Birthday Girl
: Chapter 2

“I don’t think this is a good idea,” I tell Cole, pulling out my stacked milk crates from the back of his car. “I feel like a freeloader.”

My boyfriend brandishes that quirky tilt to his lips where you only see the left side of his teeth. “So, what are you gonna do then?” He looks up at me, sliding my collapsible drafting table toward him and lifting it up. “Stay at your parents’?”

His blue eyes are hooded, probably from the lack of sleep, as we both walk over and set our loads on the porch steps to Pike Lawson’s house.

Our new home.

The past few days have been crazy, and I can’t believe that guy is his father. What are the chances? I wish we’d met a little differently. Not driving down to the police station at two o’clock in the morning to get his son—my boyfriend—out of jail.

“Come on, I told you,” Cole says, walking back to the car for another load. “My dad was the one who offered to let us stay here. We just chip in on chores, and this gives us a chance to save up for a new place. A better place.”

Right. And how many kids move back home to do just that and end up staying for another three years instead? His dad had to know what he was opening himself up to.

I’ll make every effort to be gone as soon as possible, but Cole doesn’t save money. Setting up a new place, with a deposit—which we lost at the previous apartment due to minor damages to the carpets—and utilities will take substantial cash. Once we get a place, Cole can help pay for it, but actually getting in there and set up will be on me.

It’s been three days since the theater and meeting Pike Lawson. Once we got Cole out, I came home to replace our apartment completely trashed. Apparently, he was trying to throw me a late birthday party at our place, but our friends—his friends—didn’t wait to start the festivities. By eleven, everyone was drunk, the pizza was gone, but hey, they saved me a piece of cake.

I had to go into the bathroom so I wouldn’t cry in front of them when I saw the place.

Apparently, a fight started during the party, neighbors complained about the noise, Cole mouthed off, and he and another one of his buddies were taken in to cool down. Mel, the landlord, stated in no uncertain terms that he’d had enough and Cole had to go. I was welcome to stay, but there was no way I could pay for everything by myself. Not after I’d already drained my savings, helping repair his car last month.

And thank goodness the cops let him go without bail this time, because I didn’t have a hundred bucks to squeeze out of anywhere, much less twenty-five hundred.

“You’re his son,” I remind Cole, grabbing my floor lamp—one of the only big things we didn’t put into storage, since Cole’s dad already had one of the spare bedrooms furnished. “But me staying here, too, with him paying all the bills? It’s not right.”

“Well, I don’t think it’s right for me to have to go without this every day,” he teases with a cocky grin as he pulls me to him and wraps his arms around my body. I release the lamp and smile, indulging his playfulness even though I’m feeling out of sorts. It’s been a long time since I’ve been at ease long enough to forget the stress hitting us at every turn. We haven’t smiled together in a while, and it’s starting to not come naturally anymore.

But right now, he has that boyish glint to his eyes like he’s just the most adorable tornado and “don’t you just love me?”

He plants his forehead to mine, and I thread my fingers through the back of his blond hair and look up into his dark blue eyes that always give the impression that he just remembered he has a whole pie waiting in the refrigerator.

Taking my right hand in his, he pulls both up between us, and I clasp his in mine, already knowing what he’s doing. Our fingers wrap around the other’s hand, our thumbs side by side, and he holds my eyes, the same memories passing between us.

To anyone else it looks like an arm-wrestling grip, but when we look down, we see our thumbs side-by-side and the small, pea-sized scar we both have and share with only one other person. It’s silly when we tell people the story—a friend’s little brother’s Nerf gun that was too small for our hands, and we got skinned when we tried to use it, all three of us laughing when we realized we had the same exact scar at the head of our metacarpals.

Now it’s just Cole and me. Just the two of us. Two scars, no longer three.

“Stay with me, okay?” he whispers. “I need you.”

And for a rare moment, I see vulnerability.

I needed him, too, once, and he was there. We’ve been through a lot, and he’s probably my best friend.

Which is why I’m too forgiving with him. I don’t want him to hurt.

And which is why I let him talk me into this. I really don’t want to move in with my dad and stepmom, and it’s just until the end of the summer. Once my student loans come in for the fall, and I’ve saved up from working this summer, I can afford my own place again. I think.

Cole holds me tight and remains quiet. He knows I’m still mad at him about getting arrested and the damage to the apartment, but he knows I care. I’m starting to wonder if it’s one of my faults. Definitely my weakness.

He reaches down and cups my ass, diving into my neck and kissing me. I gasp as he presses himself into me, and I laugh, squirming out of his arms.

“Stop!” I scold in a whisper as I glance nervously to the two-story house behind me. “We don’t have privacy anymore.”

