Page 26 of Filthy Little Midlife Fling

“Okay.” I scoop my nephew up and he wraps his arms around my neck. I sign him out of the camp and carry him to the truck, then glance over at him about a hundred times in the ten-minute drive back to our house.

He’s asleep by the time we get home. Irrational fear jumps through me as I carry him to the front door, which quickly turns to heavy guilt.

I was lusting after my new neighbor while my kid was throwing up. He’s supposed to be my priority no matter what. I’m the only person he’s got. He needs to know that I’ll be there for him always, not wrapped up in some doomed romance with a woman who shouldn’t even have caught my eye.

Our business arrangement was a mistake. Indulging useless fantasies was a mistake. The milkshakes were a mistake.

I made a promise to my sister’s memory. I vowed to put Danny first, always. For three years, I’ve done just that, and now I’m going to throw that away because of a seductive voice and pale green eyes?

I’m ashamed of myself.

A small part of me knows it isn’t rational. Even if I hadn’t had lustful thoughts about Audrey, Danny still would’ve gotten sick. One has nothing to do with the other, but the ball of grief in my gut gives a violent pulse, and my thoughts are too tangled to make sense.

All I know is I have to take care of my kid.

Once I have Danny tucked into his bed, I get on my phone and Google furiously until I’ve worked myself into a frenzy thinking Danny’s condition is dire. But then I check on him, and his temperature seems to have gone down since I picked him up from camp. He’s breathing steadily in his sleep. I let out a breath. When he wakes up, I’ll feed him, give him some fluids, and pray he can keep them down.

The tension that’s gripped me all afternoon finally eases slightly, and I realize it’s almost dark. I’ve been panicking for hours. I’m not cut out for this parenting thing—but what am I supposed to do? It’s not like there’s anyone else to take care of Danny, and besides, I wouldn’t give him up for all the money in the world.

Exiting his room, I take a deep breath. Kids get sick. There’s nothing to panic about. Everything will be fine.

Just as I get to the bottom of the stairs, the doorbell rings, and then I open the door to see Audrey on my stoop. She’s wearing a dress again, and her hair looks freshly washed and styled. She’s carrying a reusable grocery bag with a tinfoil-wrapped dish in it.

“I brought dinner and dessert,” she says, then points to a sheet of paper tucked beside the dish. “And I also took messages at the garage. I couldn’t find your schedule so I didn’t book anyone in, but I took the most detailed notes I could.”

For a second, I don’t know what to say. Here’s a beautiful woman standing on my stoop holding a bag full of kindness, and I’ve been cursing her name for hours. Instead of wishing me ill for leaving her alone at the garage after making a mess of the very office she was tidying, she sweeps into my life like a breath of fresh air. A tentative smile teases over her lips, and I have to stop myself from leaning toward her like a flower searching for the sun.

I hear myself ask, “Have you eaten?”

She shakes her head, then tilts it. “Well. I had some cheese. And crackers. Cheese and crackers, I mean. It’s not like I’ve been eating blocks of cheese.” She laughs nervously. “Anyway, there’s some homemade chicken noodle soup and brownies.”

“Soup and brownies sound amazing,” I say, needing her company, her light. I open the door wider. “Danny’s asleep, but I could use some food. Eat with me?”

Her lips curl into a shy smile. “I’d like that,” she says, stepping into my home. I lead her to the kitchen, where I pull out some bowls while she sets the brownies aside and lifts out a big container of chicken noodle soup.

“It’s still pretty warm,” she says, “but I’ll throw it on the stove to heat up a bit.”

I pull out a saucepan and watch her pour the golden liquid in. It smells delicious, and my stomach growls.

“I’ll slice some bread,” I say. “The spoons are in that drawer.”

It’s strange having a woman in my kitchen. I moved in here after my sister passed since I wanted to keep Danny’s life as steady as possible. It’s always been the two of us in here.

Now Audrey is in my space, and it feels right. It feels like the missing piece of a jigsaw has finally clicked into place, because she’s here, and she’s beautiful, and she thought of me when no one else did. I’m not on my own with my worries and my sick child. I can soak up her light and, at least for a little while, feel less alone.

But then she pulls open the utensil drawer—and freezes. She gets a weird, horrified expression on her face as she scans my silverware.

Frowning, I creep closer. “You okay? What’s up?”

Audrey stares at the utensils. “Remy,” she says, her voice a hoarse whisper. “What… What the hell is this?”

NINE

AUDREY

The man has no cutlery tray. His utensils are just a big jumble of forks, spoons, and knives, all mixed together at the bottom of the drawer. Shock splashes through me. I’ve never seen anything like it, nor have I ever been so appalled.

I’ve worked with hoarders and pack rats. I’ve helped people who haven’t seen the color of their carpet in decades because it was so covered in junk. I’ve helped people clean out their closets to find hidden gems they forgot they owned, and I’ve discovered all manner of expired foodstuffs at the backs of clients’ pantries.

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