a small mirror and an individually packaged makeup wipe. After fixing the smeared edges of my own lips, I quirk a finger at Cole, beckoning to me.
The cocky bastard is smiling as he steps forward. My fingers clasp his chin, and I wipe him clean of red smears.
Why do I get the feeling he likes messing up my makeup? If he keeps doing it, I’m going to make him pay for my next tube of lipstick.
“Okay. We’re presentable. And definitely not horny.”
Cole snorts and takes my hand, drawing me toward the cute little house. He doesn’t bother knocking, instead opening the front door and yelling, “Dad! We’re here!”
When there’s not a response even after a few seconds pass, I raise an eyebrow at Cole.
He runs a thumb over my knuckles.
“He’s probably out back, grilling. Let’s go find him.”
As we snake through the house, I note framed photos hanging on the walls of a tall thin man next to a surly blonde boy. I make a mental note to return and examine them later. Through a sliding glass door, I spot a lanky, grey-haired man bent over a decent-sized grill.
“Hey, Dad,” Cole says as we step out into the backyard.
Mr. Allemand glances up at our arrival, his sternly set mouth hinting at a smile.
“Cole.” A familiar pair of blue eyes flick to me in silent question.
“This is Summer Pierce. Summer, this is my dad.”
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Allemand.” I move forward, holding out a hand and hoping my lipstick cleanup was thorough enough.
The man gives a curt nod in greeting, returning my handshake.
“Summer is a librarian. At Downtown Public.”
Is that a hint of pride I detect in Cole’s voice?
Mr. Allemand nods, his gaze flitting between me and the grill. “That’s a good job. You help a lot of people, do you?”
“Oh gosh. All day every day.” Is my voice too bright? I can’t help it. I want Cole’s dad to like me, and when I want someone to like me, I slip into cheerfully informative mode. “That’s why I chose to get my Master’s in Library Science. I’ve always loved how libraries, especially public ones, help the community. And I wanted to be a part of that.” Still, I don’t want to talk about me. “But my job is small beans compared to both of yours.”
Cole and his dad both raise the same eyebrow when they look at me, and the sight is a funny kind of adorable.
I explain myself. “Because, you know, Cole is saving and caring for animals. And you’re keeping people safe when they travel. Cole told me you’re an aviation meteorologist. I would be in constant panic mode if my forecast determined if a plane flew or not. I mean, what if there’s a random tornado you didn’t see on the radar? Or a freak hail storm?” Realizing what I just said, I press my knuckles to my forehead. “Damn it, listen to me. It’s like I’m trying to stress you out. Please ignore all that. I’m sure you’re amazing at your job. No need to worry about planes crashing.” Mortification hits me hard, and I whirl toward Cole. “Make me shut up! I can’t stop saying the wrong things!” I wail.
Then I see a glorious thing.
Cole grins.
The expression takes over his entire face, effectively rendering me speechless.
As I attempt to reboot my brain, he leans down to plant a quick kiss on my slack mouth. “You’re doing fine. Right, Dad?”
My gaze somehow detaches from Cole’s face, flitting over to his father. The stern man’s eyes grow wider, but then he clears his throat and returns to his general expressionlessness.
“It’s no bother.”
The man seems unshakable. Of course, I’ve known him for less than five minutes, so it’s not like I’ve discovered the true spectrum.
“How’s the job?” Mr. Allemand asks his son.
Cole starts talking. Not the enthusiastic babbling I just displayed, but he’s going into more detail than I’ve heard him use most times.
He’s relaxed here.
When I told Cole that I wanted to discover the mystery that is him, I wasn’t completely joking. There’s normally a dark hesitance to him. Whenever I see that in another person, I’m drawn to it. I don’t want to be, telling myself those are the types of people most likely to lash out or leave. These dark people are the ones who will hurt me. But I’m pulled in, curious to discover what the root of the darkness is. Where did the twisted tree grow from?
So I came here, wanting to meet Cole’s dad. Would the man be arrogant and loud, overpowering his son with a booming voice? Pushing the creative man I know into the shadows? Or maybe disapproval would flow off him, eyes catching his son’s piercings and tattoos, judgements dripping from his mouth.
But Mr. Allemand isn’t those things. He’s…quiet. Like Cole. Observant, like his son, too. I notice his sharp eyes take in every movement Cole makes. But not as if he’s judging him. He’s simply noticing it all.
And I also see the way Cole looks at his father. The way he leans toward the man, not exactly eager, but something close to that.
