Page 50 of Came the Closest

The thought sobers me, because he did tell me no. I knew we weren’t truly infinity before we started dating. Before I felt his calloused palm on my skin, and he kissed me on the bridge over the Chicago River, and we talked about a future we both knew wouldn’t happen. Before we came the closest.

“Are you finding everything all right?” the well-dressed associate asks. Never in my life have I been so grateful for a distraction. “We offer complimentary tailoring services if needed.”

“See?” Indi pauses to peer at the gold nametag neatly pinned to his roseate dress shirt. “If Oliver here can wear pink, and Graham can wear pink, you can wear pink. C’mon, Colt. Be a good sport and step outside of your comfort zone.”

“Says the girl who wears red, red, and oh, more red,” Colton grumbles.

“Yeah, well,” she says, shrugging, “at least I have taste. You are not going to wear jeans and boots to work in a ritzy downtown Omaha office, Casanova.”

“Annie, look!” Milo exclaims, tugging on my hand. “This tie has boats on it!”

Indi’s perfectly capable of helping Colton select his business attire, so I follow Milo over to the circular table. He reaches for a tie and holds it up for me to see. Tiny white sailboats dot the silky navy material.

“Wow! I love it.” Squatting, I hold out my hand and lower my voice. “Hey, listen, buddy. I know you’re excited you found the tie, and I’m proud of you for finding it, but next time let’s just point, okay? We need to ask the worker if it’s okay to touch first. Does that make sense?”

His enthusiasm fades into a contrite expression, but he nods and gingerly sets the tie in my palm. He pauses, peers up at me, and lifts his other hand to carefully fold the tie so it won’t fall. My chest twinges. In the span of ten days, he’s done exactly what I feared he would do.

He’s carved out a spot in my heart that will only ever belong to his dimpled smile and his tender demeanor. His shark print pjs and his bone-deep affinity for Sailing: The Basics instead of the children’s books on the living room shelf.

A spot that will be left gaping come August.

I push the sobering thought away and place the tie back on the display. Behind me, I hear Indi having an in-depth discussion with Oliver about color tones. When I glance over my shoulder, Colton is no longer rifling through the suit jackets.

He’s looking directly at us. Not me, and not Milo, but the two of us as a unit.

Not for the first time since we shook on this agreement, I wish it was more than that.

Rain softly pummels the shingled roof, and I ease Milo’s bedroom door halfway closed. After our excursion to Omaha, he became overtired, which made him testier than normal. Unsatisfied with the burgers Colton grilled for supper, resistant to bathtime, and downright cranky by the bedtime.

It sapped every ounce of my patience.

But now he’s tucked cozily into bed. Sleep claimed him nearly as soon as his head touched the pillow. Indi retired early because she’s going hiking with Sydney early tomorrow morning, and Colton said he was going to take a shower.

I pause at my own room, tempted to crawl under the covers and call it a night, but I don’t. I muffle a yawn and go downstairs. I still have towels and laundry to fold, and the dishes from supper were left when we walked up to Sam’s house for ice cream.

I push the cuffs of my sweatshirt to my elbows and tie my hair in a low ponytail. The sooner I get these things done, the sooner I can go to bed. And the sooner tomorrow morning comes to do it all over again. The thought makes me wish there was another hour in the night.

I grab my Airpods and put them in my ears. Background music will make these tasks go faster, and I need to catch up on the songs Colton has added to my Choose Happy playlist. Besides, Jimmy Buffett is never a bad idea.

I walk into the kitchen, Spotify open, and then I stop abruptly. So abruptly I’m surprised I don’t trip over the empty laundry basket propped against the wall to my right.

The kitchen is…clean. A couple of non-dishwasher safe bowls and sippy cups sit on the lemon-yellow drying mat, but the sink is empty. I blink, looking for signs of a mythical housekeeper, but to my tired eyes wonder, nothing fictional occurs.

I take a tentative step forward. Orange scented dish soap and grill smoke cling to the air, tangling with the lingering peony essence from the candle I blew out before putting Milo to bed. I peek in the dishwasher; everything is lined up nicely, just waiting for someone to push the Start button.

My brow furrows in confusion.

Maybe Indi snuck downstairs while I was reading with Milo. I forget sometimes that she’s only eighteen because she has the maturity of someone so much older. I’ve told her I can handle the house and Milo—that’s what I’m here for—but caretaking is engrained too deeply in her.

I grab the laundry basket, but then I spot the mythical housekeeper fairy in the form of Colton’s head. It’s barely visible through the sunroom windows, a waning sunset turning his dark curls golden. Leaving my phone and the basket on the sofa—next to the folded towels and clothing, stacked neatly for each person in the house—I let myself through the screen door.

Colton glances up. His arm is sprawled along the back of the wicker sofa, his t-shirt wrinkled, and his eyes tired, but he taps his ear, grinning.

Only then do I remember putting my Airpods in. I pull them out and tuck them in the pocket of my striped linen shorts. I also make a mental note to remember I put them there; I really don’t feel like buying new ones because I tossed them in the washer.

“Did you hire the new housekeeping fairy?” I ask.

“Me?” he asks with false incredulity. “Cheyenne, I can’t say. That would take the magic—” he wiggles his fingers around the word “—out of it. Don’t you think?”

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