Page 7 of Own

“I…” I’m taken aback by his attitude. Is it concern? Or just censure?

“You should always do that, even when you’re expecting someone.”

Censure. It’s definitely censure. And my cheeks flame with embarrassment.

“Dad,” Scarlett hisses as she slaps his leg.

“I-I-I-I’m s-s-s-sorry.” Damn this stutter. I feel like I’m five and about to be punished for leaving the fridge door open again.

“We brought you these.” Scarlett steals the attention, holding out a bouquet of flowers almost as large as she is. She grins with such pride as I stare at them open-mouthed.

“Oh,” I gasp, tearing up with emotions I’ve never felt before. “Th-th-thank you.” Taking them from her, I chance a glance up at Cato to find his intimidating stare focused on me. “C-come in,” I offer so I can set the flowers in water.

“Your bedroom is in your living room! Cool.”

I smile at Nate’s enthusiasm while placing the flowers on the small table next to the fridge. I’m half afraid to look at Cato. I know he has money, so this place must look so shabby compared to what he’s used to.

“I really like this mirror, Hester.” Scarlett twirls in front of the floor-length mirror I found at a garage sale last summer and fell in love with.

Reaching into the cupboard below the sink, I retrieve the lone vase I found—also from that garage sale. I never had a chance to use it before now. It’s black crystal with a raised grapevine design on the surface. In its prime, it was probably quite expensive; I got it for three dollars.

After rinsing it and wiping the dust off the outside, I place it next to the sink, cut the plastic wrapping off the flowers, arrange them in the vase, then add water. The bright daisies make me smile. I don’t have a favorite flower, but these have always caught my eye. Kind of like Cato now as he inspects my living space.

It’s not much, a shoebox really, but I can afford it and remain living alone.

The front door opens into the kitchen, with its lone counter, single sink, and the small dining room table by the fridge. My bedroom/living area is beyond that, with two large rectangular windows looking out onto the street, then the bathroom with only a single shower stall. It isn’t much, but I worked hard for everything here.

A small spider plant sits in one corner, which, frankly, has seen better days, but it’s hanging in there. My bookcase is sorely lacking. I’d love for it to hold hundreds of books, but there are only a couple dozen. Mostly romance, some true crime, and a couple of self-help books about depression and suicidal tendencies. Which, of course, are the ones Cato gravitates to and inspects.

When he turns to look at me, I busy myself with the vase by setting it in the center of my table and arranging the flowers. I don’t need to witness his judgment to know he regrets asking me to join them for dinner.

“Aren’t they pretty?” Scarlett startles me by reaching forward to pet one of the petals. “I picked them out; they’re my favorite.” She grins so innocently. “Do you like them?”

I can’t help but match some of her enthusiasm. “I love them,” I whisper down to her.

“Ready?” I jump at Cato’s commanding tone.

“Y-y-yes.” I thought for sure he would come up with an excuse not to go after seeing my books.

Gathering my purse, I shove my phone in and withdraw my keys to lock the door. Cato takes them from me, shuts and locks the door instead, then pockets them. I don’t know what to make of that, and I’m not brave enough to demand he return them. Is this a power play? Doesn’t he know he already holds all the power?

“This isn’t a safe neighborhood,” he comments as we step outside, and the kids head right for the waiting car, crawling in the back as the driver holds the door open for them. “Anything could happen to you here.”

As if to prove his point, two obviously drunk men walk down the sidewalk, pointing at me and catcalling. A sound rumbles from Cato’s chest as he places himself between them and me, guiding me into the car before following behind.

Facing bucket seats await us, and I stare in surprise until Cato reaches for my seatbelt and buckles me in. The driver slips in behind the wheel and pulls from the curb as the kids chatter quietly together.

“Why do you live here?” Cato asks, obviously not liking my residence.

“I-I-I like it h-h-here.” Stumbling over words is the bane of my existence. How can anyone take me seriously when I can’t even get a simple sentence out?

He snorts before grasping my hand and placing it on the inside of his thigh. My fingers twitch, something else I can’t help when I’m nervous, and I wind up digging my nails into his leg a few times before trying to pull away. He doesn’t allow it; instead, he holds me secure.

I’m frozen in place the entire ride to the restaurant, unable to move and counting my breaths to avoid hyperventilating. The worst is controlling the twitching. Which only makes it worse, causing me embarrassment because he must think I’m trying to come on to him. I’m not; I swear, and by the time we arrive, I’m nearly in tears and excuse myself to the bathroom almost as soon as we’re seated.

I count out a full minute while running ice-cold water over my wrists, which only makes my constant frigid state even worse. But I’d rather that than have no control over the nerves in my hand. After washing and drying off, I head back to our table to find the kids coloring on one side of the booth, colorful drinks in front of them, and Cato staring at me as I approach.

Moving to sit on the inside so I’m shielded from the outside, I notice Nate has done the same with Scarlett. It’s a protective move and oddly sweet. “Scar said you like tea.” Cato nods to the steaming teapot in front of me.