The Girl I Was Before (Falling #3)(21)

“What’s up with your name?” I ask.

He smirks again.

“I was born in Texas. And I was not planned. My mom wasn’t supposed to be able to have kids. My dad was in the Coast Guard, stationed in Houston, and they had one wild night—or so I’ve been told.” His face animates as he tells me this story, and I watch every movement of his mouth and eyes. “My mom says Houston is lucky, so…”

“Wow, that’s like a cheesy pickup line,” I say, taking a big sip of my finally cool-enough coffee. Houston holds my gaze for a few seconds, watching me sip, his head cocked slightly to the side. “I was kidding,” I finally say. “That was sweet.”

His mouth falls into a more relaxed smile, and he looks down at his hands, rapping them a few times on the table, his fingers playing out various beats. I finish my coffee, and flip open the ad in front of me for one more pass. I notice Houston reading from upside down, and he keeps fidgeting, looking behind him and then leaning to look out the door.

“Are you a spy?” I finally ask.

“Uh…I’m sorry?” he says.

“A spy. You know. Like that Bond guy. Or, maybe a bad guy? Or…I don’t know. You’re really jumpy, and you keep looking out for someone, and I’m starting to think maybe someone has a hit out on me…or maybe it’s you? You’re freaking me out a little.”

He squeezes his eyes closed tightly and laughs. It’s that breathy laugh he does, deep and sincere.

“I’m sorry. I was just thinking…” he stops, his finger pulling down at the edge of my newspaper, his eyes staring at the black print, his breath held. “We have a room. At my house. Well, it’s my mom’s house, really. And we rent it. But we didn’t this semester, because we couldn’t get our post up in time, and we’ve just been too busy to post yet, and it’s a nice room. You’d have your own bathroom. Well, you’d have to share with me, but I’m easy. It’s close to campus, so…”

All I can do is blink at him. I’m not sure how to react. There’s a weird part of me that jumped excitedly when he started talking, and I’m not sure what that part of me is or what it’s doing. Then there was this wave of relief. But there’s also this strange nervous feeling, like I should just say no and end this conversation. I should probably say no because I don’t like getting help or handouts or whatever this is, but I also need somewhere to go, unless I’m staying at the Delta House, and I just don’t know what the right thing to do is.

Houston’s eyes haven’t left the paper in front of me, and his lips are glued shut. He’s frozen. The poor guy is actually frozen.

“Oh, Houston, that’s…that’s really nice of you. I’m just not sure…” I start, but I can see his eyes wince. He’s regretting offering, and that makes me feel bad. “I mean, I’m not sure if I’m ready to move out or not. I have some things to think through. I might just be overreacting.”

“There he is!” I hear an older woman proclaim through the main grocery store entrance. The woman is striking—tall, like Houston, and her dark hair cut short, to rest at her shoulders. This is definitely his mom. I’m so surprised by her—I don’t notice the tiny girl, with hair just as dark as his mother’s, darting toward Houston. He stands to meet her sprint, and she locks onto his leg fast, burying her face into the side of his jeans. Her hair is pulled to both sides in adorable pigtails.

“Sorry,” Houston mouths through a smile.

“It’s okay,” I say, softly, rethinking the idea of living with his family. This scene right here in front of me—it’s very appealing. “Your family, I’m guessing?”

“Yeah,” he chuckles, reaching down to pick up the bouncing girl, tucking her so naturally in his arm. She finds her place quickly at his neck, her head resting comfortably on his shoulder. “This is my mom, Joyce. And this is Leah…my daughter.”

My face just went seven shades paler. I felt it. Normally, I can lie through my teeth, give off the cool and calm vibe. But my heart just started beating in my stomach with such force, I can feel it in my belly button. Houston is staring at me, our eyes having a silent conversation. His saying sorry for the surprise, and mine doing their damnedest to pretend I’m not shocked or surprised or disappointed or any of those things that I feel right now.

“Daddy, I’m soooooooo hungry. I waited for your eggs. Can I have some? Pweeeeeeeeeeeese?” Leah’s legs are swinging around Houston, and his arm is clutching her body, his muscles flexing in their protection. He turns his face to this small girl, who looks like she’s maybe four, and pushes his nose to hers. They are almost exact duplicates.

“Yes,” he smiles, and she raises her hands in victory.

“I got it for her, Houston. You finish up talking with your friend and your mom,” Sheila calls from the back. Leah goes running behind the counter, hugging Sheila’s leg next and climbing up a tall stool at the back table. It’s her stool—there for her. She probably comes to visit him all the time, in the morning, when I’m never around.

“So…” he starts, stopping though, because there’s really nothing he needs to say or explain. There it is. Houston is a father, with a room, that he’d like me to move into.