Well Matched (Well Met #3)(46)

“Still no beer.” The refrain was a familiar one by now, and there was hardly any heat behind it.

“Sorry.”

“No, you’re not.” He returned to the island with a bottle of water and another can of soda, which he passed to me. I never drank this much soda, but it meant I could put more vodka into my glass too, so I was all for it. We stood in silence on opposite sides of the island, braced on our elbows, eating grilled cheese sandwiches, and it was one of the best nights I’d had in a long time.

“Thank you,” I said quietly. “For getting me out of there. I thought I could handle it, but . . .”

“Anytime.” His voice was uncharacteristically serious, and when I locked eyes with him this time he looked like he had in that hotel room. Sincere. Open. That look made me catch my breath and wish that I hadn’t had so much vodka. Something was happening here, and I wasn’t sober enough to catch on. “I wish . . .” He sighed. “I wish I could have helped.”

“What are you talking about?” I shook my head. “You saved my ass tonight.”

Mitch shrugged. “No, I mean back then. When he left. I think about you going through all that alone and I . . .” A thundercloud passed over his face and he shook his head, his gaze going to the countertop.

“Back then?” I thought about those days, some eighteen years ago, when I’d tried to hold on to my marriage with both hands before realizing that what I was trying to preserve didn’t even exist anymore. The helplessness I’d felt. “It’s okay.” I reached across the island. I couldn’t quite reach him, but I laid my hand flat on the counter between us. “You’re here now, right?”

He reached across the counter too, laying his hand over mine. “Yeah.” My hand disappeared, warm and safe under his, and there was that feeling again, that I was protected. Also the feeling of wanting to climb him like a tree, which was only encouraged by the vodka swirling through my bloodstream.

I forced my swimmy brain back on topic. “Besides, I wasn’t alone back then. My parents helped me get back on my feet, and Emily was a kick-ass babysitter when she was a kid.” That made me do some quick math in my head. “Wait. You would have been what, twelve? How would you have helped out, exactly?” The thought of Mitch being a tween while I was divorced with an infant splashed a little cold water on the memory of that hotel room. For a minute there I’d forgotten about the cradle-robbing aspect of our relationship.

“Hey, you never know. My lawn-mowing skills back then were life changing.” His chuckle was a low rumble, reminding me that he wasn’t a boy anymore, warming up that splash of cold water. All I could do was smile back and resist the urge to turn my hand under his and thread our fingers together. Instead I leaned back, reclaiming my hand, and picked up another sandwich.

By the time we finished demolishing the plate of sandwiches, I’d mostly sobered up, though my blood was still humming from all the sugar I’d consumed. Mitch scheduled an Uber while I washed the minimal dishes. When his ride swung into the driveway, I got a text from Emily, saying she was bringing Cait home and that my ex-husband was a dick.

“Thanks again,” I said at the front door. There was a beat of awkwardness where I wasn’t sure what to do. Hug him? We weren’t a couple, so a kiss goodbye seemed like a little much. I settled for squeezing his arm, hoping he’d understand it for the affectionate gesture it was.

He caught my hand in his, giving a reassuring squeeze back. “See you tomorrow.”

Tomorrow. I closed the door and let my forehead thunk against it. God, I still had graduation day to get through too. This wasn’t over.



* * *



? ? ?

I woke up the next morning about ten minutes before the alarm, snuggled up against my daughter. She’d done this a lot as a kid: running into my room in the middle of the night after a bad dream or when a thunderstorm got especially boomy. I’d throw back the covers and she would crawl underneath with me. She’d be my little spoon, and we’d be our little family of two united against whatever scary thing was out there in the night.

She’d outgrown that phase years ago. But this was a special day.

For a few moments I just watched her breathe. She’d been quiet when she’d gotten home from the reception last night. It was a lot to process, seeing—no, meeting—her father, and I hadn’t wanted to push her. But sometime in the night she’d crept into my room and curled herself around my shoulder. Now I was the little spoon. She’d shot up around fifteen to be an inch or two taller than me, and now that I was reacquainted with Robert’s height it made more sense.

The alarm blared on my nightstand, and I groped for my phone, hitting the snooze as Caitlin came awake beside me.

“Good morning, graduate,” I teased. She groaned, hiding her face in her hands before stretching and scrubbing her hands over her face, waking herself up. She blinked sleepily at me.

“I don’t like this.”

Uh-oh. “Don’t like what?” I’d expected her to be excited this morning, giddy even. But as she came fully awake her face crumpled and she snuggled into me. I put my arms around her while my senses went on high alert. What had Robert said to her last night?

“This,” she said again, her voice quivering. “Graduating. It’s all ending. Changing. I don’t think I’m ready for this.”