Page 89 of Off the Mark
Warmth spread through my chest, tugging my lips into a genuine smile. “Oh. Thanks. That’s so nice of you to say.”
She cocked her head up the stairs. “Come on in. Alice is excited and a little nervous to meet you. Also, hey Rowan, you’re here too?”
He laughed and ruffled her hair as she tried to swat his hand away. “We’re only standing inmychildhood home but sure, you welcome her inside.”
She sniffed. “I will, thank you.”
Tabitha pulled me up the stairs into a small, carpeted living room, walls covered with photos, figurines and frames covering the mantle. The furniture was neat but similarly worn. The curtains threadbare but well-maintained.
In the center of the room was a tiny, elderly woman with skin as pale as Rowan’s and bright white hair.
“My goodness.” Shetsked. “Rowan O’Callaghan, you didn’t tell me that Charlie was twice as beautiful in person as she is in all those motorcycle pictures you showed me.”
Her Irish accent was strong and lyrical and it clicked into place for me why some of Rowan’s words had a subtle musical lilt.
He’d picked it up from the Irish grandmother who’d raised him.
“It’s so wonderful to meet you, Mrs. O’Callaghan.” I held out the flowers. “I wasn’t sure what kind of flowers you liked so I bought all of them.”
Alice widened her eyes like this was the greatest gift she’d ever received, scooping them from my grasp and opening her arms for a hug.
“Andyou brought me a garden? I don’t deserve it.” She patted my back as I released her. “Call me Alice, please. We’re very relaxed and casual around here, Charlie.”
Rowan appeared next to us. “Just last week you told me this was a holy, God-fearing household and now we’re casual?”
She tipped her head towards me. “The way my grandson tells a fib.”
Wrapping her arm through mine, she walked me back to the kitchen.
“I heard that some people on the news are picking on you for no reason.” She lowered her voice. “I never said no to a party back in my day. It seems like you work very hard, just like I did. Is it wrong for a girl to have a little fun?”
I breathed out a laugh. “It is not. I’m sure we would have partied together.”
Dean was standing over the sink, his side profile revealing a nose that looked like it’d been broken several times over. He set a pan down and extended a gigantic hand. “Hey, Charlie, it’s good to meet you again. That was one hell of a race the other day.”
I grinned. “Thanks for coming and making all those glitter signs.”
He made eye contact with Rowan over my shoulder. “I only gave him a little bit of shit for that, I swear.”
Behind him was a framed picture of two tall, gangly, teen boys that were so clearly Dean and Rowan my heart did that bizarre flipping thing again. I averted my gaze, something about the wave of emotion that picture evoked in me sending up a warning.
Alice moved past us in the tiny, crowded kitchen with a steaming pan that Rowan immediately took from her hands.
“The rest of you, bring the drinks and side dishes. And Charlie, don’t you dare lift a finger to help or I will know about it.”
Tabitha brushed past holding a bottle of wine and five glasses. “You better listen to her, girl. Just lean into the hospitality before she hits you with a napkin for offering to clean a single dish.”
“Thanks for the pro tip,” I replied, following them to the dining room table, in a space barely big enough between the living room and the kitchen. There were candles. And cloth napkins. And Rowan, holding out the chair next to him, his expression boyish and charming.
Dean and Tabitha sat across from us, and Alice at the head of the table to our right, and I couldfeelthe memories here. Everything from the ease of Dean’s body language in what I knew had been his second home to the scratches on top of the table. There were chips in the old chairs and height pencil marks on the wall next to me.
Our house, the one my dad was about to lose if I didn’t fix everything, hadn’t fared much better after years of rough-and-tumble use. We were constantly tracking mud and bike grease across the floor, scuffing up the walls or ripping up the grass.
Even after my mom left, and my dad and I were struggling, I always felt comforted by all the nicks and scratches. Evidence of a childhood well-spent even if I was lonely.
Plates were passed, portions were served, Tabitha poured large glasses of wine for all of us. Alice watched this domestic display with a look of fondness, and when her eyes lit on mine, my answering smile was sincere.
“It’s so thoughtful of you to have me over. I never get home cooking when I’m traveling like this. And I miss my dad a lot.”