“And you’re still writing?” Mr. Allemand asks when Cole finishes his work stories.
I’m just about to bristle at the question, thinking maybe this is where the man cuts his son down, when I notice Cole’s solemn nod. “Every day.”
“Good.”
Good.
Forget all my previous prejudices. This man is an angel.
“And he goes to the writers groups at the library,” I add, eager to let the man know about the great work his son is doing. “That’s how we met. I kept bugging him.”
Cole looks like I announced I juggle bananas with my feet for fun. “You didn’t.”
“Come on. Of course I did. You and your book fortress? I’m like an evil conqueress, always trying to tear it down at the end of the day.”
“That’s not bugging.”
“Okay then, pestering.”
“No.”
I roll my eyes, knowing I’m right. He never wanted my help putting away his books. Guess I’m lucky my constant asking wasn’t a total deal breaker.
My mind catches on how focused I am on whether or not Cole liked me. Like it’s imperative information. But I shove that to the side and instead focus on the bribe I brought.
Well, bribe is being generous. I like to think of it as an enticement to consider me an optimal choice for his son to spend time with.
“Just forget it.” I wave away Cole’s scowl, turning my full attention his father. “Thank you for letting me join you all. I didn’t want to come empty handed, so I brought a little something. Cole mentioned you like to go fishing.” Reaching into my bag, I pull out a glass jar with red and green ribbon twined around the lid. Inside, the cookies I spent all morning baking in my toaster oven fill the container.
“You made fish cookies?” Cole asks, squinting his eyes at them.
“They’re only shaped like fish. They taste like gingerbread,” I say. When I spotted the cookie cutter in the supermarket, I got the idea.
Cole gently takes the jar from my hand, staring through the glass like my little desserts carry all the answers to the universe. The intensity of his gaze sets me on edge.
“What’s wrong? Are you allergic to gingerbread? I guess I should’ve asked, but I thought it was only pineapple.” Damn it. I’m terrified I just messed this dinner up.
“He’s not allergic.” This comes from Mr. Allemand, who steps away from the grill and pries the jar out of his son’s hand. “Thank you, Summer. That was kind of you.”
My cheeks heat with embarrassed pleasure at the compliment.
“Why don’t you get the young lady a drink?” Mr. Allemand phrases this like a question, but it lands like a pointed command when he stares at his son.
“Yeah…a drink.” Cole seems off balance, and I can’t help worrying there is something wrong with my gift.
Did he have some mysterious problem in his past with cookies?
But then a strong set of arms snakes around my waist, pulling me into a hard warm chest. A second later, lips brush against my hair as Cole leans down to ask, “What sounds good? Beer? Wine?”
“Oh, if there’s wine I’d love some. If not, beer is fine.” Too late I realize I’ve yet again left myself open to being offered a glass of something sickly sweet. My problem is that whenever I hear the word wine, I automatically assume it’s going to be a dry rich liquid.
“Your grandma told me to buy a bottle of red. Check on top of the fridge.” Cole’s dad waves us away, returning to whatever he’s grilling for dinner.
With a hand on the small of my back, Cole turns me toward the house.
And only once we’ve stepped away from the older man do I fully acknowledge the tightness of my nerves. Normally, I’m great at one-on-ones. But hell, I wanted Cole’s dad to like me. The reasoning behind that longing is something else I don’t want to dwell on.
Still, for the last ten minutes, I was extremely nervous.
“Can I use the bathroom?”
Cole points me down a hall once we step through the sliding glass door.
Locking myself in the small room, I take stock of myself.
When I get nervous, I sweat. Luckily, I tucked an emergency stick of deodorant into my purse. I need a second to reapply. And maybe swipe a bit under my boobs for good measure.
Overall, not a disaster. Let’s see if I can keep it that way.
COLE
“You have to have a wine opener somewhere,” I mutter, searching through all the drawers in his kitchen. Different kitchen implements rattle around, but nothing that looks like it could remove a cork from a bottle.
“Stop that, Cole.” My dad comes into the kitchen, a scowl on his face, just as I pull out the drawer under the microwave.
This one doesn’t have any cooking utensils. What it is filled with are envelopes. A decent stack of them. All with thick red letters stamped on them.
Bill enclosed.
Final Notice.
Overdue.
“What the fuck are these?”
“Language.”
I ignore his chastising, reaching for one of the pieces of mail. They don’t even look as if they’ve been opened.
But Dad almost snaps one of my fingers off when he crosses the kitchen to slam the drawer shut.
“It’s not your concern.”
“Are those medical bills?”