He smirks. “My dad’s still at work, babe. He won’t be home until around five.”

Oh. Well, that’s good at least. I look up and down the neighborhood street, though, seeing house after house, curtains open, and kids playing here and there. It’s not like the apartments where everyone sees your business but doesn’t really care, because you’re transient and won’t stick around long enough for anyone to think you’re worth their attention. Here, in a real neighborhood, people invest their time in who lives next door.

I take a deep breath, soaking in the smell of grills and the sound of lawn mowers. It’s a really nice neighborhood. I wonder if this could be me someday. Will I replace a great job? Have a nice house? Will I be happy?

Cole bows his forehead to mine again. “I’m sorry, you know.” He doesn’t look at me, staring at the ground. “I keep screwing up, and I don’t know why. I’m just so restless. I just can’t…”

But he doesn’t finish. He just shakes his head, and I know. I always know.

Cole isn’t a loser. He’s nineteen. Impulsive, angry, and confused.

But unlike me, he never had to grow up. There’s always someone taking care of him.

“You know who you’re meant to be,” I tell him. “Committing to it is a different process for everyone, but you’ll get there.”

He raises his eyes, and a moment of hesitance crosses his gaze like he’s going to say something, but then it’s gone. He flashes his cocky little grin instead. “I don’t deserve you,” he says, and then he slaps me on the ass.

I jerk, holding in my annoyance as we let go of each other. No, you don’t. But you’re cute, and you give good massages.

We finish unloading the car and make several trips back and forth, carrying everything into the house. I drop off the few groceries I bought earlier into the kitchen and then carry one last box through the living room, and up the stairs to our room, first door on the left.

I inhale a deep breath through my nose as I round the doorway into our new bedroom, unable to hide my smile at the smell of fresh paint. From the looks of the house we’re moving into, Cole’s father is renovating. Although it seems like the bulk of the major work is done. There were gleaming hardwood floors downstairs, matching crown molding in every room, granite countertops in the kitchen with all new-looking chrome appliances, and the black and glass cabinetry kind of made my heart flutter a little. I had never lived in a place even remotely this nice. For a construction worker, Pike Lawson wasn’t a bad designer.

It’s definitely a nice house. A really nice place, in fact. Not that it’s a mansion—just a simple, two-story craftsman with a small, walk-up porch leading to the front door—but it’s redone, beautiful, well-kept, and the front and back yards are green.

I set the box down and walk to the window, peeking between the blinds. An actual yard. Cole’s mom’s living situation wasn’t always great, so it’s nice to know he has a clean, safe neighborhood here whenever he needs. I wonder why he always made it seem like he needed someone to take care of him when he had this anytime he wanted. What is up with him and Pike Lawson?

Someday I’m going to have a place like this, too. My father, unfortunately, will die in that trailer I grew up in.

Cole walks in, swinging a couple suitcases onto the bed, and immediately leaves again, digging out his phone on his way out.

“Do you think your dad will mind if I use the kitchen?” I call, following him out of the room. “I got stuff to make burgers.”

He keeps walking, but I hear his breathy laugh. “I can’t imagine any guy, even my dad, is going to say a woman can’t use his kitchen to make him a meal, babe.”

Yeah, right. I shoot a look at his back as he takes a right into the living room and heads outside. I keep going straight, into the kitchen.

I used to like doing things for Cole. Being there for him better than my mother was for my father. Keeping a clean house—or apartment—and seeing him smile when I made his life a little bit easier or made sure he had what he needed. It’s gotten one-sided over the past few months, though.

His father is doing a lot for us, though, and cooking a few nights a week is part of the arrangement, so I have no problem keeping my end of the deal. Well, our end of the deal, but Cole isn’t going to cook, so I’ll leave the yard work to him, which his father also stipulated was his responsibility to keep up.

Pike Lawson. I’ve had to make an effort to not think about the theater the other night. It’s still hard to wrap my head around the randomness of the whole situation.

I keep thinking about the matchstick in the donut, and the pep talk he gave me about going after what I want. Part of me, though, feels like he was saying those things to himself, too. Experience and maybe a little disappointment laced his tone, and I want to know more about him. Like what he was like as a young father.

And so I thought he was cute. So what? I think Chris Hemsworth is cute. And Ryan Gosling, Tom Hardy, Henry Cavill, Jason Momoa, the Winchester brothers… It’s not like I had sexual thoughts, for crying out loud. It doesn’t have to be awkward.

It can’t be. I’m with his son.

Walking over to one of the chairs at the kitchen table, I dig my phone out of my bag and start my app, Jessie’s Girl immediately playing where it left off after my run this morning. I do a scan of the kitchen, as well as a quick peek back into the living room, making sure none of our things are laying around. I don’t want his dad inconvenienced any more than he already is.

