“They’re fine,” I lie, then lean to grab my purse, where a wad of cash is pressed in one of the pockets.
I grab it. “Is this you trying to be subtle?”
He has the nerve to act clueless. I walk to him, then slap the money on the couch. “How many times do I have to say I like doing this?”
“How many times do I have to say you can’t do this for free?”
“You pay me back with food.”
“Stop being stubborn and take the money,” he says, standing up.
I lift my chin. “Make me.”
In hindsight, this was a mistake. His lips curl up before he pounces. I should’ve taken into consideration how much bigger he is. I swerve just in time to avoid his hand reaching for my front pocket, but by doing so, I trip backward, bringing Eli who’s pulling at my shorts’ belt loops down with me. I let out anoomphas we land on a heap on the couch, his weight crushing me in the best way.
We’re both breathing fast, half laughing, half moaning in pain and shock, but the second our eyes meet, the humor dies out. His face is so close, I can count the freckles on his nose and cheekbones. Just below his right eye, a small cluster makes the shape of a cloud. How had I forgotten about it? How had I forgotten how his lowerlip is slightly bigger than his upper one, and how, when he’s exerted, only the top half of his face reddens? The details had slipped my mind, but now that I’ve seen them again, I know they’ve been permanently inked.
His knee is between my legs, thigh leaning dangerously close to my core, while his chest is flush against mine.
His eyes alternate between both of mine. We’re too close. We both know we’re too close. Yet, neither one of us moves. It’s as if we know once we move, we won’t be close like this ever again.
His tongue darts out, and I don’t want to glance down, but I’m weak. I’m so fucking weak.
How could I ever have forgotten how much my body craves this man? He’s always been my Achilles’ heel. A strand of his hair tickles my cheek, a sensation I hadn’t experienced before, his hair shorter the last time we were like this, and I want to feel more. Feel it everywhere.
“Daddy?”
We both jump at the sound, Eli on his feet in a second. Thankfully, from where Zoe is surely standing in the stairs, she can’t see anything behind the back of the couch.
“What’s wrong?” Eli says, his voice shaky, then clears his throat. I remain on the couch, hidden. We weren’t doing anything wrong, but I don’t want her to know I’m still here, and I don’t think Eli does, either.
“Can you read me another story?”
“Sure,” he says, and the fact that he doesn’t tell her to go back to sleep like he usually does tells me he’s as shaken as I am.
Tiny footsteps I somehow didn’t hear before pad back up the stairs, followed by heavier ones. I sit up just in time to catch the glance Eli throws my way before disappearing upstairs.
And, like the coward I am, I leave before he has the time to come back and wonder what maybe, possibly would’ve happened if we hadn’t been interrupted.
Chapter 20
The day is finally here.
After endless hours of triaging and back-and-forth trips to Goodwill, we’re ready for the yard sale, with only a week to spare. That should leave me with enough time to make the final arrangements for the house to be fully ready to be sold by the time I leave.
It’s barely past nine in the morning, and already, the sun feels like a torch on my skin. It's going to be one of the hottest days of summer, but it had to be done today, even if it means sweating buckets to get it done. Keira is already slumped on a chair behind me, and I feel bad she has to do this while heavily pregnant.
“Would you rather stay inside?” I ask as I adjust an empty picture frame so it’s more visible. “I can take care of this and come get you if we get too busy.” Ruth’s house might not have AC, but the shade and open windows would be better than this. We’re set up at the end of Beachside Avenue, so everyone passing on Main Street can notice us and easily stop by. It’s less than a hundred yards away from the house.
“I’m good,” she says, even though she looks far from it, repositioning herself in the beach chair that looks one move away frombreaking under her weight. She winces as if she’s having back cramps, which is probably the case.
A few cars slow down in front of our kiosk within the next ten minutes, and I pull out my best saleswoman smile, but no one stops.
“A lot of this is trash,” Keira says, lifting a pullover I insisted on trying to sell for two bucks instead of giving away.
“That one’s cute!” I steal it from her and fold it back up.
“If you’re in the market for new cleaning rags.”