Page 46 of Until Nalia
“Sure.” She looks across the room to where I know there is a clock on the wall. “Are you going to see Uncle Hector?”
“No, Nalia.”
“Okay.” She sits up and rests back against her pintucked headboard, bringing her knees to her chest, dropping her eyes to her book.
“We good?” I ask after a moment, and she looks up at me with a frown.
“Yeah, why?”
“No reason.” I walk across the room and then lean down to kiss the top of her head. “If you need me, I have my cell.”
“Okay, have fun.”
What the fuck? No attitude, no questions. Just have fun.
Shaking my head, I leave her room to head down the hall to Coop’s bedroom, crack the door open, and peek inside. He’s still asleep, his arm hanging over the side of the bed, and his blankets have kicked off onto the floor. Unlike his sister’s room, he chose a black and white geometric print wallpaper for the wall his bed is up against. Then he left the rest of the walls white so that the wallpaper wouldn’t take away from the large canvas prints with different sneakers and random items covered with graffiti he had picked out.
Walking across his room, I grab his blankets off the floor and place them back over him, then lean down to kiss the top of his head. He doesn’t even twitch, proving just how exhausted he is. Leaving his small night light on, I close his door, then stop back by Billie’s room and poke my head in.
“Love you, I’ll see you when I get home.”
“’Kay, Dad, love you too.” She doesn’t even look up from her book.
Going downstairs, I grab my keys and give Dozer a head rub before I head out of the house.
The drive to Nalia’s takes less than five minutes, and the moment I pull into the driveway, the front door opens, and her shadowy frame fills the doorway. Shutting down the engine, I get out and walk up to the porch where she’s waiting, wrapped in an oversized sweater. I can’t make out what she’s wearing underneath, but I can see her long tan legs and bare feet.
“Hey,” she says quietly, shifting from foot to foot as I walk up the steps and close the distance between us.
“Hey.” I lean down, touching my mouth to the edge of hers, and hear her swift intake of breath before I place my hand against her soft stomach and walk her backwards into the house. Closing the door behind myself, I watch her back up and latch onto her bottom lip before she tips her head towards where I know the kitchen is.
“I figured we could sit out back on the deck, if that’s okay with you.”
“Sure.” I follow her into the kitchen that is small but tidy, and like the rest of the house there are lots of pops of bright colors here and there. Not one piece of pottery or art seems to match but it all still somehow seamlessly works together and fits the space and the personality of the woman who lives here.
“This is the bourbon I was telling you about.” She passes me a bottle from the counter, the label looks familiar with its gold font and deep green background. It’s not a brand that is popular in liquor stores, but I have seen the small bar a few towns over advertise their bourbon and location in our local magazine and on social media.
“Did they buy a house from your brothers?” I ask her as I start to unwrap the plastic from the top of the bottle.
“No, they’re remodeling their current house, which sits on about three hundred acres right outside of Franklin. I guess it’s been in their family for a few generations, and it needs a lot of updates.” She wanders across the kitchen and gets down two glasses from a cabinet next to the sink. “The guys are also going to build a space on the property that they can use to host parties and weddings, but they won’t start work on that until sometime next year.”
“They’re always busy.”
“Always.” She walks back towards me with the glasses, then scoots around me to go to the back door. “Ready?” she turns to look at me.
“Yeah,” I carry the bottle outside. The deck is small with just a single loveseat and coffee table that doubles as a fire pit, but the yard is large with full grown trees surrounding the perimeter. After putting the glasses down, she opens up a door under the coffee table, and two clicks later flames appear in the she takes a seat. I sit next to her and twist off the lid on the bottle then pour us each a glass.
“Have you had bourbon before?” I ask after passing her one of the glasses and watching her sniff the top.
“No, but it smells dangerous.”
“It can be,” I laugh, and she smiles. “Just take small sips.” I take a mouthful and watch her do the same. Her eyes widen a second later, and a second after that, she starts to cough.
“Wow.” She wipes her mouth with the sleeve of her sweater. “This is…”
“Not bad,” I mutter.
“Disgusting,” she counters, putting the glass down and getting up. “I’ll be right back.” Scooting around me, she walks back into the house and comes out a minute later with two wine glasses and a bottle of red wine. “I brought you a glass in case you want wine instead.”
