Page 22 of Someone to Have
Eric does nothing for my nerves.
“Good to know,” he says, and I wonder if that means he’s not going to show up. And why do I find that thought weirdly disappointing, even though it was my suggestion?
I pick up the script after he closes the door behind him but then toss it on the coffee table. There’s no point in trying to focus tonight.
I’m halfway through changing into my pajamas when anotherknock sounds. It takes me a few minutes to get to the door, and when I open it, the hallway is empty.
But there’s a napkin on the carpet in front of my door with two perfect chocolate chip cookies on it.
I don’t know what game Eric Anderson is playing, but we’renoton the same team. Even if I do want his cookies.
6
ERIC
As much asI want to follow Rhett into the library the next morning, I don’t even shift my truck into park as we pull up to the curb.
What the hell is wrong with me that a morning at the library feels like getting tickets to the Stanley Cup finals when it means spending time with Taylor? That’s fucking pathetic.
I can't explain the strange effect she has on me but also won’t deny it. Even if I hadn’t promised my sister no dating while Rhett is in my care, soft-spoken librarians with big innocent eyes aren’t my type. No matter how much my hands itch to touch her delectable curves. Based on the fact that the guy she's lusting after is a slack-jawed tool, I'm not her type either. And I don’t want something quick and dirty with her, or any woman for that matter.
Rhett isn’t nearly as hyped about his morning plans or the fact that I’m making him face children’s hour on his own. “I don’t want to read to a bunch of dumb kids,” he announces as he opens the passenger door, as if his slouchy shoulders and non-stop sighing hasn’t made that clear.
“You’re going to help Ms. Maxwell in whatever way she needs you to,” I remind him.
“She told me to call her Taylor.” He glances over his shoulder at me. “What are you gonna do this morning?”
I wink. “I’mgonnaget a donut then head to the rink and check out the hockey team.”
“Bruh,” he says, dragging out the syllable.
It’s amazing how many ways he can wield that one word. “Bruh” when he’s happy with me and a longer “bruuuuh” when he’s angry. Sometimes he throws in a well-timed “dude” to mix things up. But teenage boys have their own language, and I’m becoming weirdly fluent in it.
“Maybe two donuts,” I add just for the fun of it.
“Dude.” He huffs out a sullen breath. “This sucks so bad.”
Sucks is another favorite.
“Sucks to be you,” I agree conversationally. You won’t find that comeback in any parenting manuals, but it works for me. “Think about this moment the next time you want to pop off and hurl a book—or anything else—at someone.”
Rhett groans. “I didn’t mean to hit her.”
“You meant to scare Mr. Connor.” I hold up a hand when he starts to argue. “I’m not saying he didn’t deserve it, buddy. But you have to find a different way to deal with assholes. There are too many in the world to fight every one.”
“Whatever,” he mumbles, then slams the door and stomps toward the library. Wide stone steps lead up to the entrance, and I watch Rhett disappear behind a pair of heavy wooden doors adorned with black iron handles and hinges.
I bet Tinkerbell loves it here. It’s the kind of place I avoided like the plague when I was younger. The exterior is a mix of faded red bricks and tall, arched windows, their panes slightly fogged with age. Above the grand entrance, a carved stone plaque bears the year of its founding, 1906, and marks the building’s designation on the National Register of Historic Places.
My sister was a reader, at least until hormones took over and she found other ways to occupy her time. Would it have made adifference if we'd grown up in a community like this? Would they have rallied around us and our mother when things went off the rails?
Toby Maxwell partied like it was his major in college, but I know he never saw the things my sister and I did. His life was a damn fairy tale in comparison. Just having parents who set boundaries might have helped, but that’s all water under the bridge for Jen and me.
I want to believe it isn't too late for Rhett—or for my sister—to turn things around.
I grab a half dozen donuts from the local bakery and enjoy a chocolate frosted one on the short drive to the ice rink. The corrugated metal building sits on the outskirts of town in an industrial area that doesn't have the charm of Skylark's main drag. But it's still picturesque with the bright blue winter sky above and snow-covered peaks in the distance.
Growing up in Northern Minnesota near the Canadian border, I’m used to cold and snow, but the regular sunshine Colorado is known for makes a real difference. I like to think the beauty of it drew my sister here, but I’d bet money she followed a man to Denver.