I walk to the fridge, running my hand over the island countertop as I pass by. While the other counters are a tan granite with accents of black, the island top is made of butcher block. The smooth wood is warm under my fingertips, and I don’t feel any grooves from carving. The whole kitchen looks recently redone, so maybe he hasn’t used the cutting board much. Or maybe he isn’t a big cook.

A practical, bronze metal light fixture hangs over the island, and I do a little twirl before reaching the refrigerator, laughing under my breath. It’s nice to be able to move without bumping into something. The only thing this kitchen needs that would make me go from an impressed nod to fanning myself in heat would be some backsplash. Backsplash is hot.

Reaching into the refrigerator, I pull out the ground beef, butter, and mozzarella, kicking the door closed with my foot as I turn around and set everything on the island. I pick up the two onions I left on the counter before and bob my head to the music, sliding and swaying, as I grab a butcher knife from the block and start chopping both into the thin slices.

The music in my ears builds, the hair on my arms rises, and I feel a burst of energy in my legs, because I want to dance, but I won’t let myself. I hope Pike Lawson is okay with 80’s music in his house from time to time. He didn’t say he didn’t like it in the theater, but he didn’t also bank on us living with him.

I stick to lip syncing and head banging while I form five large patties in my hands and start to add them to a clean pan, already heated and layered with melted butter.

My hips are rolling side to side when I feel a tickle making its way around my waist. I jump, my heart leaping into my chest as a gasp lodges in my throat.

Spinning around, I see my sister behind me. “Cam!” I whine.

“Gotcha,” she teases, grinning ear to ear and jabbing me in the ribs again.

I pause the music on my phone. “How’d you get in? I didn’t hear the bell.”

She walks back around the island and sits at a stool, resting her elbows down and picking up an onion ring. “I passed Cole outside,” she explains. “He told me to just come in.”

I arch my neck, peering out of the window and seeing him and a couple of his friends circle my grandma’s old VW that Cole’s dad paid to have towed here since it doesn’t run right now. I couldn’t leave it at the apartment, and Cole looks like he’s finally making good on his promise to fix it, so I can have a car.

The sizzle of the meat frying in the pan hits my ears, and I turn around, flipping the burgers. A speckle of grease hits my forearm, and I wince at the sting.

I know Cam’s here to check up on me. Old habits and that.

My sister is only four years older, but she was the mom our mom didn’t stick around to be. I stayed in that trailer park until I graduated high school, but Cam left when she was sixteen and has been on her own ever since. Just her and her son.

I glanced at the clock, seeing it was just after five. My nephew must be with the sitter by now, and she must be on her way to work.

“So, where’s the father?” she asks me.

“Still at work, I suppose.”

He’ll be home soon, though. I transfer the burgers from the pan to the plate and take out the buns, opening up the package.

“Is he nice?” she finally asks, sounding hesitant.

I have my back turned to her, so she can’t see my annoyance. My sister is a woman who doesn’t mince words. The fact that she’s guarding her tone says she’s probably having thoughts I don’t want to hear. Like why the hell am I not just taking the higher-paying job her boss offered me last fall, so I can stay in my apartment?

“He seems nice.” I nod, casting her a glance. “Kind of quiet, I think.”

“You’re quiet.”

I shoot her a smirk, correcting her, “I’m serious. There’s a difference.”

She snickers and sits up straight, pulling down the hem of her white tank top, the red, lace bra underneath very well visible. “Someone had to be serious in our house, I guess.”

‘In our house’ growing up, she means.

She flips her brown hair behind her shoulder, and I see the long, silver earrings she wears that matches her glittery make-up, smoky eyes, and shiny lips.

“How’s Killian?” I ask, remembering my nephew.

“A brat, as usual,” she says. But then stops like she remembers something. “No, wait. Today he told me that he tells his friends I’m his big sister when I come to get him from daycare.” She scoffs. “The little shit is embarrassed by me. But still, I was like ‘Whoa, people actually believe that?’” And then she flips her hair again, putting on a show. “I mean, I still look good, don’t I?”

“You’re only twenty-three.” I top the burger with shredded mozzarella, add another patty, and top that, as well. “Of course, you do.”

“Mmm-hmm.” She snaps her fingers. “Gotta make that money while I can.”

I meet her eyes, and it’s only for a moment, but it’s long enough to see the falter in her humor. The way her bemused smile looks like an apology and how she blinks, filling the silence as her awkward words hang in the air.

And how she pulls the hem of her top down to cover as much of her stomach as she can in the presence of her little sister.

My sister hates what she does for a living, but she likes the money more.

