Fire, page 15
“I think I might’ve found a job,” she says, sipping her wine.
Happy for the distraction, I pull back to meet her gaze. “Really? That’s awesome!”
“Yeah. I’ll be a receptionist for a psychology group, so it’s a far cry from the psych degree I wanted, but you know, maybe, if I figure out how to get myself into school, the experience might help.” She shrugs. “Maybe not.”
A job is a step toward the independence she’s been craving, though it’s also a step toward that apartment I don’t want her to get. She’s so proud of herself, I’d be an asshole to bring that topic up, and damn if she hasn’t had enough of those in her life lately.
“Good for you, Ives. How do you eat an elephant? One bite at a time. You just took your first bite. You’re one step closer to living the dream.”
“It’s felt a lot like a dream, living here.” Her voice is quiet, her smile soft. “Like I woke up from a nightmare that lasted seven years.”
“I wish I could have…” What? Saved her? Stopped it from happening? Known I had a daughter and been part of her life from the start? “I just wish things had been better for you,” I finish lamely.
Ivy snuggles in closer. “But maybe, I don’t know, maybe I needed it. Maybe I needed to have my boundaries tested to see how easily they crumbled. Maybe I won’t be so weak the next time because I see myself more honestly. I know how dangerous it is not to pay attention.”
I run a hand through her hair, fighting every urge I have to kiss her. She’s talking about getting jobs and learning to be strong. About deep, life changing things, and my selfish ass just wants…her. Her moans. Her sighs. Her taste. Her touch.
Fucking one-time things.
Fucking friends.
Fucking jobs that will lead to apartments and fuck!
I distract myself by taking a drink. By staring at the wall. By remembering the way she glared at me the night of the fire, the way she looked so small and strange, like she had shoved herself into a box meant for someone else and didn’t know how to get out.
“Micah?” She shifts to meet my gaze.
Fuck. Those lips.
I glance away. “Yeah?”
“Did I say something wrong?”
“What?” My focus darts back to hers. “No, not at all. What am I doing to make you think that?”
“Nothing.” She ducks her chin, and everything on her face says she’s lying.
“Ives…don’t do that. Not with me. You don’t need to censor yourself, okay?”
“I’m probably being neurotic.” She frowns at the word, like she can’t stand the taste. “You just got really quiet all the sudden. And it weirded me out. You’re not the quiet type.”
How do I handle this? Do I tell her I want to forget the whole one-time thing deal and inadvertently put pressure on her to do something she’s not ready for? Or do I lie and tell her everything’s fine, when it’s clear she can tell I’m preoccupied with something?
Shit man, she might be calling the wrong person neurotic. I haven’t given this much thought to something ever.
I decide to go with the truth, because that’s what she deserves.
“It’s hard sometimes, the timing of things.” I sip my beer, then set the bottle on the coffee table. “With you here, in my arms, it feels like no time has passed at all. Like you’re right back where you belong. But time has passed. A lot of it. And you’re dealing with all this shit and healing and…” I trail off, unsure where to go from there.
I hate how complicated things are. Life with Ivy used to be the easiest thing in the world.
“Micah?”
“Yeah?”
“Would you kiss me?” Ivy’s eyes are on mine, wide, dilated. She looks so fucking beautiful…and scared to death.
“Are you sure? I don’t want you to feel pressured. Fuck.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”
Her palm is cool against my cheek as she turns my gaze to hers. “I want to remember how it feels to have someone care about me. I want to remember how to feel like I matter.”
“You’ve always mattered.” I cup her face. “You always will matter.”
“Then show me.”
There’s a moment of stillness. Of the kind of silence that doesn’t need to be filled. It’s just her eyes on mine, my hand on her cheek, my heart beating for hers, and my dick singing the Hallelujah Chorus as it throbs in my pants.
And then my lips cover hers, tasting, testing, my tongue sweeping into her mouth. Her fingers thread into my hair, pulling me closer, urging me for more contact, more touching, more, more, more. Her breath hitches as I kiss along her jawline the way I know she likes. Her eyes flutter closed, and I nibble her earlobe.