“We’re not talking about this.”
“I told you to tell me about any money you owe. I’ll pay it.”
“You won’t.” He opens a smaller drawer, coming out with a meat thermometer. “Open the can of cranberry sauce, would you? Your grandmother will be here soon.” My dad, always evading tough discussions rather than facing them head on. At least that’s how it works if the issues are his.
I conveniently ignore any possible resemblance I might have to him in this area.
“I’m the reason you owe this money.”
“You’re not.”
“Yes. I am. We both know how you ended up in the hospital.”
“Cole—”
“That’s some lovely smelling soap you have in the bathroom. Is it apple cider? Very seasonal.” Summer strolls into the kitchen, her hands pressed to her nose. She’s all positive sunshine, and I hate the fact that there’s already a dark cloud over this visit, whether she realizes it or not.
Who am I kidding? The second Summer stops sniffing her fingers, she bounces her gaze between the two of us, picking up on the tension in the room.
She’s too perceptive.
“Not sure,” my father answers, voice gruff. “Just grabbed one off the shelf.”
“Well, kudos to you and your ability to pick random amazing things. Is there anything I can do to help?”
“Distract my son,” my father says, almost making a joke.
“Dad…” I hesitate, not sure what I’m willing to talk about with Summer here. Despite the fact that this shit needs to be figured out, I’m too ashamed to have her know the role I played in my Dad’s no-longer-perfect health. That would no doubt lead to why he has no savings to pay what his health insurance didn’t cover.
Lawyers are expensive.
My struggle for words comes to an end with the sound of the front door opening.
“I’m here!” My grandmother waltzes into the kitchen, a riot of color.
She has on a floor-length dress and feathered earrings, along with a tasseled shawl. People sometimes mistake her for one of the fortune tellers that set up tables in the French Quarter. Doesn’t help that she’s probably carrying a deck of tarot cards in her bag right now.
Summer’s eyes go wide, flicking between me and the vibrant woman I somehow share blood with.
“Oh, look at you.” She comes straight to me, setting affectionate hands on my shoulders. “That sweater is everything I hoped, and you make it more. You know, I found that when I lived in Alaska a few years back. Beautiful state, but the winters are rough. Dark all day and cold enough to kill a yeti.”
“And come to dinner tomorrow.”
“Okay.”
I think my quick agreements surprise him, but I’m honestly too horned up to deny him anything. After a hesitation, he responds with a smirk in his voice, “Get back to work, Summer.”
“Don’t tell me what to do,” I huff. Even though I do need to get back to work. Plus, I just let him tell me a bunch of other things to do without argument.
To maintain a sense of power, I hang up.
Okay, honestly, I hang up because I don’t feel capable of saying goodbye. I could spend the rest of my shift bantering with him. Plus, our conversation was quickly veering toward phone sex, which I just now decide is expressly forbidden while at work.
I must maintain some sense of professionalism.
It’s not until I’m out at the research desk, helping a woman look up information about college night classes, that I remember I had qualms about going to Christmas Eve dinner at Cole’s dad’s house.
When he retracted the offer, my heart went into panic mode.
But why does my heart have a say in any of these decisions? All Cole decisions should strictly be held between my brain and my vagina. Logic and lust.
No other L-words need apply.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
SUMMER
He got me to bite him.
The second I arrived at Cole’s house last night, he started in on his promise. Demanding hands stripped off my clothes and lay me across his bed. He tongued his way down my body, then licked me until I whimpered and begged. But my pleas didn’t get him to stop his delicious torture, so I cursed him.
Then I shoved him off me, straddled him, and sank my teeth into his pec a second before sinking down onto his hard cock.
Currently, Cole drives with one hand on the wheel. The other rubs his chest in the exact spot I left a mark. Something like a smile hides at the corner of his mouth.
Any other day I’d be all smug satisfaction. But I can’t concentrate when all I can do is stare.
He’s wearing a sweater.
Only, sweater is too tame of a word.
Some people might call what he’s wearing an ugly sweater.
But I think it’s gorgeous.
Cole has forgone his normal black attire, opting for a knitted creation worn by only the biggest fans of Frosty the Snowman. The background is an icy blue, bringing beautiful emphasis to his eyes, but taking up the entire front of the sweater is a happy, top-hat-wearing, carrot-nose-sporting snowman.
My brain can’t handle how adorable this sex-on-a-stick man looks in his seasonal wear.
“You’re quiet,” Cole murmurs. Flicking my eyes to the dashboard clock, I realize we’ve been driving for ten minutes without me saying anything.
