Page 32 of Trouble from Abroad
“Come on, let’s go shower.”
I blink. My brain malfunctions. Somewhere behind my rib cage, a bird dies.
I scramble to my feet so fast I nearly fall, mouth agape. “Oh. Um. Okay—wait. What?”
Preston’s head tilts, and his brow crests in horrified confusion.
“What?” I wheeze out again, my breath catching in my throat. “I wasn’t—I don’t—Jesus, I wasn’t saying yes to that. Not that I—want—to. That much.”
My arms fumble through the air as if I’m trying to physically rewind time.
“Or at all. Let’s go with ‘at all,’” I blurt out, panicking. “I was just… stretching. Yes. That. My leg. It fell asleep. I’ve been sitting for too long. That’s why.”
He folds his arms across his chest. One brow, just one, arches so high it could make contact with God.
I flail harder. I might take flight any minute now. “Stop looking at me like that. Lily. You were talking to Lily. Not me. I know that.” I point a finger toward the child in question, who’s humming, still oblivious, pasting an upside-down cat into the middle of her collage. “Obviously. Lily. Your daughter.” Crouching beside her, I tousle her hair. “Lils, Dad’s calling you.”
“Huh?” she mumbles. “We’re artists. Da-aaad, you’re interrupting our process.”
I roll my lips to hold in a laugh. “Time to give your instruments and brain a break, Picasso. Even artists have to stop and shower now and then.”
“Fiiiiine.” She blows a raspberry, then shuffles off behind Preston with all the flair of a tortured genius. He throws one last look over his shoulder before following her down the hall. It’s unreadable. I pray to every known deity that it’s forgettable too.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
mia
Since one,this is a favor for Liam, and two, I don’t want to abandon a child who was just forsaken by her own mother, I need to stick around. If the price is to hear the bells of shame clang behind me for the rest of my life, so be it.
But I need to keep myself busy to at least muffle the sound of it. So I tidy up the craft mess, vacuum twice to make sure no glitter’s left behind, and after accidentally vacuuming the entire ground floor, decide the gym Dr. Preston just used is next.
Once I’m done, I head back upstairs and find them both in the kitchen, starting dinner. How cute is that?
But the doctor’s stern tone cuts off the smile blooming on my face.
“Were you cleaning down there?”
“Yes, I was. Why?”
“I’ve told you that you don’t need to clean in this house.”
I wave him off. “I don’t mind. If I’m living here, I’m helping out.”
“I take great pride in keeping my gym clean and tidy, Ms. Thorne.” The corner of his mouth lifts.
That makes me laugh. “Tidy, yes. Clean? No, those mats were gross. An inch of dust on top of each, at least.”
I watch, front row, as his playful mood comes to a halt. Oh, fuck. What did I do wrong now? Is he that anal about cleaning?
“Lily, can you go get your backpack ready for school, please?”
My little buddy, peeling carrots with surgical precision, sighs, not happy to be interrupted again by her father. “But Daaaad, it’s Saturday. I can do that tomorrow.”
“Now, Lily. Please.”
He’s still holding the knife. Will I make things worse if I ask him to put that thing down?
Lils stomps up the stairs, muttering age-appropriate curses. As soon as she’s out of earshot, he turns to me, blade lowered.