“You matter, Ivy,” I whisper, then kiss my way back to her lips. “You matter so fucking much.”
She whimpers, pulling away to meet my gaze, tears shimmering in her eyes. “It’s been a long time since I’ve felt like that’s true.”
“Then I’ll say it every day until you believe it. You matter.”
She closes the distance between us again, hungry this time, gripping my chest. “This is a nice addition,” she says, squeezing my pec. “The muscles.”
Her hand travels down my torso, skating along my abs, over my belt, right on down to my cock.
My hips thrust into her palm, desperate for release. “You shouldn’t touch me like that unless—”
“Unless what?” She kisses me again, in charge now, taking the reins of the situation.
I drop my head back onto the couch, relinquishing control. “Unless you mean it,” I whisper. “Unless you’re thinking maybe a two-time thing will work just as well as a one-time thing.”
I should be stopping this, not bargaining for more. The more of her I get, the more I want, but fuck…I’m only human. I thread my fingers into her hair and kiss her deeply. She shifts closer, rubbing my cock as it flexes against my thigh.
As if on cue, Nell’s door creaks open and footsteps thump across the hallway. “Mommy?”
Her feet hit the steps and Ivy and I slide away from each other. She smooths her hair and straightens her shirt while I adjust my pants and cross my legs.
Nell’s head peeks over the stair rail. “Would you read me a story?”
“Of course I will. You go pick one out and I’ll be up in a second,” Ivy says, then turns to me. Her eyes are wide and dilated, her chest heaving. She bites her lip. “Maybe that’s for the best. We probably shouldn’t complicate this any more than it already is. I want you, Micah, but I’m not ready for a relationship and you deserve someone who can give you everything.” She sounds as conflicted on the topic as I am. “Maybe Nell interrupting was a little divine intervention, keeping us from making a mistake.”
“Maybe,” I say, then swallow hard as she heads upstairs, smiling sadly over her shoulder before she disappears from view.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Micah
The night my parents visited was the last time anyone mentioned two-time things. Since then, Ivy and I have settled into an easy routine and from the outside looking in, we’re perfectly good friends sharing a house. She got that job at the psychologist’s office and works while Nell’s at school. I do my twenty-four-hour shift thing and everything’s…fine. She sleeps in her room. I sleep in mine. We watch TV and eat dinner and she gets weird if I don’t let her pay for groceries and utilities out of her anemic paycheck.
I hate it.
But there’s something I hate even more.
That cot. That fucking cot. It’s tucked into a corner in my office, beside a desk I don’t use. There’s a pillow and a blanket and it looks like something a prisoner would sleep on. Ivy swears it’s fine, but…
It’s not.
Every night, she marches upstairs to that stupid contraption, and I feel like an asshole stretched out on an award-winning mattress with three layers of memory foam supporting my spine for the perfect night’s sleep.
“What’s on your mind?” Ivy asks. She’s perched on a stool at the counter, sipping wine while I cook up Thai Cashew Chicken for dinner. It’s a favorite at the station, even among the pickiest eaters, so I’m betting it’ll be a win for Ivy and Nell. But, just in case it’s too spicy for a six-year-old, I have a bottle of sweet and sour sauce and some chicken set aside as plan B.
“Nothing big.” I scrape the sides of the bowl with my whisk, then go to town combining the ingredients for the sauce like I can solve the cot problem by serving the perfect dinner. “Why do you ask?”
Ivy widens her eyes, watching me like I’m losing my mind. “You’re stirring that sauce like it dissed your mom.”
I put the bowl down and lean on the counter. “Switch rooms with me.”
“What? No. Why would I take your room?”
“I can’t stand the thought of you on that cot.”
“Don’t be silly.” Ivy sips her wine. “I’m fine.”