She finally turns her attention back to me, her tone sounding almost accusing. “So, what are you doing, by the way?”

“Making dinner.”

She shakes her head, rolling her eyes. “So not only do you not cut loose the male you’re with, but now you’re waiting hand and foot on another one?”

I place a couple onion rings on the first double cheeseburger and top it with a bun. “I am not.”

“Yes, you are.”

I glare at her. “We’re staying here—in this fabulous neighborhood, mind you—rent-free. The least I can do is make sure we keep our end of the bargain. We clean up and share some of the cooking duties. That’s all.”

Her right eyebrow arches sternly, and she crosses her arms over her chest, not buying it. Oh, for crying out loud. I actually think we’re getting the better end of this bargain than Pike Lawson, after all. Central air, cable and Wi-Fi, a walk-in closet…

I reach over the counter and pull the blinds up, barking to get her off my back, “He has a pool, Cam! I mean, come on.”

Her eyes go wide. “No shit?”

She pops out of her chair and scurries over, peering into the backyard. The pool is perfect. Shaped like an hourglass, the multi-colored tiles on the deck are Mediterranean-style, and it has a walk-in entry with a mosaic floor. Cole’s dad must be still working on it because there’s a display on the far end of the pool with flowerless flower beds and spouts for mini waterfalls that aren’t yet running. There’s a table and chairs placed haphazardly around the perimeter, and the rest of the grassy backyard has various lawn furniture not yet set up in any discernable way. A table umbrella lays to the right, next to the hose, and a barbeque grill sits covered with a tarp to the left.

My sister nods approvingly. “This is nice. You were always meant to live in a house like this.”

“Who isn’t?” I shoot back. Everyone should be so lucky.

Although it still feels wrong being here. I care a lot about Cole, though, and I’d rather be with him than at my dad’s.

I finish up the burgers, while she turns around, gripping the counter at her sides and stares at me. “You sure all he wants is a little cleaning and cooking?” she presses. “Men, no matter the age, are all the same. I should know.”

Yeah, you can shut up now. I can take care of myself. If high school boyfriends and working in a bar haven’t taught me that by now…

But she speaks up again, moving into my space and stopping me. “Just listen to me for a second.” Her tone turns firm. “It’s a nice house, a safe neighborhood, and yes, you can save up a little money. But you don’t have to stay here.”

“It’s not Dad and Corinne’s, so there’s that,” I argue back. “And I can’t stay with you. I appreciate the offer, but I can’t be on the couch in everyone’s way and be able to study with a four-year-old trying to be a kid in his own house.”

I have a summer class on Thursdays, so I need some space to work.

“That’s not what I meant,” she quickly retorts. “You could’ve stayed in that apartment. You could’ve afforded it.”

I open my mouth but shut it again, turning around to slip the burgers into the oven for a few minutes.

Not this again. When is she going to give it up?

“I can’t, okay?” I tell her. “I don’t want to. I like my job, and I don’t to work where you work.”

“Of course, you don’t.” She gives me a bored look. “It’s beneath you, right?”

“That’s not what I said.”

I don’t think less of my sister because of her job. She feeds and clothes her kid. She swallowed her pride and did what she had to do, and I love her for it. But—and I would never say this to her face—it’s not a career she would’ve picked for herself if she’d had other choices.

And I’m not out of choices yet.

Cam has been dancing at The Hook since she was eighteen. At first, it was just a temporary job to get through her boyfriend leaving her and to support their son. But juggling college and her child became too much, and eventually, she quit school. It was the plan to get back on track once Killian started kindergarten, but that’ll be soon, and I don’t think she has immediate plans to quit anytime soon. She’s gotten used to the money.

And nearly a year ago, her boss offered me a job bartending there, and she’s been on my ass to take it ever since. I could make more than enough to support myself, after all, and maybe not have to take out so many student loans, either. A few years and that’s it, she’d said. I’d be out.

But I know bartending is just the job her boss gets girls to take while he works them over to get them to start dancing on stage.

And I’m not doing that. I’m not watching my sister do that every night, either.

My body is private. It’s personal to me and whom I want to show it to. I’ll stay at Grounders, thank you.

“I’m fine where I am,” I tell her. “I got this.”

She sighs. “Alright,” she says, giving up for now. “Just be prepared if this doesn’t work out, okay?”

This, meaning Cole and me living in his father’s house.

I move around her to pull some lemonade out of the fridge and suddenly hear the low rumble of an engine growing closer. I stop, peering toward the window, and see the corner of a black truck pull into the driveway. The same ’71 Chevy Cheyenne I rode in after the movie the other night to get Cole at the police station.

My heart thumps in my chest, but I ignore it and quickly close the fridge.

