Page 45 of Just Say When

She glanced down at herself. “Oh, right. Laundry day. I’m out of clean clothes.”

“I told you to bring everything,” I couldn’t resist pointing out. Maybe I was still annoyed that she’d left things behind on the assumption of how quickly we’d divorce. “We can swing by your mom’s house later today and get the rest of it.”

She shifted, tugging at the hem of my shirt like maybe it could miraculously grow an extra inch. It bounced right up again. “You don’t have to work?”

“I take a day off every now and then,” I said, like I had intended today to be one of those days all along. Like I hadn’t cancelled meetings on the off chance I could convince my wife to give me more than five minutes of her time.

“Well, that would be great, then,” she said. “How about now?”

“Now?” My gaze drifted down her bare legs and back up again. “I feel like this is the kind of errand that requires pants, hellion.” I was in no hurry for her to make that happen.

She made an exasperated face at me and I grinned. “Yes, prig, I know. Do you have something I can borrow?”

We settled on an old pair of sweatpants. She was tall for a woman, but I was tall for a man, which meant the bottoms bunched up around her ankles. Even with an elastic waistband, the pants hung low on her waist, saved from plunging down her thighs by her curvy hips and ass. With her hair piled in a messy bun that showcased the rainbow colors on top of her head, she looked ready for a day off spent on the couch, watching reruns of shows without really paying attention.

It did things to me, seeing her in my college shirt and worn-in sweatpants. It made me want to scoop her up and…andcuddle, of all fucking things.

I watched as she tugged on her sneakers. “Ready?”

She nodded. “Let’s go.”

Cat wasn’t there when we arrived, which was no surprise since she worked six days a week at Sweetie Pie, but Essie still had the keys. She let us in, and we headed for her old room.

“Take everything,” I ordered as Essie opened a dresser drawer. “Just in case.”

Her crisp salute was undermined by an exaggerated eyeroll. “Yes,sir.”

But she did as I said despite giving me attitude about it.Brat. She emptied a drawer of tee shirts and shorts into the suitcase and then moved on to the next one.

I took another look around the room while she worked. Again my gaze landed on the photo of Essie and Jack at the lake, and the barest smudge of my finger.

“Are you sure you don’t want to take any photos?” I asked.

“I’m sure.” She closed the suitcase with a grunt. “Too much work.”

I glanced at our reflection in the mirror over the dresser. She was too busy fighting the suitcase closed to pay me any mind.

“Okay,” she said. “I’m ready.”

“You haveeverything?” I asked, adding the emphasis just to piss her off.

She hefted the suitcase onto the floor. “Don’t worry. I won’t ask to borrow your precious old sweats ever again. I have enough clothes to last a month even if your washing machine breaks down.”

Well, shit. Now I wanted to set all her clothes on fire. Leave her nothingbutmy sweats to wear.

I followed behind as she rolled the suitcase down the hallway. She stopped at the dining room table to flip through a stack of mail.

“Should I change my address?” she asked. “Iprobably should, right? For appearances. I have to put my address on the competition entrance form. Seems like a hassle, though.”

“You can do it online. It only takes a minute,” I told her.

“Hm. I suppose—” She stopped rifling through the envelopes and magazines, her face completely blank as she picked up a postcard. She studied it for a moment, then flipped it over. Her expression didn’t change as she read it.

She set it down again. “Let’s go.”

With that, I knew exactly who it was from. A helpless fury washed over me as I strode to the table. Because Essie? Expressionless was the last thing she was. Anger, joy, sorrow, fear, desire, they all showed up on her face. She never tried to hide who she was or what she was feeling.

Except when it came to the pathetic excuse for a man who was her father.

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