Imperfectly Delicious (Imperfect Series #6) - Mary Frame Page 0,53

than necessary because of Scarlett’s inherent sense of southern politeness, we go down to the basement. It’s the only place in the whole brownstone with a TV, Fred tells us as we’re stomping down the narrow stairs.

We descend into what could be a living room straight out of 1977. It’s all fall tones, an old loveseat with orange flowers, wood paneled walls, a worn leather recliner and the most ancient TV I’ve ever seen.

“I wish your parents were my parents,” Scarlett says to Fred.

“You can have them.”

There’s a bookshelf next to the TV, stocked with VHS tapes. Fred grabs one and puts it in. Then she throws herself into the recliner.

Scarlett and I sit on the loveseat. The space is small, and our thighs are only a few inches apart.

“What are we watching?” Scarlett asks as the opening credits come up on the screen.

“Teen Witch. It’s a wonderfully terrible movie which perfectly fits my current mood.”

Then Fred’s mom calls her name, which she ignores until she’s yelled three times and then finally Fred groans and pulls herself upstairs and we are left alone.

Scarlett adjusts slightly on the sofa, and our thighs touch. I tense, waiting for her to pull back, but she doesn’t.

I glance around. “I didn’t know places like this existed.”

“Rooms that feel like you’re back in time?”

I shake my head and give in to temptation to reach out and brush her hair back from her face where a deep red strand has fallen over her cheek. “Intact families that talk and eat dinner together every night and take care of each other.”

“You have that.”

My thumb traces a circle over the smooth skin on the side of her neck. “I don’t have a partner, though. It’s just me and the girls.”

“I can relate. But there’s still hope, it’s just that some of us have to make our own families.”

I search her dark eyes. “That’s true.”

Her head ducks briefly and then she looks at me from under her lashes. “Thank you for everything today. I’m glad you’re here.”

“So am I.”

“Why did you help Fred?” Her face tilts to the side.

I hesitate, not anticipating the question and needing a moment to examine my motivations. “She was upset…and you were upset.” It’s the truth, but admitting it isn’t easy. But still, I forge ahead even though a little voice inside is yelling Stop now, danger ahead! “And I guess…I just wanted to make you happy.”

Her lips pop open in surprise.

I’m a little shocked, too. What am I doing? I don’t bend over backward to help people in general, let alone those who are standing in the way of my goals. My life has always been about work—that’s all that matters. It’s what I can control. I don’t bend to other people’s needs—unless it’s my sisters—and I definitely don’t admit to weakness.

Oliver called me today, once again pushing for me to make some kind of move to get Scarlett out of the picture, and instead, I helped her employee move. What is wrong with me?

When did someone else’s happiness begin to tangle with mine until I couldn’t establish the difference?

She leans into me, closer.

My breath catches in my throat.

“Scarlett!” Fred’s voice shrieky and closer than I anticipated.

We jerk away from each other, creating rapid distance like two recalcitrant teenagers caught by their parents.

“I brought down some wine.” She plops down between us, setting the bottle on the coffee table. The seat is too small, and she doesn’t quite fit, but she doesn’t care.

“It’s half empty,” Scarlett points out.

“I had some. Mom made me.” She hiccups. “She’s a bad influence in addition to being a terrible cook. What were you guys doing?”

“Nothing.” We both answer too quickly.

She sighs and leans her head on the back of the couch. “I can’t believe Guy Chapman ate my mom’s chili. It’s the worst thing anyone can think of. It’s like showing my kindergarten finger painting to Picasso and expecting him to think it’s fine art.”

“It wasn’t bad,” I say.

“It was,” Scarlett says.

We smile over Fred’s head.

We stay and watch the movie for a little bit, and it’s probably the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever seen while simultaneously entertaining, but it doesn’t take long before the wine catches up to Fred. The movie isn’t even half over before she’s leaned against Scarlett’s shoulder, snoring like a champ.

We carefully extricate ourselves from around her, taking more care than necessary considering she keeps snoring throughout the whole ordeal.

Once we’re free, I find a blanket in a chest in the corner