“His father’s home,” I tell her, grabbing her purse on the counter and shoving it at her. “You need to go.”

“Why?”

“Because this isn’t my house,” I bite out, pushing her toward the laundry room and the back door. “At least let me wait a week before I impose on his space with all my friends.”

“I’m your sister.”

I hear a car door slam.

I keep pushing her out toward the back, but she’s digging in her heels. “And you better keep me posted,” she says. “I’m not letting you let some beer-bellied, middle-aged pervert who was only too happy to let a hot pair of teenage thighs move into his house start demanding a little extra from his new tenant.”

“Shut up.” But I can’t help laughing a little.

Yeah, he’s not beer-bellied, middle-aged, or a pervert. I don’t think, anyway.

She turns around, jabbing me in the stomach playfully and lowering her voice to a deep, husky tone. “Come on, honey.” She squirms up to me, trying to wrap her arms around me seductively. “Time to work off your rent, baby.”

“Shut up!” I whisper-yell, laughing and trying to nudge her out of the kitchen. “God, you’re embarrassing. Get out!”

“Don’t be scared,” she continues, pretending she’s some creepy old guy as she slobbers up her lips and tries to get a kiss from me. “Little girls take care of their daddies.”

And she mock thrusts into me, jutting out what beer belly she can muster with her twenty-two-inch waist.

“Stop it!” I plead, flaming with embarrassment.

She paws me up and down my hips, smiling as I try to shove her out of the kitchen.

But then she stops suddenly, her face falling and her eyes focused on something—or someone—behind me.

I close my eyes for a moment. Great.

Turning around, I see Cole’s father standing in the entryway between the living room and the kitchen, paused and staring at us. Heat rises up my neck at the sight of him again.

I hear my sister suck in a breath, and I move away from her, clearing my throat. I don’t think he heard anything. At least, I hope not.

His eyes dart between us and finally come to rest on me. His short hair is just a little messy, and I can see the sweat from his workday still dampening the sides, and the five-o’clock shadow coming in across his jaw. Black marks scuff his forearms, and the tendons in his tanned hands flex as he grips his tool belt and lunch container.

He inhales a deep breath and moves forward, setting his things on the island. “All moved in?” he asks me, running a hand through his hair.

I nod. “Yeah,” I blurt out. “I mean, yes.”

My heart is doing that thing again where it feels like it’s riding on ocean waves inside my chest, and I can’t remember what I’m supposed to be doing. So I just nod again, blinking until my sister comes into view at my side and I finally remember what’s going on.

“Pike. Mr. Lawson,” I correct myself, “Sorry. This is my sister, Cam.” I gesture to her. “And she was just leaving.”

He glances over at her. “Hi.”

And then to my surprise, his gaze moves back to me for a moment before he sees the mail on the counter and begins flipping through it like we’re not even here.

I blink, slightly confused.

Cam’s a carnival ride. She might be younger than him, but she’s certainly a woman, and most men let their eyes linger on her, her long legs, and the perky and expensive handfuls she has under that tank top. He doesn’t.

“Yeah, nice to meet you,” she says back. “Thanks for taking her in.”

He spares us a quick glance and half-smile before taking all the envelopes and stuffing them in a mail holder.

Cam starts to walk out of the kitchen, and I follow her as she enters the laundry room.

Once she’s out of his line-of-sight, she spins around, mouthing to me “Oh, my God” with a mischievous gleam in her wide eyes.

I clench my jaw, jerking my chin to keep her moving. She’s going to be over here every other day flirting with him now.

I hear Pike behind me, opening one of the ovens, and I turn around.

“I was making dinner,” I tell him. “For the three of us. Is that okay?”

He closes the oven, and I see a hint of relief on his face. “Yeah, that’s great, actually.” He sighs. “Thank you. I’m starving.”

“It’ll just be fifteen more minutes.”

He reaches into the refrigerator and pulls out a Corona, sticking the cap under an opener nailed under the island and pulls the top off, the cap dropping into the trash. “Enough time for a shower,” he replies, glancing down at us. “Excuse me.”

And then he walks out of the kitchen, the bottle hanging from his fingers as he clears the entryway by only half a foot. I pause, it hitting me how tall he is again. This is a good size house, too, but it will be impossible to not notice him in a room.

“Now I get it,” my sister whispers a taunt in my ear. “And here I was, worried you’d be suffering unwanted advances from a sweaty, old, fat fart.”

“Shut up.” I close my eyes in exasperation.

I hear the back door open and humor laces her voice as she teases, “You take care of your men now.”

I whirl around to slam the door closed in her face, but she squeals, pulling it shut before I have a chance.

“Oh, I don’t like onions.”