“Your sweater.” The first words I’m able to manage.
Cole’s face stays blank, and he gives a little shrug. “Yeah?”
“How…when…where…” I can’t settle on a single question, not sure what I want to know first.
“My grandma bought it for me. She’ll be at dinner.” Cole’s mouth is tight at the corners, and I can’t figure out why.
Does he think I’ll make fun of him?
Does he love his sweater and worry I’ll judge him for it?
I lay my hand on his thigh, giving a quick squeeze. “I. Love. It. Love it. You look amazing.”
There’s a hint of a smile twitching over his lips, which I count as a success. “You look amazing.” His hand rests on top of mine, giving me a squeeze back.
The compliment warms my cheeks. I’ve never had a holiday dinner at a guy’s house before, so I wasn’t sure how to approach it. While I’m not as on-theme as Cole, I did opt for a dark green dress and a set of sparkly red flats I refer to as my Dorothy shoes. I’m my own little Christmas tree.
Five minutes later, we pull into the driveway of a small house. Cole puts his truck in park, then jogs around the hood to help me down. I don’t need help, but I like the feel of his strong fingers tangling with mine.
Before I can take a step toward the front door, Cole pulls me into his chest, tilting my chin up so he can capture my mouth in a not-family-friendly kiss. He moves his lips over mine, hot touch searing my skin.
After momentarily giving into my knee-jerk reaction to melt against him, I shove at his chest. Cole stumbles back a step, his stare fixated on my mouth, eyes unfocused.
“Rude!” Working hard to calm my panting breath, I smooth my hands over my dress to make sure there are no wrinkles.
“Summer—”
“You can’t get me all hot and bothered seconds before meeting your dad!” Planting my fists on my hips, I glare at Cole.
He blinks a couple of times before collecting himself. Cole shoves his hands in his pockets, then he has the audacity to smirk at me. “Why not?”
And there’s that bad-boy mentality.
I wish it didn’t send pleasurable shivers all along my nerve endings.
“Because I’ll have a hard time holding conversation if I’m thinking about licking that delicious dip at the base of your throat.”
Cole’s eyes widen, and he smooths a palm over his collarbone, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows.
“And for the love of Wite-Out, I’m wearing lipstick again, you dope.” Rummaging in my purse, I pull out a small mirror and an individually packaged makeup wipe. After fixing the smeared edges of my own lips, I quirk a finger at Cole, beckoning to me.
The cocky bastard is smiling as he steps forward. My fingers clasp his chin, and I wipe him clean of red smears.
Why do I get the feeling he likes messing up my makeup? If he keeps doing it, I’m going to make him pay for my next tube of lipstick.
“Okay. We’re presentable. And definitely not horny.”
Cole snorts and takes my hand, drawing me toward the cute little house. He doesn’t bother knocking, instead opening the front door and yelling, “Dad! We’re here!”
When there’s not a response even after a few seconds pass, I raise an eyebrow at Cole.
He runs a thumb over my knuckles.
“He’s probably out back, grilling. Let’s go find him.”
As we snake through the house, I note framed photos hanging on the walls of a tall thin man next to a surly blonde boy. I make a mental note to return and examine them later. Through a sliding glass door, I spot a lanky, grey-haired man bent over a decent-sized grill.
“Hey, Dad,” Cole says as we step out into the backyard.
Mr. Allemand glances up at our arrival, his sternly set mouth hinting at a smile.
“Cole.” A familiar pair of blue eyes flick to me in silent question.
“This is Summer Pierce. Summer, this is my dad.”
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Allemand.” I move forward, holding out a hand and hoping my lipstick cleanup was thorough enough.
The man gives a curt nod in greeting, returning my handshake.
“Summer is a librarian. At Downtown Public.”
Is that a hint of pride I detect in Cole’s voice?
Mr. Allemand nods, his gaze flitting between me and the grill. “That’s a good job. You help a lot of people, do you?”
“Oh gosh. All day every day.” Is my voice too bright? I can’t help it. I want Cole’s dad to like me, and when I want someone to like me, I slip into cheerfully informative mode. “That’s why I chose to get my Master’s in Library Science. I’ve always loved how libraries, especially public ones, help the community. And I wanted to be a part of that.” Still, I don’t want to talk about me. “But my job is small beans compared to both of yours.”
Cole and his dad both raise the same eyebrow when they look at me, and the sight is a funny kind of adorable.
