Page 76 of Love at Teamsgiving
He kisses the top of my head. His lips linger there for a long moment. All the anxiety and stress stream out of me and I relax because whatever happens, I have him and this amazingly dysfunctional family.
Everyone, for once, silent, watches this interaction with ... hope?
Before we leave for our stakeout, Mikey takes a five-minute shower while Carlotta and Mama talk about the differences between stuffing and dressing.
I do not want to think about all of us gathered around the table for Thanksgiving, definitely not without Papa and Asher. A little ache comes to the surface, but maybe this crew can help fill some of the gaps.
After we say goodbye, Mikey opens the car door for me. I pause for a moment, taking a breath of fresh air before being closed in there with him. This night could end in one of two ways—how it has been lately with us arguing or how I’d like it to be with us doing something else with our mouths.
Before closing the passenger door, he leans close and says, “I bet you could really go for some chocolate right now.”
My lips quirk. “More like the whole box.”
He chuckles.
This might be an unpopular opinion, but I like small talk. It’s like a snapshot of a person, a sample or an appetizer. Getting to know clients is one of the things I like most about my job—all while making them feel beautiful with a fresh haircut or color.
But everything with Mikey is deep. He makes me look at myself—big brown eyes, scars, and all.
For once, though, he’s quiet.
“Are you strategizing our plan of attack?”
“Something like that.” He stops the car two blocks over from the salon. “Let’s assess the damage.”
As before, Cobbiton is fast asleep, cozy under an autumn blanket of cool air and crisp leaves. Most of the shops showcase some variation of twinkling orange, purple, and white lights, corncob wreaths, potted mums, and pumpkins. The moon is high and makes the damp sidewalk sparkle.
Mikey takes a bag out of the back of the car that his mother gave him and marches ahead.
Glancing over at Once Upon a Romance, I admire Gracie’s window display. Mr. Skelebones holds a quill pen and looks like he fell “asleep” while writing a love letter.
She’s such a romantic. I’ll admit, I like it. Maybe I was wrong about love after all.
It’s definitely not a night for kissing. But I keep close to Mikey all the same.
We pause in front of the salon’s window, smeared with dried egg yolk.
“Pop said there’s a ladder in the back. I’ll grab it while you open up.”
I shake my head. “If it’s all the same, I’d rather stick together.”
His lips play with a smile and he says, “Actually, I like the sound of that better.”
For the next thirty minutes, we clean the windows in comfortable silence. When we’re done, we stand back to admire our work, making sure we got all of it, when my gaze lifts to the empty space where I’ll hang the sign with the salon’s name.
Mikey’s hand drops to my lower back and lingers. I lean into him, into us. The other day, Mama said that being mad and hating someone aren’t the same thing, nor is liking and loving. My anger was founded, but I told myself I hated him to protect myself from further hurt. The truth is, I like him a lot. I love him even more. It feels so good, so freeing, to finally admit this.
“Yeah?” he asks.
To anyone else, this would sound out of the blue, vague. But as ever, he knows what I’m thinking.
“Yeah,” I repeat.
“Me too,” he says.
I peer up at him and our smiles broaden together. Our fingers intertwine. He bends down slightly. I lift onto my toes. Our mouths are about to meet when a car pulls up, headlights bright.
I brace myself for another attack, but it’s Paulie. “Sorry to interrupt.”
