“I can watch him,” I interject before I can stop myself.
When Preston snaps his head up, I quickly add, “You’ll be preoccupied so it will be hard to keep an eye on him. You know how it is with kids, turn your head for two seconds and something terrible happens.”
That so wasn’t the right approach because Preston shuts me down immediately. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
“Please,” I beg, my heart taking the reins. “It won’t be for long.” I look at Landon. “Right?”
“Ten minutes tops.”
I turn to Jameson. “We can watch cartoons.”
This piques Jameson’s interest because he leaves Preston’s side and comes over to me.
That makes Preston cave, albeit reluctantly.
“Fine.” He sinks to his haunches. “I’ll be back soon, okay? Have fun with…” He looks like he’s swallowing nails. “Kit.”
The fact he told him my name makes my chest close up…because he didn’t have to.
Heck, a big part of me wishes he didn’t since it’s a huge risk.
But he did.
And it means more to me than he’ll ever know.
Preston gestures to the backpack Jameson’s wearing. “His inhaler is in there.” His expression turns serious. “If he starts wheezing or coughing—”
“I promise if anything is off, I will give it to him.”
“And then come get me.” He leans in to kiss me but thinks better of it. “I’ll be back in a few.”
When the door closes behind them, Jameson and I stare at each other.
Holy awkward.
“Hi.”
I’m grateful when Lola joins us and Jameson’s face brightens.
Kneeling, I give Lola a scratch behind the ears. “This is Lola.”
He looks equal parts fascinated and uncertain.
I kiss Lola’s nose. “Don’t worry. He’s a big mush. You can pet him if you want.”
Confirming this, Lola sniffs him before licking his hand.
Smiling, Jameson pets him.
I can’t help but study him as he plays with Lola. There’s no question who his mother is because he has Becca’s blond hair and bright blue eyes.
Her smile, too.
Only unlike Becca, there’s an innocence about him. Purity. Because he hasn’t been jaded by the world yet.
Or his mother.
He’s also way quieter than she ever was.
It’s weird seeing someone who looks identical to the person you hate…yet you don’t feel an ounce of aversion toward them.
“You have a really cool name,” I tell him. “Jameson is actually my middle name.”
I expect him to be fully interested in Lola, but every so often I catch him looking at me…dissecting me just as much as I’m dissecting him.
A daunting feeling rises within my chest.
What if he ends up hating me because he thinks I’m the reason Preston and his mom aren’t together?
Chill the fuck out, Kit.
This is only our first—and sadly, probably last—meeting. Ergo, I’m jumping the gun.
The only thing I can do is be myself while getting to know him.
Jameson stops petting Lola and rubs his tummy.
Uh-oh. “Does your belly hurt? Are you gonna be sick?”
The kid did just throw up a shit ton of cotton candy.
He shakes his head. “Hungry.”
I breathe a sigh of relief, not only because he talked, but because that’s something I can easily handle.
I gesture for him to follow me into the kitchen. “Come on. Let’s go find you a snack.”
“Do you want some popcorn?” I ask as I hoist him on top of the marble island.
He shakes his head.
I set his backpack down on the counter. “Chips?”
Headshake.
Perhaps he wants something healthier. “How about an apple?”
Headshake.
“Banana?”
Headshake.
“Mac and cheese?”
Headshake.
Heavens to Betsy. I know Preston said he was picky about food, but I didn’t think it would be this hard.
Sadly, we don’t have any animal crackers or chicken nuggets in the house. I suppose I could make him pancakes…but then he might never go near them again.
Wait a minute.
“How about some ice cream?”
Preston said he loves it and I just so happen to have some rocky road in the freezer.
Jameson isn’t into it, though, because he shakes his head again.
Shit. I thought that was a surefire winner.
Growing out of options, I suggest, “Peanut butter and jelly?”
He scrunches his face, pondering this.
I’m just thankful it’s not an outright no.
After what feels like an eternity, he nods.
I make quick work of pulling out the loaf of bread, jelly, and peanut butter so I can make sandwiches for both of us.
I’m so focused on the task, I’m not fully aware until after that I not only cut the crust off the bread…I’ve also cut them into fours.
Just like my dad.
“Sorry,” I murmur as I hand him a plate with his sandwich. “I should have asked if you wanted the crust taken off. I can make you another one.”
Not looking at all put off, Jameson picks up a square and takes a bite.
I should probably have him sit at the kitchen table, because that’s the correct place to sit when eating…but that’s no fun.
I hop up on the island. Then I grab my plate and sit crisscross applesauce.
Jameson seems riveted by this, and a moment later, he’s sitting opposite me, copying my stance.
Now facing each other, we proceed to dig into our sandwiches.
My heart compresses, but for once it’s not followed by a swell of sadness. The memory makes me smile.
“I used to sit like this with my dad while we ate PB and J sandwiches, too.”
Curiosity fills his face and I realize I’ve stuck my foot in my mouth. Crap on a cracker.
Do you tell little kids about death? That seems kind of…intense.
Then again, I learned the cold, hard truth when I was eight.
I want to spare Jameson, though, so I simply say, “He’s an angel now.”
Thankfully, Jameson doesn’t ask any follow-up questions.
Wanting to lighten the mood, I decide to do something else my dad used to.
Whenever I wandered into his office, he’d do the robot skit. It basically consisted of him freezing and then moving his arms like a robot whenever I poked him. It was corny and silly, but it was our thing and it always made me giggle.
I bring my sandwich to my open mouth like I’m going to take a big bite. Then I freeze.
It takes Jameson a minute to catch on, but sure enough, he pokes me with his finger. Moving my arms mechanically, I switch positions. This time, I freeze mid-bite.
Jameson laughs before he pokes me again. Sandwich still hanging from my mouth, I move one arm up and extend my other one out to the side.
Highly entertained by our little game, Jameson cracks up and pokes me again.
I’m shifting positions when I notice Preston standing in the entryway of the kitchen…staring at us.
I’m not sure how long he’s been here, and I have no idea what to make of the expression on his face.
I freeze. For real this time.