“You can’t be.” I toss diced chicken into the wok. The meat sizzles and I throw in some garlic, inhaling as the mixture becomes fragrant. “I’ve seen prison rooms that look more inviting.”
“You’ve been to prison?” Ivy arches a brow, her eyes twinkling with humor. The more time she spends with me, the more she reminds me of the girl I used to love, totally willing to bust my balls…or to dig in her heels when I’m trying to get her to do something she doesn’t like.
“No. But I do watch a lot of TV, thank you very much.”
“Micah, I’m fine, I promise.”
But the answer doesn’t make me feel any better. “If you switch rooms with me, you’ll have a king-sized bed, a walk-in closet, and a bathroom all to yourself with a whirlpool corner tub big enough to fit two people.”
I push the chicken to the side of the wok, add in a mixture of veggies and stir until they take on color, then pour in the sauce and cashews. When everything looks about right, I scoop a mouthful onto a spoon and carry it over to Ivy. Her lips part as she accepts the bite, then she sags onto the counter, moaning and groaning and damn all this one-time thing nonsense. I want to be the reason she sounds like that, not some stupid piece of chicken.
“Holy shit! Micah! I can’t believe you grew up to be good in the kitchen!”
“I grew up to be good in lots of rooms.” I smile suggestively, but that’s all I’ll say on the topic. Ivy said she needs space. I’m giving her space. The last time things got hard in our relationship, she broke up with me and disappeared, then conveniently forgot that part of the story. If I push too hard on the topic of one-time things, will she run away again? I’m not willing to find out, so that’s it on the innuendo.
“I think it needs a bit more salt,” I say. “Just like you need an actual bed in a room that’s not an office.”
“I’m fine, Mi. I really am. It’s enough that you gave me a place to stay. You don’t have to give me your bedroom, too. I made choices that led to me sleeping on a cot. It’s time I learn to deal with the consequences of my actions without letting other people fix everything for me.”
She’s not gonna budge on this topic. I can hear it in her voice. Her heels are dug firmly in and while a lot about Ivy has changed, I doubt this is one of them. She’s made up her mind.
But you know what? So have I.
Just because she won’t take my room doesn’t mean there aren’t other ways to get rid of that stupid fucking cot.
Ivy
Grandma wraps me in the third hug since we’ve stepped onto her porch to say goodbye and I get the distinct impression she’s stalling. Nell zooms around the front yard, arms out to her side, hair shining in the sun. Everything about her seems easier lately. Like she’s more relaxed, more comfortable. Happier. Maybe it’s because she finally knows her father. Maybe his absence weighed on her more than I knew. Though, something tells me the change I’m seeing is more than that.
“I’m so glad things are going well,” Grandma says, peeking at her phone, then tapping away at a text message.
“So far, I’d say they’re pretty much idyllic.” My smile feels forced and I don’t know why. I love living with Micah. I’m happy. Nell’s happy. We’ve all found this rhythm that works for us. Our days are easy, though every night I go upstairs wishing I was heading to his room instead of mine.
Nothing’s happened between us since the night his parents visited. No kissing. No touching. Nothing. I catch Micah staring at me and I’m sure he’s caught me staring at him. And if he’d initiate, I wouldn’t be able to say no…
But he hasn’t.
He won’t.
He knows what I’ve been through and is trying to be what I need, but I wish he’d take the choice away from me so I can stop agonizing over it all…
And that thought, that one right there, makes it clear I’m not ready to be in a relationship. If I’m not strong enough to make the choice myself, then I’m not strong enough to be with someone.
When I broke up with Julian, he jumped right to me sleeping with someone else, to me letting another man support me. In a way, he was right. I did sleep with Micah, and I wouldn’t have a place to stay if it wasn’t for him. And while the real story isn’t nearly as manipulative as it might look on the outside, the thought of Micah believing that about me, even a little, makes me sick to my stomach. He deserves to know I’m with him for the right reasons. I have to be able to support myself before anything else happens between us.
