“Yeah?” I walked farther into the kitchen forcing her to back up. She clutched the dish towel, heaving deep breaths. Her cheeks flushed and I wondered if they got pink like that when she came. I wondered quite a few things actually, and all of them required far less clothing than what she was currently wearing.
“Evan Rooney, you’re the worst sort of roommate.” Her pupils were bright and those pinks spots on her cheeks darkened. Never before did a woman blushing do it for me, but this I liked a heck of a lot more that I thought I should.
“I don’t want to be your roommate.” I stalked her around the kitchen.
Her face frowned. “You don’t?”
I shook my head no. “I want to be your—friend.” Yeah, smooth. I wanted to be something more, but she wasn’t making this easy for me one bit. Her nervousness was palpable and thick.
She backed into the counter, stuttering and knocking things down to clatter on the floor.
“W-we are f-friends, aren’t we?” Her cheeks blushed; the rosy color matched the roots of her fiery hair.
“Of course we are, sweet girl. I just meant…” What I meant was something she did not look remotely ready for, which saddened me. It meant she didn’t fully trust me yet, and I clearly had some work ahead of me to get her there. “Maybe more than roommates?” I tried to backtrack.
Her throat bobbed, gulping air.
“Uh huh.”
“Special friends.” I tried to explain again, but her look was so skeptical I knew I was totally fucking this up.
“Well, special friend, can we agree that you don’t try to sneak up on me like that again?” She heaved a cleansing breath and moved to pick up the items off the floor.
“Only if you promise to dance with me.” I held my hand out, hoping against hope she’d take it.
“What?” The look on her face was priceless, and I dragged her to the center of the kitchen by the towel, enclosing my arms around her. “Come on, show me some moves, Remington.”
“You better not try lifting my ass in the air. I don’t do that Dirty Dancing nonsense.”
I had a few Dirty Dancing fantasies she starred in regularly. Her eyes said she was grumpy, but the wrinkle on her button nose suggested something else. I would have lifted her up and carried her straight to my bedroom if I thought she would let me. Unfortunately, dancing to The Time of my Life would have to do. I was no Patrick Swayze, but I could hold my own.
“Maybe next time, sweet girl.”
She sighed and I pulled her tight against my chest for a hug. The moment was going well until Ethan gave a shrill cry. and Remi pushed herself away, picking up the adorable cockblocker. This time it was my turn to sigh, looking over the drool-filled face that made both of us smile.
Ethan was getting bigger each day, and I grew increasingly attached to him the more time they spent living in my house. Something about his toothless smile and the weight of him in my arms when I picked him up settled deep and protective in my chest. I wanted them there. This was our home, a space I hadn’t thought I would have been sharing with anyone until then. My mind reeled with thinking about them as mine, and I wanted to make this a permanent thing if she would let me.
23
Remi
Once I made the decision, it was strange how accepting Andy and David were, as if this had all been a forgone conclusion. I wondered if the boys, my bosses, had been in on this, but the looks David gave Evan suggested he wasn’t a hundred percent on board. He might not have said anything, but the message was loud and clear. Once again, men in my life were making decisions on my behalf, and not because I necessarily wanted them.
Okay.
Honesty?
I wanted Evan, but not like this. Not because he felt an obligation of some sort. Not because he kissed me once when he was drunk and acted like he didn’t remember. Obligations made me feel like I was drowning in a debt I couldn’t possibly repay. I had enough baggage to fill a 747 and fly back to Alabama, and I’d never even been on a plane before. I shuddered at that thought. Nope, keep little old me there nice and grounded.
And that was how I found myself trying to bake chocolate chip cookies while Ethan napped. Evan would be home by seven since he worked a 6:00 a.m.-6:00 p.m. shift. I read the package ingredients and looked for measuring cups. Big surprise, he didn’t have any so I had to try to eyeball the recipe. I used my phone to look up some measurements to make sure I got it right, but it seemed like too few eggs and too much flour in my opinion. Maybe the oven wasn’t hot enough, so I cranked it up an extra twenty-five degrees because I read salmonella was a bad thing. As long as they cooked it was okay, right?
If anything, it smelled delicious mixing the butter and sugars together. Taste might be another matter, but so far so good. I’d never had a full-sized kitchen before or recipe books that didn’t come from the internet or the library. I could ask our resident baker, Carmen, but she would bundle me up in the car and drive me to the nearest Williams Sonoma for a kitchen rehaul, which wasn’t in my budget right now. I still needed to figure out going back to work and how I would manage childcare and expenses when that happened.
And seriously, who had a kitchen without proper mixing cups?
“Smells good.” Evan joined me in the kitchen, leaning over my shoulder as I moved the batch of cookies from the warm tray to the plate for cooling. His chest warmed up my back quicker than the oven’s preheat function.
“Thanks, I thought I would try something.” I shrugged, freezing when I swore his lips touched my shoulder.