Page 94 of Between the Lines

I indicate to the casserole I’d made for us when she said she would be home in the early afternoon. But I ate hours ago, and honestly, I was only staying up to see that she made it home okay. I’m ready for bed.

Nathan and I did nothing but read and eat and fuck in a fluid cycle. He said that he wanted to get me back for the “old man” comments. Well, prove himself hedid.I don’t think I slept a wink—until I insisted that I had to make it home to cook for Penelope and me. He responded by eating me against the front door, not satisfied until I had to walk bow-legged to my car. As soon as Penelope texted that she was going to be later than expected, I ate and passed out on the couch, waking a few hours later to an empty house.

“You’re a friggen saint. I’mfamished.”

She drops her bags where she stands—in between the kitchenand the living room—and bolts to where I’ve left a place sitting along with the covered casserole dish. By the time I fold the blanket I was using and mark my spot in my Kindle, she’s already digging into dinner.

“Seriously, Claire. I didnotask you to move in so that you could stop feeding your siblings and do it for me instead. I promise.”

I laugh, albeit tiredly, and sit next to her at one of the backed stools at the island.

“I know you didn’t. I had to eat. I made enough for two.”

It’s partially the truth. Penelope isn’t charging me rent, and that guilt started to eat at me the moment I woke up from my mini-coma on her living room couch.

“How was your first weekend on your own? I hope it wasn’t too weird being in a new place without me.”

I immediately flush, tension racketing my body as I formulate a way to say,It wasn’t too weird considering I didn’t actually stay here at all.

When I’m speechless for far too long, Penelope stops eating, her gaze sidling over to me with her fork halfway to her mouth and her cheek bunched with casserole. It’s so quiet in this kitchen, you could hear the page turn on my Kindle.

I swallow. “It was good.”

She nods,soslowly I hear the crackle of her stiff bones.

“How about you? How did everything go with Connor?” I ask, needing the attention off of me immediately before I scream,I let our boss bang my brains out and might go take a bath with Epson salts so I can walk tomorrow at work!

But then, something curious happens.Penelopeturns red—as red as the curtain of hair on her head.

Interesting.

She finishes chewing, her swallow audible.

“It was good.”

“Good,” I nod.

“Yep. Good.”

There is a silent understanding that while both of us areclearlyfibbing about our weekends, those secrets are meant to remain locked up. Luckily, my phone buzzes on the countertop, diverting my attention. For a moment, I’m both thrilled and worried that it’s Nathan—it wouldn’t be a good look if she caught him texting me at almost ten-p.m.

My heart drops.

It’s Zoey.

We didn’t part on the greatest of terms.

Zoey

You haven’t even been gone for a full weekend and mom can’t keep our schedule straight.

Claire

Sorry, kiddo. What happened?

Zoey

Don’t apologize. I’m just keeping you in the loop. Michael was late to soccer because mom was out late with friends and slept through her alarm. He didn’t get the start, and she went full Karen on the coach. She only stopped when he threatened to sit him the next game.

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