Grandma checks her phone again, holding it at an angle so I can’t see the screen. That’s odd, especially from someone who recently made fancy speeches about adults not needing to hide things from each other.
“Everything okay with the construction crew?”
The insurance settlement came through and repair started on Nell’s room yesterday. Maybe that’s who she’s talking to.
“Okay?” Grandma gives me that crooked grin I love so much. “Three strong, young men were sweating and shirtless in my house for several hours yesterday. I brought them so many glasses of lemonade as an excuse to stare, they’re gonna start wondering if I’m losing my marbles.”
She checks her phone again, then leans against the railing, looking more and more like there’s something she’s not telling me. “Have you made any lemonade for Micah?” The twinkle in her eyes says she’s not talking about a zesty citrus beverage.
“Grandma!”
“What? I know too much about the world to believe you’re sharing a house with a man who looks like that, a man whose last name used to show up next to your first name on all your notebooks, might I add…” She lifts a finger, her eyebrows, and the corners of her lips into a smile. “I know too much to think you’re just happily living as friends and that’s that.”
“There may have been some…lemonade.” I grin, remembering the feel of his lips against mine, preparing to spill the details and actually looking forward to it. Keeping all this to myself is starting to make me feel like a bottle of shaken cola. It’ll feel good to talk to someone and release the pressure, especially someone who’s rooted for me to fall into bed with Micah since this whole thing started.
“I knew there were juicy details you weren’t sharing…” Grandma peeks at her phone and her eyes go wide. “Oh! Look at the time! Well, I’ve kept you long enough.” She puts her hands on my shoulders and marches me to the car. “Nell! Sweets! It’s time to go!”
I stammer and stutter, confused by the sudden change, then accept her hug before lowering myself into the driver’s seat. She buckles Nell in, then actually shoos us off, her grin more crooked than ever.
“That was weird,” I murmur, and Nell agrees, though when we get back to Micah’s house, the weirdness continues.
He waits in the driveway in a pair of cargo shorts, his chest bare and gleaming with sweat, his shirt tucked into his back pocket. He’s grinning and I’m staring and suddenly, I wonder where I could get my hands on a glass of lemonade.
Maybe we were right that night on the couch. Maybe a two-time thing would be perfectly fine. This is Micah, after all. He doesn’t play mind games like Julian. Do I really need to worry this much about boundaries with him?
“Don’t be mad,” he says as I climb out of the car.
“Why would I be mad?”
“I did something you might not like at first, but you’re gonna appreciate in time.”
“This wouldn’t have anything to do with Grandma’s obsession with her phone during our visit, would it?”
“It might. And she fully supports the idea, by the way. In case that helps.” Micah takes my hand and leads me into the house, through the living room, and up the stairs with Nell trailing behind. We stop just outside my room.
“Just remember,” he says through the biggest grin I’ve ever seen, “I asked you to switch rooms with me and you refused. You basically left me no option.”
And suddenly I have a suspicion about what’s going on. He hated the idea of me sleeping on that cot from the first time he saw it. “What did you do?”
“It’s probably better if I just show you.” With that, he steps aside, gesturing toward my room.
“I told you I was fine…” I gasp as I move through the doorway. Instead of a sterile office with a desk collecting dust, there’s a giant bed with a lush cream comforter and throw pillows in different shades of blue. A dresser sits under the window, which is now covered with gauzy curtains instead of just blinds. A vase of fresh flowers sits on a nightstand.
“It’s not much, I know, but the blue reminds me of your eyes and I’m sorry, but you can tell me you were fine on that cot all you want, but you weren’t. You couldn’t be.”
Nell peers around me, then steps into the room with a grin. “Now I won’t feel bad that I have a bed like a cloud and you don’t.”
“Exactly.” Micah ruffles her hair, and she ducks out of the way.
I don’t know how to feel about this. On one hand, it’s so thoughtful and he was right, the cot did suck. But if Julian saw this, he’d be leaning against the wall, shaking his head, filled with judgment.
