Page 94 of Before This Ends (Before)

miles

Sitting at the island, I watch Win stand on the coffee table and sing “Let It Go” at the top of her lungs. The blue, sparkly dress she put on about twenty minutes ago swings around her as she spins, with one hand holding onto the crown on her head.

When the door opens, I watch Emma step inside and stop with a look of disbelief on her face. Yesterday around this time, Win was still lying on the couch—no fever but totally out of it. This morning, she was asleep when Emma left for work. And now… well, now, Winter’s putting on a concert in the living room. She woke up a little congested, but she hasn’t had to take any more Tylenol.

The song comes to an end, and Emma looks over to where I’m now standing, her lips still parted in disbelief, and I grin.

“You’re home!” Win cries like she hasn’t seen Emma in a month, then jumps off the coffee table and runs across the room to give her a hug.

“You feel better, I see.” She smiles at her, touching her cheek.

“I think I’m still sick.”

“Do you?”

“Yes.” She falls to the ground dramatically, and Emma looks down at her. “I’m so hot.” Dolly takes full advantage and starts licking her face.

“And I’m sure—” Emma laughs, turning to hang her bag on the hook next to the door. “—you being hot has nothing to do with the dancing or the singing.”

“I don’t think so.” She takes Emma’s hand when she offers to help her up. “Maybe I have a fever.”

“We can check it and see.”

“I’ll check it.” Win skips to the kitchen ahead of her, going to where I have the thermometer on the counter just in case.

As she turns it on to take her temp, Emma closes the distance between us. “She’s feeling better.”

“Told you.” I smile, then lean down to press my lips to hers. “How was work?”

“Long.” She glances at Win when she announces her temp is ninety-eight point nine. “No fever.”

“Maybe this thing is broken,” Win grumbles, putting the thermometer back in its case, then she runs out of the kitchen as another song begins to play from the TV. Em laughs, watching her before turning her attention to me when the oven timer I set dings.

I grab the potholders off the hook near the stove and open the oven door to take out the roast and potatoes I put in this afternoon.

“You cooked?”

“I’m going to pretend I’m not offended that you sound so surprised.” I raise a brow as she gets closer to look over my shoulder when I open the lid on the Dutch oven.

“I haven’t seen you cook, so I didn’t know you could.” Her eyes meet mine. “It smells good.”

“It will taste even better.” I lean over to kiss her, then ask, “You want a glass of wine?”

“Please, I’m just going to change and get out my heels.” She glances over at Winter, who is once again performing on top of the solid-wood coffee table. She shakes her head and mumbles, “I thought for sure she’d still be lying on the couch when I got home.”

“It never lasts long.”

“Wild.” She smiles up at me, resting her hand on my chest. “Tell me something I don’t know about you.”

“My favorite Disney character is the Queen of Hearts. You?”

She laughs and leans up, kissing the underside of my jaw. “The chicken from Moana. I’ll be right back.”

I watch her ass in the jeans she wore today as she walks across the living room to the bedroom. She must feel my gaze on her, because she glances at me over her shoulder and rolls her eyes when she finds me checking her out. Laughing, I go to the fridge and take out the bottle of white wine she opened a few days ago, then take down a glass. As I’m about to uncork it, my cell rings.

When I see it’s Clay, I put it to my ear. “What’s up?”

“How’s Winter feeling?”

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