I’m normally a pretty cool and collected guy, but since Nicky ended up in the hospital and her sister showed up, I feel like I’ve been taken on an emotional rollercoaster ride, hanging on by the skin of my teeth.
“Earlier,” I finally trust myself to say, “you mentioned you wanted to get Nicky’s stuff sorted ‘while you still have time.’ Time before what?”
Realization steals over her face and her eyes go big with understanding. Finally.
“Oh. I start my job on Monday.”
“Job?”
She looks a little sheepish when she answers, “I got a position with Shannon County Home Health Care. Shit. I should’ve mentioned something.”
“You think?”
“I’m just picking up a few shifts. Only during school hours,” she quickly adds.
Her hand is still resting on my chest when I lean forward, gently butting my forehead to hers. “We really need to learn to communicate better,” I whisper.
“I know.” Her response is no more than a sigh.
“Fuck. I’m going to kiss you now.”
My mouth is a breath away from hers when the front door slams open and the kids’ voices fill the house.
The next moment Taz is gone, hurrying down the stairs.
Chapter Eleven
Taz
“Auntie Taz?”
“Yes, Spencer?”
“How come you don’t have kids?”
I almost drop the knife I’m using to spread cream cheese on the bagel he wanted to take for lunch. Where on earth did that come from?
“Well…” I start, turning to the boy sitting at the kitchen table, “…I’m not married, and you need a mom and a dad to have a baby.” I have no idea whether Spencer knows even the basic logistics of making a child, but I figure my response is safe enough.
He does not seem satisfied. His face scrunches up and he appears to be thinking hard. “But you don’t really need a dad. Colin doesn’t have a dad, he has two moms.”
Oh boy.
I lick my upper lip when I feel beads of sweat pop up. “It’s possible. Sometimes, if a woman badly wants a baby, there are doctors who can help with that.”
“So why don’t you get a doctor to help you have a baby? Don’t you want kids?”
I hear a muffled sound behind me. Throwing a glance over my shoulder I see Rafe leaning against the door opening, a grin on his face and one eyebrow raised high.
“I didn’t say that.” I focus back on Spencer and try to ignore his father behind me. “The truth is, I love kids, which is why I’m so lucky I get to help look after you two.”
“All right, Son. Enough with the interrogation,” Rafe finally speaks up behind me. “Are you almost done with your cereal? Sofie’s already brushing her teeth. You may wanna hurry up or she’ll beat you to the bus stop.”
I press my lips together to hide my grin when Spencer shoves two huge spoonfuls in his mouth, leaps off the chair, and bolts past his father out of the kitchen and up the stairs.
“You’re cultivating their competitive nature,” I accuse him, turning around.
“Absolutely I am,” he says unapologetically. “And I’ll keep doing so as long as it serves me.”
I turn back to the kids’ lunches and snicker. “We’ll talk again when they hit puberty and both of them run circles around you.”
“Are you laughing at me?” Rafe leans his body against the counter beside me, and I try to ignore my body’s now almost Pavlovian response to his proximity.
“No more than you laughing at me during your son’s inquisition,” I fire back, as I zip up the kids’ lunch totes and reach for my coffee.
“Fair enough.” He grabs the travel mug I’ve started filling for him in the morning and takes a sip. “What does your day look like?”
I’m a little taken aback by the casual question. It feels almost…domestic. Something has shifted these last few days, since our run-in upstairs. Who am I kidding? Since our almost kiss in his bedroom. I may have run, but in my mind I’ve felt his lips on mine over and over again. I give a little shake to clear my head. “Uh, I’m picking up my uniform at the Shannon County Home Health Care office and meeting with my coordinator this morning, and after that I thought I’d finish clearing Nicky’s stuff out of the dresser. That is, if you don’t mind? I just figured—”
“Fine by me. Thank you for doing that, by the way. I realize it isn’t an easy task.”
I smile at him and shrug my shoulders. “It seems so final, getting rid of her things. It’s a little invasive. At times it feels like I’m getting rid of her, but then I remind myself I’m merely cleaning up things that clutter her memory.”
“Mmm, that’s a good way to look at it.
The thunder of a pair of footsteps racing down the stairs has me stick my head out of the kitchen. “Guys, slow down. One of these days you’ll be a pile of broken bones at the bottom of the stairs.”
“I win!” Spencer announces proudly, clearly not having heard a single word I said. I cast an accusatory glance at Rafe who winks at me, apparently finding the situation amusing.
“Only because you skipped half your teeth brushing,” Sofie stomps past me, snatching her lunch bag off the counter.
“Put a sweater on or something, it’s still chilly in the mornings,” I call after them when I feel Rafe right behind me in the doorway.
“It’s already almost sixty-eight degrees out,” he whispers by my ear, his breath stroking my skin. “All those years in a tropical climate has thrown off your thermostat.”
“Whatever,” I mumble, but a shiver runs down my spine as his body brushes past me.
“I’m out on farm visits again today, but call my cell if you need me,” he announces over his shoulder, as he herds the kids out the door.
This is also a recent development, the reminders to contact him. It’s like he’s heeding his own comment about better communication. Instead of keeping himself distant like he did before, he’s now clearly placing himself in the middle of the household. He’s making it hard to ignore him.
It’s already lunchtime when I get home.
I struggle to get the door open and stumble inside; dropping half the load I’m trying to manage with one arm.
My meeting ran a little longer than I’d anticipated when Nathan, my new boss, asked a million questions about my work with Doctors Without Borders. He admitted, once upon a time, he’d fantasized about working in underdeveloped countries, but he’d met his wife and started a family, which effectively ended that dream.
He’s a nice guy, a little older—I peg him at mid-forties—but with an obvious love for his job. When he went over my schedule with me, he briefly described each of the patients and informed me he’d be tagging along the first week to introduce me.
I was relieved to see the uniform: navy blue scrub pants, navy T-shirts with a logo, and a zip-up sweater in the same color. I’d been imagining something more hideous I’d be forced to wear. I’m not one for uniforms of any kind—never really had to wear one—but I can live with simple scrubs and a tee.