And he might not be wrong to feel that way.
Happy for the distraction, I pull back to meet her gaze. “Really? That’s awesome!”
“Yeah. I’ll be a receptionist for a psychology group, so it’s a far cry from the psych degree I wanted, but you know, maybe, if I figure out how to get myself into school, the experience might help.” She shrugs. “Maybe not.”
A job is a step toward the independence she’s been craving, though it’s also a step toward that apartment I don’t want her to get. She’s so proud of herself, I’d be an asshole to bring that topic up, and damn if she hasn’t had enough of those in her life lately.
“Good for you, Ives. How do you eat an elephant? One bite at a time. You just took your first bite. You’re one step closer to living the dream.”
“It’s felt a lot like a dream, living here.” Her voice is quiet, her smile soft. “Like I woke up from a nightmare that lasted seven years.”
“I wish I could have…” What? Saved her? Stopped it from happening? Known I had a daughter and been part of her life from the start? “I just wish things had been better for you,” I finish lamely.
Ivy snuggles in closer. “But maybe, I don’t know, maybe I needed it. Maybe I needed to have my boundaries tested to see how easily they crumbled. Maybe I won’t be so weak the next time because I see myself more honestly. I know how dangerous it is not to pay attention.”
I run a hand through her hair, fighting every urge I have to kiss her. She’s talking about getting jobs and learning to be strong. About deep, life changing things, and my selfish ass just wants…her. Her moans. Her sighs. Her taste. Her touch.
Fucking one-time things.
Fucking friends.
Fucking jobs that will lead to apartments and fuck!
I distract myself by taking a drink. By staring at the wall. By remembering the way she glared at me the night of the fire, the way she looked so small and strange, like she had shoved herself into a box meant for someone else and didn’t know how to get out.
“Micah?” She shifts to meet my gaze.
Fuck. Those lips.
I glance away. “Yeah?”
“Did I say something wrong?”
“What?” My focus darts back to hers. “No, not at all. What am I doing to make you think that?”
“Nothing.” She ducks her chin, and everything on her face says she’s lying.
“Ives…don’t do that. Not with me. You don’t need to censor yourself, okay?”
“I’m probably being neurotic.” She frowns at the word, like she can’t stand the taste. “You just got really quiet all the sudden. And it weirded me out. You’re not the quiet type.”
How do I handle this? Do I tell her I want to forget the whole one-time thing deal and inadvertently put pressure on her to do something she’s not ready for? Or do I lie and tell her everything’s fine, when it’s clear she can tell I’m preoccupied with something?
Shit man, she might be calling the wrong person neurotic. I haven’t given this much thought to something ever.
I decide to go with the truth, because that’s what she deserves.
“It’s hard sometimes, the timing of things.” I sip my beer, then set the bottle on the coffee table. “With you here, in my arms, it feels like no time has passed at all. Like you’re right back where you belong. But time has passed. A lot of it. And you’re dealing with all this shit and healing and…” I trail off, unsure where to go from there.
I hate how complicated things are. Life with Ivy used to be the easiest thing in the world.
“Micah?”
“Yeah?”
“Would you kiss me?” Ivy’s eyes are on mine, wide, dilated. She looks so fucking beautiful…and scared to death.
“Are you sure? I don’t want you to feel pressured. Fuck.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”
Her palm is cool against my cheek as she turns my gaze to hers. “I want to remember how it feels to have someone care about me. I want to remember how to feel like I matter.”
“You’ve always mattered.” I cup her face. “You always will matter.”
“Then show me.”
There’s a moment of stillness. Of the kind of silence that doesn’t need to be filled. It’s just her eyes on mine, my hand on her cheek, my heart beating for hers, and my dick singing the Hallelujah Chorus as it throbs in my pants.
And then my lips cover hers, tasting, testing, my tongue sweeping into her mouth. Her fingers thread into my hair, pulling me closer, urging me for more contact, more touching, more, more, more. Her breath hitches as I kiss along her jawline the way I know she likes. Her eyes flutter closed, and I nibble her earlobe.
