“Are you saying he’s ready now?” I hate the hope that seeps past the doubt. I thought I had that hope problem tied up tight. Liam is NOT in love with me. Marisol is delusional.
“I think something is going to happen. And he’ll either run fast in the other direction or…”
“Or what?” I ask.
“Or you better buckle up.” There’s a crash in the background, and Marisol swears under her breath. “I gotta go.” And then she hangs up.
My bet is on Liam running in the other direction. Marisol may think she knows him so well, butIknow him well. He’s not looking to make any bold moves, and he has no reason to. We’re fine the way we are.
Chapter 23 – I’ve Got Nothing
Liam
It’s been a quiet couple of weeks. I’ve tried my hardest to keep my in-person interactions with Rosalie to a minimum. It feels like a smart decision, but one I can’t keep choosing forever. The divide between what we share in conversation and what we share in letters keeps widening. It’s a Thursday morning, which means a company meeting at work first thing, and I have to be on time for it. I can’t keep staring at the ceiling waiting for my second alarm to go off.
I launch from the bed and go into the bathroom to shower and then head to my closet, putting everything on like clockwork.Probably the most boring thing about me is that I prep my work outfits so I never have to choose in the moment. Monday through Friday is all put together before my workweek even begins.
Actually, I didn’t pick this week’s, now that I think about it. Rosalie did. She put my dry cleaning away and separated everything out the way I like. I don’t know if she thinks my clothing habits are smart or fussy, as she’s never said a word.
Her opinion on things was never an issue when she lived in her employee box. Now, I see touches of her all over—my workout clothes are folded just so, there’s the faint clean-linen scent of the detergent she changed us to when we found out Callie was allergic to Tide, and my favorite T-shirt is at the top of the stack so I won’t miss it. She did that.
I grab my phone off the bed, slide it into my back pocket, and walk down to Wyatt’s room.
With summer almost over, I’ve gotten into the habit of waking the kids for Rosalie so they can get used to school hours. I give Wyatt’s shoulder a gentle shake and smile at him when he scrunches his nose and cracks one eye open to look at me.
“It’s not morning yet, Dad.”
“The sun says differently.”
“It won’t in the winter.”
“All the more reason to get reacquainted with early mornings now. I’ll start making pancakes. Rosalie will be here soon, and I bet you she can probably find the mini chocolate chips that went missing.”
“They’re in a drawer in the freezer behind the peas.” He smiles, knowing how that sounds. “I promised Rosie I won’t sneak them anymore. I just can’t tell Callie where they are.”
“Well, aren’t you mature?”
He sits up and pushes his hair back from his face. “When does school start again?”
“In a little over a week. We meet your teacher next Wednesday.”
“Ew.”
“Yeah.” The only thing not “ew” about back-to-school is that now I get a little bit of extra time with them in the mornings. Witha sleepy Callie on my back, I walk downstairs and straight over to the coffee machine, checking on it before moving to look at the calendar. Callie is content to dig her pointy chin into my shoulder and yawn against my neck.
I hear Rosalie enter the kitchen a few seconds before she shuffles over and kisses Callie on the cheek. “Morning, Callie-Bear.”
“Hi, Ro.” Callie wiggles to get down, and I lower, giving her a chance to run off in her bunny-slippered feet.
Rosalie looks at the calendar with me for a second before sliding her hand underneath for her letter. She finds it and slips it into her pocket. It’s like a flip switch for my awkwardness, and if I hadn’t promised chocolate chip pancakes to Wyatt, I’d leave the kitchen right now and find a potted plant to hide behind. Well, I would if I had any potted plants.
“Are you worried about something at work?” Rosalie asks.
“No.” I move past her to pour coffee into my favorite blue mug and take an investigative sip. It’s good. I take another one. “Sorry, I’ve got…” I planned to say I have a lot on my mind, but that’s actually not true. And it’s something people say when what they really mean is that they don’t want to share any of it. “Nothing. I’ve got nothing.”
“What does that mean?” Her grin is lopsided, and it draws out a grin from me in return.
“It means I’m acting weird knowing you’re about to read that.” I nod toward the letter in her front pocket.