I explain myself. “Because, you know, Cole is saving and caring for animals. And you’re keeping people safe when they travel. Cole told me you’re an aviation meteorologist. I would be in constant panic mode if my forecast determined if a plane flew or not. I mean, what if there’s a random tornado you didn’t see on the radar? Or a freak hail storm?” Realizing what I just said, I press my knuckles to my forehead. “Damn it, listen to me. It’s like I’m trying to stress you out. Please ignore all that. I’m sure you’re amazing at your job. No need to worry about planes crashing.” Mortification hits me hard, and I whirl toward Cole. “Make me shut up! I can’t stop saying the wrong things!” I wail.
Then I see a glorious thing.
Cole grins.
The expression takes over his entire face, effectively rendering me speechless.
As I attempt to reboot my brain, he leans down to plant a quick kiss on my slack mouth. “You’re doing fine. Right, Dad?”
My gaze somehow detaches from Cole’s face, flitting over to his father. The stern man’s eyes grow wider, but then he clears his throat and returns to his general expressionlessness.
“It’s no bother.”
The man seems unshakable. Of course, I’ve known him for less than five minutes, so it’s not like I’ve discovered the true spectrum.
“How’s the job?” Mr. Allemand asks his son.
Cole starts talking. Not the enthusiastic babbling I just displayed, but he’s going into more detail than I’ve heard him use most times.
He’s relaxed here.
When I told Cole that I wanted to discover the mystery that is him, I wasn’t completely joking. There’s normally a dark hesitance to him. Whenever I see that in another person, I’m drawn to it. I don’t want to be, telling myself those are the types of people most likely to lash out or leave. These dark people are the ones who will hurt me. But I’m pulled in, curious to discover what the root of the darkness is. Where did the twisted tree grow from?
So I came here, wanting to meet Cole’s dad. Would the man be arrogant and loud, overpowering his son with a booming voice? Pushing the creative man I know into the shadows? Or maybe disapproval would flow off him, eyes catching his son’s piercings and tattoos, judgements dripping from his mouth.
But Mr. Allemand isn’t those things. He’s…quiet. Like Cole. Observant, like his son, too. I notice his sharp eyes take in every movement Cole makes. But not as if he’s judging him. He’s simply noticing it all.
And I also see the way Cole looks at his father. The way he leans toward the man, not exactly eager, but something close to that.
“And you’re still writing?” Mr. Allemand asks when Cole finishes his work stories.
I’m just about to bristle at the question, thinking maybe this is where the man cuts his son down, when I notice Cole’s solemn nod. “Every day.”
“Good.”
Good.
Forget all my previous prejudices. This man is an angel.
“And he goes to the writers groups at the library,” I add, eager to let the man know about the great work his son is doing. “That’s how we met. I kept bugging him.”
Cole looks like I announced I juggle bananas with my feet for fun. “You didn’t.”
“Come on. Of course I did. You and your book fortress? I’m like an evil conqueress, always trying to tear it down at the end of the day.”
“That’s not bugging.”
“Okay then, pestering.”
“No.”
I roll my eyes, knowing I’m right. He never wanted my help putting away his books. Guess I’m lucky my constant asking wasn’t a total deal breaker.
My mind catches on how focused I am on whether or not Cole liked me. Like it’s imperative information. But I shove that to the side and instead focus on the bribe I brought.
Well, bribe is being generous. I like to think of it as an enticement to consider me an optimal choice for his son to spend time with.
“Just forget it.” I wave away Cole’s scowl, turning my full attention his father. “Thank you for letting me join you all. I didn’t want to come empty handed, so I brought a little something. Cole mentioned you like to go fishing.” Reaching into my bag, I pull out a glass jar with red and green ribbon twined around the lid. Inside, the cookies I spent all morning baking in my toaster oven fill the container.
“You made fish cookies?” Cole asks, squinting his eyes at them.
“They’re only shaped like fish. They taste like gingerbread,” I say. When I spotted the cookie cutter in the supermarket, I got the idea.
Cole gently takes the jar from my hand, staring through the glass like my little desserts carry all the answers to the universe. The intensity of his gaze sets me on edge.
“What’s wrong? Are you allergic to gingerbread? I guess I should’ve asked, but I thought it was only pineapple.” Damn it. I’m terrified I just messed this dinner up.
“He’s not allergic.” This comes from Mr. Allemand, who steps away from the grill and pries the jar out of his son’s hand. “Thank you, Summer. That was kind of you.”
My cheeks heat with embarrassed pleasure at the compliment.
“Why don’t you get the young lady a drink?” Mr. Allemand phrases this like a question, but it lands like a pointed command when he stares at his son.
