The First Taste (Slip of the Tongue #2) - Jessica Hawkins Page 0,135

with a remote positioned next to some car magazines. An overstuffed brown leather couch that faces an obscenely big flat-screen TV. A table in the entryway with a dish for keys and spare change. Sparse but tasteful. If I remember our conversations correctly, Shana never lived here. He bought this after she left, so he must’ve decorated it himself.

It doesn’t look like a child lives here. The biggest indication is a large bookcase with shelving that appears to be divided between the two of them. The lower half holds coloring books, crayons, fairytales by the Brothers Grimm, Disney DVDs, and a small, stuffed unicorn. I browse the books at eyelevel. Manuals on cars and motorcycles. Some crime fiction. I pick out a book with a spine that reads On Grief and Grieving and flip through the first few pages. It’s been four years since Shana left, but is Andrew really over her? What would I have found here even a year ago?

And there’s the small detail that she’s back in his life. As much as it concerns me to go head to head with someone who once captivated Andrew at every turn, I know I can’t back down. Because he deserves better. Bell deserves better.

“That should be in a Goodwill box,” Andrew says from behind me. “It was a gift, honest.”

I turn around, holding it to my chest. “Your house is tidy for having a small child.”

“It doesn’t always look like this, but Bell is pretty good about picking up after herself. I told her that’s what adults do, and she listens.”

I take a deep breath. My emotions are raw tonight, close to the surface, perhaps not the best time to get into a deep conversation. But if I’m going to sleep under Andrew’s roof, I have to speak up. “I need to know about her.”

He pauses, looking me over. “Bell?”

“No. I mean yes, her too, but this—” I hold up the book. “This is a book about losing a loved one to death. How badly did Shana hurt you?”

He comes further into the room with two glasses of amber liquid and sets them on the coffee table. “I told you, I didn’t buy that book or even read it. Sadie gave it to me. There aren’t exactly many books on what to do when your girlfriend disappears overnight and leaves you with a small child. Sadie overreacted.”

“You’re holding back.”

“I’m not,” he says. “I just don’t see the point of living in the past.”

“You want me to trust you. I’ve told you everything there is to know about Reggie and my life, but you’re still shutting me out. I understand why, but I can’t accept it.” I gesture around the cozy family room. “Not if I’m going to become part of this.”

He glances at the ground. “Why give her that power over us? It happened four years ago. I’m not getting back together with her, believe me.”

“I do, but Sadie gave you this book for a reason. You can’t just pretend it never happened because it hurts too much to revisit.”

“It doesn’t hurt. I don’t feel anything about it.”

“I think I’m falling in love with you,” I say and stiffen. I’m as surprised by my declaration as Andrew looks to hear it. Shit shit shit. This was the last thing I wanted. But standing here in his home is not as terrifying as I thought it would be. Maybe it isn’t what I envisioned for myself, a home in the suburbs, a young girl, a good, hard-working man, a career up in flames. But somehow, he and Bell and this home—they fit into the puzzle of my life like a piece I didn’t know was missing. Andrew wasn’t a complete picture until this moment, until I could see him here, as a father who comes home to his daughter every night. As a man who runs a household by himself.

Silence stretches between us.

“Is that what you want?” I ask him finally. “Does it scare you? Would you rather keep everything to yourself? If so, take me home now. Because you got it wrong. We both did.” I point at the steel machine tattooed on his chest. “Hard hearts break easy. It’s the soft ones that survive hit after hit.”

He stands there in the stillness that follows, and as he does, the truth of my words sets in—for me, and, I think, for him. He was upfront from the start. Love wasn’t on the table. Is an ultimatum really fair? Maybe