The First Taste (Slip of the Tongue #2) - Jessica Hawkins Page 0,72
my hand, even though we made a fairly embarrassing scene arguing over the bill. “Thank you for dinner.”
He eyes me coolly, keeping his hands in his pockets. “No problem. You only had a side salad, after all.”
“Thanks for noticing,” I say dryly, lowering my hand back to my side. Apparently his fixation with my diet hasn’t subsided. “I should get back to work.”
Sadie gasps. “I just had the best idea.” She opens her mouth, pauses, and shakes her head. “No. Never mind. Your dad’ll never go for it.”
Andrew groans, but Bell bounces on the balls of her feet. “What, what, what?”
“Well . . .” Sadie hesitates. “Uncle Nathan and I have started decorating the nursery. I thought maybe Bell would like to come over and help—”
Bell whirls to Andrew. “Can I, Daddy? Please?”
He widens his eyes at her. “You want to?”
“Yes,” she says. “I have ideas. I want to so bad. Please?”
Andrew and I both look at Sadie, and she arches an eyebrow at him. “She wants to. Because you won’t let her. See how that works?”
He doesn’t look amused. “You’re giving me a lesson in parenting?”
“You can pick her up tomorrow,” Sadie says, casting me a glance. “Or Sunday, depending on how complicated things get. With the nursery, I mean. Come around lunch, and we’ll do a picnic in Prospect Park.”
Sadie and Andrew are close, unlike my sister and me. It never really bothered me, but I feel a hint of envy over their relationship. Bell is surrounded by family, and it’s about to grow by one more. My Sunday afternoon plans? Brunch with a college friend I only keep in touch with because she works in my industry, not because I like her, followed by spending a few hours in the office.
“All right,” Andrew says. “But just tonight, not Sunday. Bell has gymnastics tomorrow afternoon.”
“Thank you,” Bell says, her voice an octave too high, then takes Sadie’s hand and pulls. “Come on.”
“Whoa,” Andrew says. “No goodbye kiss? Since when?”
Bell runs into Andrew’s open arms and hugs his neck. “I’ll take a picture of the nursery on Aunt Sadie’s phone and send it to you.”
“Don’t forget,” he warns.
She kisses his cheek and turns to stare at me. Neither of us speaks. I’m the adult, but it’s not like I can just shake her hand with a ‘nice to meet you’ or ‘let’s do lunch sometime’ so I just look back at her.
“Say goodbye to Amelia,” Andrew says to her.
“Bye, ’Mila.”
“Ameel-ee-a,” Andrew corrects.
“That’s what I said. ’Mila.”
She continues to stare at me like she did on our way to the restaurant. I can’t quite read her expression, and my discomfort is at an all-time high. To my extreme embarrassment, I put out my hand. “Nice to meet you.”
“Are you going to kiss my dad?”
I cover my mouth, stunned by the absolute last question I expected. “Excuse me?”
“Jesus, Bell,” Andrew says, his words uncharacteristically clipped. “How many times have I told you not to—”
His chastisement is drowned out by Sadie’s fit of laughter. “Andrew and Amelia,” she sings.
“Kissing in a tree,” Bell picks up, her eyes lighting with excitement. “K-i-s-s—”
“For Christ’s sake, Sadie,” Andrew says. “Don’t encourage her.”
“Fine, fine. Hey—avec is on the way to your train, Andrew,” she says. “Maybe you could walk Amelia back.”
“That’s not necessary,” I say.
“But it’s on the way,” Sadie points out. “What are you going to do, walk a few feet behind him?”
Aha. Sadie knows. Andrew and I no longer need to keep this secret from her. But Bell’s presence, while surprisingly welcome, makes me more conscious of Andrew’s real life. It makes me awkward. She’s a real person now, something I can’t ignore.
Sadie smiles, takes Bell’s hand, and pulls her away. “We’ll get a cab to our station. See you tomorrow, Andrew.”
Once we’re alone, I look at Andrew. “Did you tell her?”
“No.” Andrew crosses his arms. “It was Nathan.”
“He knows?”
“He thinks he does, and he definitely said something to her. That’s why she invited you.”
I twist my lips. “But then why would she leave us alone?”
“Isn’t it obvious? To give us time together.”
“I doubt it. She wouldn’t be that cool about her boss and her brother. Correction—her man-hating boss, and her heartbroken brother.”
He quirks his lips into what’s becoming his signature smile. “I’m not heartbroken.”
“You aren’t?” I ask, turning to face him. “I thought we had a pact.”
“Are you heartbroken?”
I am a lot of things where Reggie is concerned—angry, embarrassed, regretful. Do I miss him, though? No. Maybe, sometimes, the idea of him. The