Once I was on my feet, I pieced the entire scene together.
Booby traps.
I was looking at booby traps set by my son. I had flashbacks to the elaborate plans I’d seen sketched in his notebook that grew every time we watched Home Alone. I just thanked myself he hadn’t apparently had time to set up the giant log that was supposed to swing down and impale intruders. His version of the movie didn’t include the whole non-lethal part that probably got the director past the ratings committee.
“What the hell is going on? And who are these people?” I asked. “Delivery people?” I added with a confused look at their uniforms, which sort of looked legitimate but had a kind of cheap, knock-off look to them.
Nola and her friends led me to the couch where Betty and Ben were waiting and explained what I’d missed.
Ben, to his credit, was hanging his head in shame. “Sorry, Dad.”
“At least I know you’re prepared for home invaders.”
The group proceeded to give me a baffling explanation of what had happened that ranged from bathroom trouble to Nola hiding inside a box. Once the excitement was over, Miss Betty went back to her apartment with a sheepish apology for being in the bathroom long enough to let this happen. Nola’s friends—Luca and Lindsey, I’d learned—said they’d leave to let us sort things out. Ben got started cleaning up his mess.
In a few moments the apartment went from feeling choked with too many people and too much mess to the relative quiet of Ben slowly picking up toys and tossing them in his little storage buckets. Nola was watching me with the look of a dog who just got caught eating the Thanksgiving turkey under the table.
“It’s possible that I should have just called you,” she said slowly.
I couldn’t help but grin. “You think?”
Nola smiled back. “I had it planned in my head. I’d knock on the door, you’d see me. We’d hug,” she added in a very quiet voice. “Yada yada…”
“Wait,” I said. “What is the yada yada part?”
Nola shrugged one shoulder. God, she was so adorably sexy. Those big blue eyes of hers hadn’t left mine, and there was just the faintest hint of mischief on her mouth, which looked inches away from a full-blown grin. “I just know I was pissed at myself for not saying more when you came to the restaurant. All I said was ‘I understand,’ even though I don’t want to. I want you to understand how happy I was with you. Maybe it didn’t last long, but it was the happiest I’ve been in a long, long time. I don’t want to give up on us.”
“I don’t either.”
“And if you still want to—” she paused. “Wait, what?”
“I was outside just now trying to figure out how to call you and try to fix things.”
“Oh,” she said. “So you’re not mad anymore that I didn’t tell the truth about Florida?”
“No. I’m not going to pretend I even understand why it was so important to you, but if anyone should get that sometimes there are non-negotiables, it should be me. I’m the dumbass who kept trying to push you away because I thought I was doing what was best for Ben.”
“Florida was my parents’ dream, actually. Start a restaurant in this little place by the beach. They had a picture they kept of them standing in front of the storefront, and I knew they were saving for the place before the accident. So I promised myself I’d do it for them. But eventually, I realized I was the only one who cared about that promise. My parents would’ve been over the moon that I found you. And they probably would’ve let me hear it for screwing things up, too.”
“I see,” I said. I watched her sitting there with a diagonal slash of flour across her freckled nose that made her blue eyes pop even more than usual. She looked innocent. Strong. Determined. She looked exactly like the kind of woman I wanted to give every fucking thing I had to. To sacrifice for. To fight for. Speaking of fighting, I currently wished I could go back and punch my past self in the face for being so stupid.
Except there was still one problem. Her dream was in Florida, and my job was in New York. “Where does that leave us?”
“I don’t know,” Nola said. “But I want to try. That’s why I came here. I want to keep trying, because I’m not willing to give you up unless you make me.”
“That’s supposed to be my line.”
She pinched a little flour off her lap and tossed it at me playfully. “Deal with it.”
I grinned. “So, why was your laptop really stuck in the wall that night?”
“It was the weirdest thing. I was about to send an email to the guy telling him to keep my deposit, but I was backing out. I wanted to be with you guys. That was when my laptop went berserk and forwarded the first emails to you instead.”