Fix It Up - Mary Calmes Page 0,97
at me a moment. “Well, that’s the most important thing for any child.”
I smiled at her then. “That’s what I mean.”
“You’re very charming, you know that?”
I snorted. “People would drop dead, hearing you say that,” I informed her, chuckling. “Hey, siddown. I’ll make you my world-famous brick on a plate.”
She sat quickly. “I have no idea what that is, but you’re offering, so I accept.”
Twenty minutes later, I put a plate in front of her with two eggs, sunny-side-up, in the center of two thick pieces of toast coated with melted cheese, and mushrooms on both sides, drizzled with honey and truffle oil—which I was thrilled that she had—and seasoned with garlic salt and red pepper flakes.
“It’s better with black truffles and different cheese, but you get the idea.”
She nodded, as her mouth was full.
“It was only after Mom and I got older that we discovered the black truffles, robiola, truffle oil, and brioche. When I was little, it was closer to this.”
“It’s yummy,” she said, swallowing and taking another bite.
I grinned at her and made myself a plate, and by the time people started appearing in the kitchen a couple of hours later, we were in the living room looking through photo albums.
“Mom,” Paul called over to her, “it’s time for breakfast.”
“Well then, you better get on that,” she said dismissively, flipping pages and showing me more people.
“Did you receive a stipend to feed us all this weekend?” I asked her.
“I did, thank you, but it really wasn’t necessary. We have so much food anyway.”
“Yeah, but it’s also a lot of water being used, so that’ll help offset those costs too.”
“You’re very thoughtful.”
“I’m a fixer,” I replied and realized, in spite of how often I’d said it, that maybe it was actually true.
Gwen had left me at some point, looking through albums on my own, and I stretched out on the couch just for a moment. The smell of coffee tickled my nose, and there were voices near, and people talking quietly.
My eyes drifted open, and I saw Tatum, Paul’s girlfriend, smiling at me from the chair she was folded into on the other side of the coffee table.
“Good morning,” she said, sipping from the mug she had clutched in both hands. “Or technically, midmorning.”
“Morning,” I mumbled, not awake yet but needing to get up, ready to roll off the couch.
“Wait,” Nick ordered, crossing the room to me from the kitchen, mug of coffee in hand. “Stay there.”
I rolled over, sitting up so my back was against the arm of the couch, bending my knees to make room for him, he came and sat beside me, setting his cup down on a coaster on the table before twisting to face me.
“I have something to tell you.”
“What’s that?”
“I just wrote a song,” he told me excitedly, smoothing his hand up over my knee, parting my thighs so he could slide between them.
“How do you feel about that?” I asked him.
His hand slipped under my knee and down my thigh. “Could you come upstairs so I can talk to you alone?”
“Yeah, of course,” I answered, smiling at him.
“Nick,” Tatum said, and he turned to her, forcing a smile. “I could go in the kitchen and give you some privacy,” she offered.
“Oh,” Nick said, giving her a real smile then, “thank you.”
Once she left the room, he moved so he was facing me and then bent forward and kissed me, pressing me into the couch.
Pushing him back, I chuckled against his mouth. “Not your house, honey,” I reminded him, smiling. “You can’t come downstairs and attack me in the living room.”
“No, I know,” he agreed, sucking in a breath. “And that wasn’t—I’m just so happy and, it’s because of you, Loc, and I…I was scared.”
“What were you scared of?” I asked, trying to figure out what the threat could be.
“That I couldn’t write anymore,” he confessed. “I was telling everyone but you that I could do it whenever I wanted, and you, because I couldn’t lie to you, I wasn’t saying anything at all.”
“Oh.”
“I was so scared that I didn’t have it in me to write anymore. Like maybe talking about things and letting go of what hurt would take other things away too.”
“Like the pain was where your creativity came from?”
He nodded.
“And now what?”
His smile was warm as he stared at my mouth. “Now I know that the music isn’t going anywhere. It’s part of me, just like you.”
“The music is you, unlike me,” I corrected. “Whether I’m here or not,