Page 33 of Wicked Proposal
“I didn’t touch the stove.”
“I know you didn’t. You were very good.”
“She left you a note in the kitchen.”
“Okay.” I press a kiss to his forehead. “I’ll go see. You want anything?”
“Can I have juice?”
“Of course you can. What do we say?”
“Pretty please?”
“Good boy. I’ll be right back.”
Kallie’s note is way less angry than I deserve. She had every right to scream at me. Instead, her handwriting just reads,Had to run to work, tried calling. Told Eli not to touch the stove. TEXT ME!!!
Texting her is the first thing I do.Sorry—crazy night, couldn’t get to my phone. Back home now. I promise I’ll explain everything.Then, with a fresh pang of guilt,Thank you for staying as long as you could. I love you, I do not deserve your kindness, and at your earliest convenience, I will spend two straight hours massaging your feet and groveling for forgiveness. Pinky swear.
I grab the juice and cuddle up to Eli on the couch. “Did you have fun with Aunt Kallie last night?”
“We watched Carmen Sandiego.” He slurps loudly through the straw. “Why did you come back yesterday? You got all pretty.”
“Why, thank you.”
“Mom.”
I ruffle his hair. “It’s a long story. But I’ve got good news?—”
Before I can say another word, the doorbell rings.
“We’re not expecting mail, are we?” I frown, realizing as I say it that it’s way too early. I check the time—7:35 A.M.
I open the door?—
“Good morning, Ms. Winters.”
—and it’sthem.
12
MIA
The social workers blink at me placidly from the hallway.
“Mr. Lee.” I force myself to smile. “Mrs. Deloera. What brings you here so early? I thought we didn’t have another visit scheduled until next month?”
“We don’t,” Howard Lee says, his nose already up in the air like a sniffer dog. “May we come in?”
Can I say no?I want to snark, but swallow back the impulse. Knowing Mr. Lee, he might actually write that down in his godforsaken little notepad.
“Please.” I smile through my teeth. “Make yourselves at home.”
“Thank you, dear,” Itzel Deloera says. Her eyes crinkle behind her half-moon glasses. “We’ll only be a minute.”
Her colleague, on the other hand, just plows right in. “Where’s the child?”
“Eli?” Itzel calls, soft and grandmotherly, her head peeking into the living room.
