Page 30 of Lucky Strike

I’m finishinga roast beef sandwich with a side of Nola’s homemade kettle chips when Liam comes bursting into the kitchen, Bria trailing behind him. She gives me a polite nod before turning her attention to the counter, where Nola left their lunch.

Shelby sits beside Bria, who gives her a quick scritch behind the ears. “Would you like fruity ice in your water, Liam?”

But my boy is focused on me. “Daddy!” he says, climbing onto my lap. “You’re having lunch, Dad? We’re having lunch, too! Did you wait for us?”

I didn’t, actually. I’m between web conferences, but my growling belly made it impossible to skip lunch. Still, who can resist that face? Sometimes he reminds me of Maeve when she was little. Always following us around, wanting to play. “Sure, buddy. Let’s hang out for a little while.”

“Let’s hang out.” He wiggles around, legs swinging as Bria sets his food on his placemat. She’s cut his sandwich into four triangles.

“What d’you say?” she asks as I set him in his seat.

“Thank you!” He crams a piece of watermelon into his mouth. I push his fruit bowl closer. He graduated recently from his booster seat at the table, so he still strains to reach stuff sometimes.

“You’re welcome.” She ruffles his hair. “Now, do you want fruity ice cubes or plain ones?”

“Apple juice!”

“No, sir. You already had that for breakfast.”

Liam looks thoughtfully at his sandwich before picking up a piece. “Fruity ice. Please.”

I don’t know what fruity ice is, but I find out when Bria returns to the table with a plastic cup half-full of water and fruit-infused ice cubes. Interesting.

Liam fills me in on their day while we eat. I listen attentively, peeking at Bria ever so often. I’d worried having her in the house would feel messy, that she’d be resentful of how I left things all those years ago—or worse, still into me—but it’s clear she’s moved on. In fact, she seems to speak to me only when necessary. She’s focused on my son, which is exactly what I wanted.

Our eyes collide as she brings the last of her sandwich to her mouth. I push away from the table, cracking my knuckles as Nola breezes through the back kitchen door with grocery bags. “You need help carrying those in?” I ask. “How many more you got?”

“No, no, sit down,” she says, setting the bags on the countertop. “I’ve just a few left.”

But Bria follows her out anyway. They come back a moment later with a bag each. “I told you it wasn’t much,” Nola says. “This one’s just as stubborn as you, Con.” She chuckles, putting a carton of milk into the fridge.

“You know you could just order the groceries,” I remind her. It’s a conversation we’ve had several times.

“No,” she says briskly. “Never. That’s fine for some, but I prefer to do my shopping in person. I don’t trust anyone else to do it right. I need to choose the apples myself, see what the meat’s lookin’ like.”

“I’m the same way,” Bria says, helping her unload the rest of the bags. Her shirt lifts when she reaches for a cabinet, revealing a small sliver of golden-brown skin. I avert my eyes, checking the calendar on my phone. “I don’t mind ordering clothes online sometimes, but food is different.”

“No one will do as good a job as you,” Nola agrees. “Besides, I like getting out of the house! I need the exercise.”

“I like to go to the store, too!” Liam slides down from his seat and joins Nola and Bria, a grape in one hand and a hunk of roast beef in the other.

I chase him down and put him back, wiping his mayo-smudged face with a napkin. “You should sit down while you’re eating.”

“But Bria?—”

“Your dad’s right; no running around when you have food in your mouth.” Bria returns to her chair, giving Liam’s shoulder a soft squeeze.

I clear my throat. “Bria, before I forget: my parents are taking Liam for a couple of days next week. They want to spend some time with him before they head out to Cleveland.”

“Oh, okay.” She looks over at Liam. “That sounds fun!”

“We’re going to the beach!” he cries through a mouthful of food, wiggling like a puppy. “We always go to the beach!”

“You are? That sounds awesome!”

“Yeah.” He pushes away from the table again. “Can we go to the Frog Pond now?”

Bria pokes his plate, frowning at the leftovers. “You sure you’ve had enough? You’re not going to get hungry, are you?”

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