Page 45 of Perfect Praise

“She’s getting so good at tummy time,” I say without thinking. Everyone slowly turns to stare at me as I sit on the couch, including Maren, who is smirking over her shoulder like she can’t believe that just came out of my mouth. I clear my throat and stand before my ass has barely grazed the seat. “Yeah, I can’t believe I just said that. Do you want a drink?”

“Just water, please,” Maren replies.

I can hear Blake and Maren cooing at Emmie as I grab a glass in the kitchen.

While I’m filling up the water from the refrigerator, Maren walks through the wide entryway that separates the open kitchen from the living room.

“I didn’t get to thank you,” she says, leaning her elbows down on the island. My willpower is shot instantly as her breasts swell and form a deep groove that I swear I only glance at for a millisecond, but I can’t be sure.

“For what?”

“For the lease and my car. I wanted to tell you in person, but then I didn’t see you and it felt like too many days had passed to call or text without it being awkward. I’m trying not to feel awkward. So, thank you. But you haven’t cashed my check.”

“I’m beginning to think you’re not taking your lease seriously.” I slide the water across the counter. “Also, you’re avoiding me.”

“You’re avoiding me,” she counters and brings her water up to her lips in a futile attempt to hide her smile. “What happened to mature adults?”

I watch her throat as she swallows. I watch her lips as she licks them. My mind is only in one place—a stairwell in a hospital.

When our eyes meet, her body skips like there is a blip in the matrix. Then the oven timer beeps just as Elise walks into the kitchen like it’s resetting the universe.

Of course, she’ll be the first to pounce. “Maren,” she says, putting on oven mitts, “where are you from?”

“Outside of Orlando,” Maren replies as she pulls out a bar stool and slides onto it.

The smell of the roast that’s been cooking for hours fills the kitchen when Elise opens the oven door.

“A fellow Florida girl.” Elise smiles. “I lived in Tampa my entire life, but we moved near here to help with Emmie when she was born.”

Maren matches her smile. “I love that. I’m sure Locke is happy to have his family close too.” She motions to the bowl of lemons, bag of sugar, and black juicer. “Can I help make the lemonade?”

Elise considers it and nods, only so she can trap Maren in the kitchen to pepper her with questions. “Did you go to the University of Florida?”

“Nope,” Maren says. “Florida State for photography. Well, no, that’s not true.Technically,I majored in business, then I’d take all these photography electives that didn’t count toward my degree at all, but I like to joke that I minored in it. My mom was thrilled, and I racked up some nice student loans.”

Her eyes fall on me briefly as I walk out, but this conversation is not one I want to be a part of. Nothing good can come from getting to know more about Maren.

My skin has been buzzing for weeks, like I’m having a withdrawal from the contact of her body against me everywhere, and it’s finally somewhat bearable.

I’ve never had such a strong reaction to a woman before. The others were like downers, dulling my brain, but Maren, she’s an upper, speeding up my nervous system. I don’t know if it has to do with my irrational protection of her or her praise kink or what, but I do know she makes me feel like I’m high.

One minute later, my plan doesn’t work when Conrad and Blake decide to go sit on the porch swing with their drinks while I sit on the floor and flip through a picture book for Emmie’s viewing pleasure (Ialso happen to know that a baby’s eyesight gets better at four months).

Phillip stays in the recliner, invested in the college basketball game.

And fuck the modern, open kitchen—why don’t people want privacy anymore?—because I can hear them clear as day now.

“—was never my passion. I actually want to be a lifestyle photographer. Capturing the little moments is what makes me happy.”

Elise cracks up. “You hate golf?! But you take pictures of golfers for a living!”

“I know,” Maren giggles. “My brother-in-law got me the job. He’s a personal doctor for a few of the players on the tour. Do you play?”

“I dabble. I picked it up when I suggested Locke should try it. It seemed like the perfect sport for him to channel himself into, so it became our family thing. Of course, within a few months, Locke made it not so fun for everyone else when he was pulling ahead by ten-plus strokes, but he still appeases us and waits only a tiny bit impatiently to finish each hole.”

I roll my eyes to myself as I point out the pink pig on the page and make a low oink sound. Emmie stares, her little blue eyes full of baby disparagement.

“Don’t judge me,” I whisper. “I’ll teach you how to play golf, and I’d never be impatient. You’re the only person I’d ever consider teaching, so you should feel lucky. Plus, you’ll be better than all of us.”

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