“You matter, Ivy,” I whisper, then kiss my way back to her lips. “You matter so fucking much.”
She whimpers, pulling away to meet my gaze, tears shimmering in her eyes. “It’s been a long time since I’ve felt like that’s true.”
“Then I’ll say it every day until you believe it. You matter.”
She closes the distance between us again, hungry this time, gripping my chest. “This is a nice addition,” she says, squeezing my pec. “The muscles.”
Her hand travels down my torso, skating along my abs, over my belt, right on down to my cock.
My hips thrust into her palm, desperate for release. “You shouldn’t touch me like that unless—”
“Unless what?” She kisses me again, in charge now, taking the reins of the situation.
I drop my head back onto the couch, relinquishing control. “Unless you mean it,” I whisper. “Unless you’re thinking maybe a two-time thing will work just as well as a one-time thing.”
I should be stopping this, not bargaining for more. The more of her I get, the more I want, but fuck…I’m only human. I thread my fingers into her hair and kiss her deeply. She shifts closer, rubbing my cock as it flexes against my thigh.
As if on cue, Nell’s door creaks open and footsteps thump across the hallway. “Mommy?”
Her feet hit the steps and Ivy and I slide away from each other. She smooths her hair and straightens her shirt while I adjust my pants and cross my legs.
Nell’s head peeks over the stair rail. “Would you read me a story?”
“Of course I will. You go pick one out and I’ll be up in a second,” Ivy says, then turns to me. Her eyes are wide and dilated, her chest heaving. She bites her lip. “Maybe that’s for the best. We probably shouldn’t complicate this any more than it already is. I want you, Micah, but I’m not ready for a relationship and you deserve someone who can give you everything.” She sounds as conflicted on the topic as I am. “Maybe Nell interrupting was a little divine intervention, keeping us from making a mistake.”
“Maybe,” I say, then swallow hard as she heads upstairs, smiling sadly over her shoulder before she disappears from view.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Micah
The night my parents visited was the last time anyone mentioned two-time things. Since then, Ivy and I have settled into an easy routine and from the outside looking in, we’re perfectly good friends sharing a house. She got that job at the psychologist’s office and works while Nell’s at school. I do my twenty-four-hour shift thing and everything’s…fine. She sleeps in her room. I sleep in mine. We watch TV and eat dinner and she gets weird if I don’t let her pay for groceries and utilities out of her anemic paycheck.
I hate it.
But there’s something I hate even more.
That cot. That fucking cot. It’s tucked into a corner in my office, beside a desk I don’t use. There’s a pillow and a blanket and it looks like something a prisoner would sleep on. Ivy swears it’s fine, but…
It’s not.
Every night, she marches upstairs to that stupid contraption, and I feel like an asshole stretched out on an award-winning mattress with three layers of memory foam supporting my spine for the perfect night’s sleep.
“What’s on your mind?” Ivy asks. She’s perched on a stool at the counter, sipping wine while I cook up Thai Cashew Chicken for dinner. It’s a favorite at the station, even among the pickiest eaters, so I’m betting it’ll be a win for Ivy and Nell. But, just in case it’s too spicy for a six-year-old, I have a bottle of sweet and sour sauce and some chicken set aside as plan B.
“Nothing big.” I scrape the sides of the bowl with my whisk, then go to town combining the ingredients for the sauce like I can solve the cot problem by serving the perfect dinner. “Why do you ask?”
Ivy widens her eyes, watching me like I’m losing my mind. “You’re stirring that sauce like it dissed your mom.”
I put the bowl down and lean on the counter. “Switch rooms with me.”
“What? No. Why would I take your room?”
“I can’t stand the thought of you on that cot.”
“Don’t be silly.” Ivy sips her wine. “I’m fine.”
“You can’t be.” I toss diced chicken into the wok. The meat sizzles and I throw in some garlic, inhaling as the mixture becomes fragrant. “I’ve seen prison rooms that look more inviting.”