I stop at Pike’s words and stare down at the barbeque sauce drizzled all over my onion ring-stacked masterpieces. They’re an Instagram post just waiting to happen. If I take off the beautiful, golden onions it’ll just be a Pinterest fail.

“Try a bite?” I venture, with a timid smile. “You’ll like this. I promise.”

In my experience, men will eat what’s in front of them.

He seems to think about it for a moment and then closes the fridge and meets my gaze. His expression softens. “Okay.”

He probably feels like he owes me a bite, since I made dinner, so I’ll take it. Topping the burger, I hand him the plate, and he carries it over to a stool, taking a bite before he even sits down. I spare a glance over my shoulder. His jaw stops moving, and he blinks a few times, the muscles in his cheeks flexing. And then I hear a groan.

I turn back around to the stove so he can’t see my smile.

“That’s good, actually,” he says. “Really good.”

I just nod, but I feel a small pinch of pride.

“When you eat cheap growing up,” I tell him, “you replace your own ways of adding a little gourmet to it.”

He doesn’t say anything for a few seconds but follows with a quiet, “Yeah.”

I’m not sure if that means he’s just listening attentively or agreeing with me. If he’s found out my last name, he must know who my father is. Everyone in town knows Chip Hadley, so he would have an idea of how we lived.

I don’t know much about Cole’s family, though, or if they’ve always lived in this town. Pike Lawson isn’t wealthy, but he’s certainly not poor by the looks of his house.

“It’s really good. I mean it,” he says again.

“Thanks.” I turn around and place a plate on the island perpendicular to his seat for Cole and my own at the stool next to that one.

We fall silent, and I wonder if he feels weird, too. We talked so easily the other night when we didn’t know who the other one was, but it’s changed now.

I hear movement from the living room and glance around to see Cole coming into the kitchen. I smile. He has grease all over his shirt already and a streak under his lip. He can misbehave like it’s his job, but he can also flaunt some boyish charm like nobody’s business.

He grabs the hamburger off his plate in one hand and tucks some dirty, rusted car part under his arm, tipping his chin at me. “Hey, babe. We’re working on your VW. You don’t mind if I eat outside, do you?”

I stare at him.

Is he serious? I shoot my eyes between him and his father. “Yes,” I reply quietly, trying to say more with my eyes. I don’t want to eat alone with his dad.

“Come on.” Cole cocks his head, trying to work me with his playful expression. “I can’t just leave them out there. You could come and sit outside with us.”

Gee, thanks. I purse my lips and turn back to the refrigerator, yanking out the pitcher of lemonade. It’s rude to just leave. His father’s not our meal ticket. I should make some effort to get to know him.

But before I can tell Cole to just go and eat outside, his father speaks up. “Why don’t you sit down for ten minutes? I haven’t seen you in a while.”

Relief hits me, and I’m thankful for the backup. I finally hear Cole release a breath and the legs of one of the island stools scrape across the tile as he takes a seat in front of his plate.

I make sure the oven is off, grab my drink, and follow Cole’s father as he sits down, leaving the seat between him and Cole empty. I take it, reaching over the island and pulling my plate to me.

“So, how’s work?” Mr. Lawson asks, and I assume he’s talking to Cole.

Cole’s right hand replaces my thigh as he uses his left to lift the burger to his mouth, and I glance at his father, seeing his eyes downcast and looking at Cole’s hand on me. His jaw flexes as he looks back up.

“It’s work.” Cole shrugs. “It’s a lot easier now that the weather has warmed up, though.”

Cole’s been doing road construction since we moved in together about nine months ago. He’s gone through a lot of jobs since I’ve known him, but this one has lasted.

“Thinking any more about college?” his dad probes.

But Cole just scoffs. “It took everything I had to finish high school. You know that.”

I raise the lemonade to my lips and take a sip, my tight stomach and not wanting food at the moment. Cole’s father chews and sets his burger down, lifting his bottle next.

“Time moves a lot faster than you think it will,” he replies quietly, almost to himself. “I almost joined the Navy when I found out…” But he trails off, finishing instead, “when I was eighteen.”

But I think I know what he was going to say. When I found out I was going to be a dad. Pike Lawson doesn’t look old enough to be the father of a grown son, so he had to have been pretty young when Cole was born. No more than eighteen or nineteen himself. Which would put him at thirty-eight? Give or take?

“I just couldn’t wrap my head around the fact that I was giving up seven years of my life,” he goes on. “But seven years came and went pretty fast. Securing a good future takes an investment and a commitment, Cole, but it’s worth it.”

“Was it for you?” his son shoots back, tearing off a bite of burger, his hand lightly squeezing the inside of my thigh. It’s a subtle gesture I actually love despite the building tension in the room. It’s his way of letting me know he might be angry, but he’s not angry with me, and he hates that I’m probably uncomfortable right now.