“Yeah…a drink.” Cole seems off balance, and I can’t help worrying there is something wrong with my gift.
Did he have some mysterious problem in his past with cookies?
But then a strong set of arms snakes around my waist, pulling me into a hard warm chest. A second later, lips brush against my hair as Cole leans down to ask, “What sounds good? Beer? Wine?”
“Oh, if there’s wine I’d love some. If not, beer is fine.” Too late I realize I’ve yet again left myself open to being offered a glass of something sickly sweet. My problem is that whenever I hear the word wine, I automatically assume it’s going to be a dry rich liquid.
“Your grandma told me to buy a bottle of red. Check on top of the fridge.” Cole’s dad waves us away, returning to whatever he’s grilling for dinner.
With a hand on the small of my back, Cole turns me toward the house.
And only once we’ve stepped away from the older man do I fully acknowledge the tightness of my nerves. Normally, I’m great at one-on-ones. But hell, I wanted Cole’s dad to like me. The reasoning behind that longing is something else I don’t want to dwell on.
Still, for the last ten minutes, I was extremely nervous.
“Can I use the bathroom?”
Cole points me down a hall once we step through the sliding glass door.
Locking myself in the small room, I take stock of myself.
When I get nervous, I sweat. Luckily, I tucked an emergency stick of deodorant into my purse. I need a second to reapply. And maybe swipe a bit under my boobs for good measure.
Overall, not a disaster. Let’s see if I can keep it that way.
COLE
“You have to have a wine opener somewhere,” I mutter, searching through all the drawers in his kitchen. Different kitchen implements rattle around, but nothing that looks like it could remove a cork from a bottle.
“Stop that, Cole.” My dad comes into the kitchen, a scowl on his face, just as I pull out the drawer under the microwave.
This one doesn’t have any cooking utensils. What it is filled with are envelopes. A decent stack of them. All with thick red letters stamped on them.
Bill enclosed.
Final Notice.
Overdue.
“What the fuck are these?”
“Language.”
I ignore his chastising, reaching for one of the pieces of mail. They don’t even look as if they’ve been opened.
But Dad almost snaps one of my fingers off when he crosses the kitchen to slam the drawer shut.
“It’s not your concern.”
“Are those medical bills?”
“We’re not talking about this.”
“I told you to tell me about any money you owe. I’ll pay it.”
“You won’t.” He opens a smaller drawer, coming out with a meat thermometer. “Open the can of cranberry sauce, would you? Your grandmother will be here soon.” My dad, always evading tough discussions rather than facing them head on. At least that’s how it works if the issues are his.
I conveniently ignore any possible resemblance I might have to him in this area.
“I’m the reason you owe this money.”
“You’re not.”
“Yes. I am. We both know how you ended up in the hospital.”
“Cole—”
“That’s some lovely smelling soap you have in the bathroom. Is it apple cider? Very seasonal.” Summer strolls into the kitchen, her hands pressed to her nose. She’s all positive sunshine, and I hate the fact that there’s already a dark cloud over this visit, whether she realizes it or not.
Who am I kidding? The second Summer stops sniffing her fingers, she bounces her gaze between the two of us, picking up on the tension in the room.
She’s too perceptive.
“Not sure,” my father answers, voice gruff. “Just grabbed one off the shelf.”
“Well, kudos to you and your ability to pick random amazing things. Is there anything I can do to help?”
“Distract my son,” my father says, almost making a joke.
“Dad…” I hesitate, not sure what I’m willing to talk about with Summer here. Despite the fact that this shit needs to be figured out, I’m too ashamed to have her know the role I played in my Dad’s no-longer-perfect health. That would no doubt lead to why he has no savings to pay what his health insurance didn’t cover.
Lawyers are expensive.
My struggle for words comes to an end with the sound of the front door opening.
“I’m here!” My grandmother waltzes into the kitchen, a riot of color.
She has on a floor-length dress and feathered earrings, along with a tasseled shawl. People sometimes mistake her for one of the fortune tellers that set up tables in the French Quarter. Doesn’t help that she’s probably carrying a deck of tarot cards in her bag right now.
Summer’s eyes go wide, flicking between me and the vibrant woman I somehow share blood with.
“Oh, look at you.” She comes straight to me, setting affectionate hands on my shoulders. “That sweater is everything I hoped, and you make it more. You know, I found that when I lived in Alaska a few years back. Beautiful state, but the winters are rough. Dark all day and cold enough to kill a yeti.”