“You’ve been to prison?” Ivy arches a brow, her eyes twinkling with humor. The more time she spends with me, the more she reminds me of the girl I used to love, totally willing to bust my balls…or to dig in her heels when I’m trying to get her to do something she doesn’t like.
“No. But I do watch a lot of TV, thank you very much.”
“Micah, I’m fine, I promise.”
But the answer doesn’t make me feel any better. “If you switch rooms with me, you’ll have a king-sized bed, a walk-in closet, and a bathroom all to yourself with a whirlpool corner tub big enough to fit two people.”
I push the chicken to the side of the wok, add in a mixture of veggies and stir until they take on color, then pour in the sauce and cashews. When everything looks about right, I scoop a mouthful onto a spoon and carry it over to Ivy. Her lips part as she accepts the bite, then she sags onto the counter, moaning and groaning and damn all this one-time thing nonsense. I want to be the reason she sounds like that, not some stupid piece of chicken.
“Holy shit! Micah! I can’t believe you grew up to be good in the kitchen!”
“I grew up to be good in lots of rooms.” I smile suggestively, but that’s all I’ll say on the topic. Ivy said she needs space. I’m giving her space. The last time things got hard in our relationship, she broke up with me and disappeared, then conveniently forgot that part of the story. If I push too hard on the topic of one-time things, will she run away again? I’m not willing to find out, so that’s it on the innuendo.
“I think it needs a bit more salt,” I say. “Just like you need an actual bed in a room that’s not an office.”
“I’m fine, Mi. I really am. It’s enough that you gave me a place to stay. You don’t have to give me your bedroom, too. I made choices that led to me sleeping on a cot. It’s time I learn to deal with the consequences of my actions without letting other people fix everything for me.”
She’s not gonna budge on this topic. I can hear it in her voice. Her heels are dug firmly in and while a lot about Ivy has changed, I doubt this is one of them. She’s made up her mind.
But you know what? So have I.
Just because she won’t take my room doesn’t mean there aren’t other ways to get rid of that stupid fucking cot.
Ivy
Grandma wraps me in the third hug since we’ve stepped onto her porch to say goodbye and I get the distinct impression she’s stalling. Nell zooms around the front yard, arms out to her side, hair shining in the sun. Everything about her seems easier lately. Like she’s more relaxed, more comfortable. Happier. Maybe it’s because she finally knows her father. Maybe his absence weighed on her more than I knew. Though, something tells me the change I’m seeing is more than that.
“I’m so glad things are going well,” Grandma says, peeking at her phone, then tapping away at a text message.
“So far, I’d say they’re pretty much idyllic.” My smile feels forced and I don’t know why. I love living with Micah. I’m happy. Nell’s happy. We’ve all found this rhythm that works for us. Our days are easy, though every night I go upstairs wishing I was heading to his room instead of mine.
Nothing’s happened between us since the night his parents visited. No kissing. No touching. Nothing. I catch Micah staring at me and I’m sure he’s caught me staring at him. And if he’d initiate, I wouldn’t be able to say no…
But he hasn’t.
He won’t.
He knows what I’ve been through and is trying to be what I need, but I wish he’d take the choice away from me so I can stop agonizing over it all…
And that thought, that one right there, makes it clear I’m not ready to be in a relationship. If I’m not strong enough to make the choice myself, then I’m not strong enough to be with someone.
When I broke up with Julian, he jumped right to me sleeping with someone else, to me letting another man support me. In a way, he was right. I did sleep with Micah, and I wouldn’t have a place to stay if it wasn’t for him. And while the real story isn’t nearly as manipulative as it might look on the outside, the thought of Micah believing that about me, even a little, makes me sick to my stomach. He deserves to know I’m with him for the right reasons. I have to be able to support myself before anything else happens between us.