Cole’s father takes a drink from his bottle and calmly sets it back down, his tone now harder. “Well, I’ve had the money to bail you out of jail,” he points out. “Last time. And the time before that.”

Cole’s hand tightens around my thigh, and my neck is so hot all of a sudden that I wish I had a hair tie. A thousand questions whirl around my head. Why don’t they get along? What happened? Cole’s dad seems okay, from what little I know about him, but Cole has erected a wall between them, and his dad has almost as short of a fuse as his son.

Cheeseburger in hand, Cole shoves his plate away from him and pushes his chair back, standing up. “I’m eating outside,” he says, releasing my leg. “Come join us if you want, babe. And leave the dishes. I’ll do them in a bit.”

I open my mouth to speak but stop myself, clenching my teeth instead. Well, this is going to be fun.

Cole turns and walks out of the room, and moments later I hear the front door slam shut. Muffled voices carry in from outside, and a horn honks down the street, but it’s suddenly so quiet in the kitchen that I stop breathing. Hopefully Pike Lawson will forget I’m here.

How the hell am I supposed to live here? I can’t take sides if they’re going to do this.

But Pike speaks up, softening his voice. “It’s okay,” he says, and I see him turn his head toward me out of the corner of my eye. “You can join him if you want.”

I turn my head, meet his eyes, and fix him with a close-lipped smile as I shrug. “It’s hot out,” I tell him.

I’m already burning up with the tension in here.

Besides, Cole’s friends aren’t my friends, and outside won’t be any better.

“I’m sorry about that,” he says, picking up his burger again. “It won’t happen a lot. Cole’s good about avoiding anywhere I am.”

I nod, not knowing what else to say. I have a gut feeling I won’t be here long anyway. I already feel like I’m on a tightrope.

I force myself to eat, because this won’t taste this good as leftovers tomorrow. Music drifts in from outside, the rumble of a lawnmower sparks to life in the distance, and the scent of grass hits the back of my throat as it wafts through the open windows, the simple tan curtains of Pike’s house billowing in the breeze coming in. Chills spread down my arms.

Summer.

A phone rings, and I see Pike reach over and grab his cell off the counter. “Hey,” he says.

A man’s voice grumbles on the other end, but I can’t hear what he’s saying.

Pike gets up, carrying his plate to the sink with one hand and holding the phone with the other, and I steal glances while he’s distracted. Cam’s teasing about him keeps coming back to me, warming my cheeks, but it’s not like that.

Pike’s kind of a mystery.

I saw pictures of Cole in the living room—as a baby and as a kid—but other than that, the house doesn’t have a lot of his father in it. I know he’s a single guy, but there’s no coffee table books displaying his interests, no souvenirs from vacations, no pets, no art, no knickknacks, no magazines, no paraphernalia indicating his hobbies like sports, gaming, or music…. It’s a beautiful home, but it’s like a showcase house where a family doesn’t really live.

“No, I need another digger and at least a hundred more bags of cement,” he tells the guy, tucking the phone between his shoulder and ear and pulling his sleeves up more as he turns on the water.

I smile to myself. He’s doing the dishes. Without being asked? I heave a sigh and rise from my seat. I guess he normally does live alone, after all. Who else would do them?

He chuckles at something the guy says and shakes his head as I scrape off my plate into the garbage.

“Tell that idiot I know he’s not sick,” he says into the phone, “and if he doesn’t get off whomever he’s on by morning, I’ll come and get him myself. I want to stay ahead of schedule.”

I come up beside him and quietly set my dishes down on the counter before putting the lemonade and condiments back in the fridge.

“Yeah, yeah…” I hear him as he rinses off plates and puts them in the dishwasher. “Okay, I’ll see you in the morning.”

He hangs up and puts the phone down, and I cast another quick glance at him. “Work?” I inquire.

He nods, swishing water in a glass and dumping it out. “Always. We’re putting up an office building off twenty-two right before you reach the state park.” He looks at me. “No matter how much you plan and budget, there are always surprises that try to throw you off track, you know?”

Highway 22. Same road I take to get out to classes at Doral. I must’ve passed his worksite lots of times.

“Nothing ever goes according to plan,” I muse. “Even at my age, I know that by now.”

He laughs, the corners of his mouth turning up in a grin as he looks over at me. “Exactly.”

I suddenly falter, déjà vu hitting me. For a moment, I see the guy in the theater again.

I blink, trying to look away. His hazel eyes look greener under the light fixture hanging overhead, his hair has dried from his shower, and all of a sudden he looks more like Cole’s older brother than his dad. I tear my eyes away from his smile, just catching a glimpse of the cords in his arm that are flexing as he works in the sink.

