me, and I want to have some lemon cake with you. No more tears, and no parents.” I arch a brow, and she looks unsure, so I help her out of her coat.
“No parents,” she murmurs as I hang it on a hook by the door.
My mom’s been dead three years. She had a long run with the cancer, and a long remission. She died happy, married to a good dude she met when her cat escaped and ran across the street, through his front door.
I pull Elise in for another quick hug. Her arms around my waist squeeze back.
“You’re sure you’re good with this?” She looks up at me. “You don’t mind a surprise guest?”
“Don’t be giving me the stranger schtick now, la mia rosa. You already went out on the limb and walked down to the edge where it’s bending.”
“And now I’m whipping in the wind,” she whispers.
“Nah.” My palm smooths her hair. “Now I’ve got you.”
I take the bag cooler into the kitchen, and she follows. She must be hella nervous, because once we get in there, she can hardly look at me. She’s got her hands clasped, hand-wringing style. When I pull out the tinfoil-wrapped boxes, her cautious eyes meet mine. “I got the pizza from my favorite place.”
I grin as I unwrap it. “Pie in the Sky. That’s my favorite here, too. I’ll eat some supreme.”
“The other one is cheese,” she laughs. “Because I wasn’t sure.”
She watches as I unwrap brownies and then lemon cake that’s packaged like it came from Janie’s, the best little hole-in-the-wall bakery.
I close my eyes, lifting it up near my nose and inhaling. “Smells amazing.”
Then I set it down and turn to her. I squeeze her shoulders gently, run my hands down her upper arms.
She looks down.
“You embarrassed?”
“Yes. Of course.” Her eyes flicker to mine.
“What reason do you have to be embarrassed?” I frown as she bites her cheek.
“You were my person. And you…still seem like my person. Even though you’re not.” She’s speaking in a whisper.
“Oh, so that’s it,” I say, like I’m teasing. “You’re here to find out just how not your person I am?”
She gives me a screwy little smirk that makes me want to fuck her.
“I haven’t made a lemon cake in years,” I tell her. “I don’t even think I could now. How about that?”
Her eyes widen, like she’s stunned and saddened by this news from me. “Why not?”
I shrug. It’s because I couldn’t stomach them after all the times I made them that year for her.
“Remember how I used to…skateboard?” I ask, twisting my face as I reach for something I no longer do now.
She nods, solemn.
“No more skateboarding.”
“Oh.” There’s a little notch between her dark brows. “Do you still…read?”
“Do whales still swim?”
She grins, showing me that little dimple again. “I don’t know,” she says. “I guess they do. They sort of float.”
“They swim. They have fins, you know.”
“If their fins failed, I bet they would still float. Lots of padding.”
“Are you calling whales fat?” I arch a brow.
“They’re supposed to be fat. They’re whales!”
I can’t help giving her a quick grin. “I do read, yes. If I recall, you were impressed by that the first go ’round.”
“I wasn’t impressed,” she says. “I was happy.”
“And if someone doesn’t read? What if I only watched TV?”
“It’d be less fun to chat about things.”
“What are you reading these days, Ms.—”
“Don’t do it!”
“I was going to say O’Hara.” I grin over my shoulder as I grab some plates down from the cabinet.
She shakes her head. She’s hugging herself, but I’m not sure she notices she is. “I’m reading a lot of things,” she says softly. “Memoirs, nonfiction—basically every memoir by anyone who seems even remotely interesting. I read mysteries. Thrillers—mostly women’s fiction. And some romance.”
I turn around, leaning back against the counter so I can face her. “Romance, huh?”
“If I recall, you yourself have read some Anne Rice smut.”
I can’t help smiling at that memory. “Checked it out at the library. Pretty damn embarrassing.”
“But worth it?”
“Oh yeah. Absolutely worth it.”
“What do you read?” she asks as I set our pizza slices on twin plates.
I carry them over to the table, scooping up the gun inside my ball cap and setting it atop a nearby shelf. “I read a bunch of different stuff.”
I pull a chair out for her and add, “Like you.”
“What was the last book you read?” she asks as she takes a seat at my small table.
“I’m reading a book called Less.” I set the