Grandma checks her phone again, holding it at an angle so I can’t see the screen. That’s odd, especially from someone who recently made fancy speeches about adults not needing to hide things from each other.
“Everything okay with the construction crew?”
The insurance settlement came through and repair started on Nell’s room yesterday. Maybe that’s who she’s talking to.
“Okay?” Grandma gives me that crooked grin I love so much. “Three strong, young men were sweating and shirtless in my house for several hours yesterday. I brought them so many glasses of lemonade as an excuse to stare, they’re gonna start wondering if I’m losing my marbles.”
She checks her phone again, then leans against the railing, looking more and more like there’s something she’s not telling me. “Have you made any lemonade for Micah?” The twinkle in her eyes says she’s not talking about a zesty citrus beverage.
“Grandma!”
“What? I know too much about the world to believe you’re sharing a house with a man who looks like that, a man whose last name used to show up next to your first name on all your notebooks, might I add…” She lifts a finger, her eyebrows, and the corners of her lips into a smile. “I know too much to think you’re just happily living as friends and that’s that.”
“There may have been some…lemonade.” I grin, remembering the feel of his lips against mine, preparing to spill the details and actually looking forward to it. Keeping all this to myself is starting to make me feel like a bottle of shaken cola. It’ll feel good to talk to someone and release the pressure, especially someone who’s rooted for me to fall into bed with Micah since this whole thing started.
“I knew there were juicy details you weren’t sharing…” Grandma peeks at her phone and her eyes go wide. “Oh! Look at the time! Well, I’ve kept you long enough.” She puts her hands on my shoulders and marches me to the car. “Nell! Sweets! It’s time to go!”
I stammer and stutter, confused by the sudden change, then accept her hug before lowering myself into the driver’s seat. She buckles Nell in, then actually shoos us off, her grin more crooked than ever.
“That was weird,” I murmur, and Nell agrees, though when we get back to Micah’s house, the weirdness continues.
He waits in the driveway in a pair of cargo shorts, his chest bare and gleaming with sweat, his shirt tucked into his back pocket. He’s grinning and I’m staring and suddenly, I wonder where I could get my hands on a glass of lemonade.
Maybe we were right that night on the couch. Maybe a two-time thing would be perfectly fine. This is Micah, after all. He doesn’t play mind games like Julian. Do I really need to worry this much about boundaries with him?
“Don’t be mad,” he says as I climb out of the car.
“Why would I be mad?”
“I did something you might not like at first, but you’re gonna appreciate in time.”
“This wouldn’t have anything to do with Grandma’s obsession with her phone during our visit, would it?”
“It might. And she fully supports the idea, by the way. In case that helps.” Micah takes my hand and leads me into the house, through the living room, and up the stairs with Nell trailing behind. We stop just outside my room.
“Just remember,” he says through the biggest grin I’ve ever seen, “I asked you to switch rooms with me and you refused. You basically left me no option.”
And suddenly I have a suspicion about what’s going on. He hated the idea of me sleeping on that cot from the first time he saw it. “What did you do?”
“It’s probably better if I just show you.” With that, he steps aside, gesturing toward my room.
“I told you I was fine…” I gasp as I move through the doorway. Instead of a sterile office with a desk collecting dust, there’s a giant bed with a lush cream comforter and throw pillows in different shades of blue. A dresser sits under the window, which is now covered with gauzy curtains instead of just blinds. A vase of fresh flowers sits on a nightstand.
“It’s not much, I know, but the blue reminds me of your eyes and I’m sorry, but you can tell me you were fine on that cot all you want, but you weren’t. You couldn’t be.”
Nell peers around me, then steps into the room with a grin. “Now I won’t feel bad that I have a bed like a cloud and you don’t.”
“Exactly.” Micah ruffles her hair, and she ducks out of the way.
I don’t know how to feel about this. On one hand, it’s so thoughtful and he was right, the cot did suck. But if Julian saw this, he’d be leaning against the wall, shaking his head, filled with judgment.
And he might not be wrong to feel that way.