I snatch up my phone off the counter and turn to leave, but then remember something.

“May I have your phone number?” I twist back around and ask. “Like in case there’s a problem here or I lose my key or something?”

He looks at me over his shoulder, his hands still in the water. “Oh, right.” He shuts off the faucet and grabs a towel, drying himself. “Good idea. Here.”

He grabs his phone and unlocks the screen, handing it to me. “Put yours in mine, too, then.”

I give him my phone and take his, entering in my first name and my cell number. I’m glad I remembered, actually. Anything could go wrong with the house. The basement could flood, packages could be delivered that aren’t mine, I might not be able to handle dinner on one of Cole’s and my nights and need to alert him…. This isn’t my place where I get to make all the decisions anymore.

I give his back, and he hands me mine, but music starts playing from mine, and he does a double-take at my screen. My music app must’ve been up and he accidentally hit something.

Shit.

George Michael’s Father Figure starts playing, and his eyebrows shoot up as the suggestive chorus starts.

My mouth goes dry, the lyrics registering.

I snatch the phone back and turn it off.

He breathes out a laugh.

Awesome.

Then he straightens, clearing his throat. “80s music, huh?”

I run my fingers through my hair, sliding the phone into my back pocket. “Yeah, I wasn’t kidding.”

After a moment, I look back up and see him staring at me, the hint of a smile in his eyes.

His gaze flashes to the side, and he bends over, picking up one of the home and garden magazines I didn’t realize had dropped from my bag at the kitchen table.

“And it’s Pike,” he says, handing me the magazine. “Not Mr. Lawson, okay?”

He’s standing so close, and my stomach flips, unable to look at him.

I take the magazine and nod, unable to meet his eyes.

He turns back to his task, and I turn to walk away but stop and look back at him.

“You don’t have to do that, you know?” I tell him, referring to the dishes. “Cole said he would.”

I see his body shake with a laugh, and then he bends down to drop some silverware into the dishwasher before glancing over at me. “I was nineteen once, too,” he replies. “‘In a bit’ means eventually, and eventually doesn’t mean tonight.”

I snort, my shoulders easing a little. True.

I don’t know how many times I woke up the next morning to a sink full of dishes. Of course, it wouldn’t make me happier with Cole if his father was carrying his weight with the chores, but I brush it off as ‘not my problem’.

As long as I don’t have to do it.

“Thank you,” I say, quickly darting over to the fridge for a bottle of water to take with me.

But then a thought occurs to me.

“Do you have any other kids?” I ask. I guess I need to know if there will be other people coming in or out of the house.

But when I look over I see his jaw tense and his brow furrowed, looking a little too serious.

“I think Cole would tell you if he had siblings, wouldn’t he?”

Against my will, my spine instantly straightens. His tone is chastising. Of course, Cole would tell me if he had siblings. I’ve known him for long enough.

“Right,” I reply in a rush, shaking my head like I was in a fog and that was why I’d asked such a dumb question.

“Besides I’ve never been married,” he adds, his Adam’s apple moving up and down. “Having multiple kids from multiple women wasn’t a mistake I wanted to keep making.”

I remain still, watching him and kind of feeling bad. Cole was completely unplanned and, even to a small degree, unwanted by his teenage parents. Some of the mystery of their poor relationship starts to come into focus.

But I also appreciate his pragmatism. It didn’t take a young Pike Lawson long to learn that making babies with just anyone wasn’t what was right for him. That was a consequence I never wanted to experience, not even once.

He seems to realize what he’d said and how it probably sounded, because he stops and looks over at me, thinning his eyes in an apology. “I didn’t mean it… like that. I—”

“I know what you meant. It’s okay.”

I jerk my thumb behind me and back away. “I’m going to go study. I’m taking a few credits this summer, so…’night.”

He turns back, loading the dishwasher with soap and starting the machine.

“Thank you again for letting us stay here,” I say.

He glances at me. “Thank you for dinner.”

And before I leave, I step over to the table where I left a scented candle burning. I should’ve asked him about that. He might not like frilly scents in his house.

Leaning over the table, I close my eyes, take in a breath, and make my usual wish Let tomorrow be better than today. And I blow, almost instantly smelling the pungent stream of smoke curling into the air from the extinguished wick.

It’s always the same wish. Every candle. Every time. I want a life I never want to take a vacation from. That’s my goal.

Except for the match I blew out at the theater. I made a different wish that night.

When I open my eyes, I see Pike watching me. He quickly straightens and turns away.

And as I leave the kitchen and head toward the stairs in the living room, I drop my magazine on the end table next to the couch.

Now someone lives here.