She straightens and places her hands on the small of her back, stretching.
The action strains the confines of the tank top Finn ordered her to wear. As I watch her breasts try to pop out the top, I hate Finn, and I love him.
“—but I have to be honest with you: I’m going to miss you like crazy.”
Wait. What?
My eyes leap from her visibly pebbled nipples to her eyes. It isn’t my caretaking instincts hammering at me now. At least, it’s not just my caretaking instincts. I would like to rub her back for her because it’s obviously hurting. But I would also like to rub her everywhere. “What?”
She ducks. “I mean, we will miss you like crazy.”
“Miss me?”
She gives me a confused look. “Well, yeah. You’ve… become part of the family.” She shrugs, the gesture entirely a sad one. “It’ll be good for you to get your life back, I know that. It’s just—I know it’s crazy, but I’ve grown attached to you.”
“I’m attached to you too,” I blurt.
At her surprised glance, I drop my gaze from her face. “Can you back up and tell me your news again? I zoned out and missed something important.”
“Oh!” She sounds relieved. “Gotcha. Well, the best babysitter we ever had—prior to you—was this sweetheart of a girl named Carly. She came into the pub today and we got to talking and she said she’d love to babysit for us again. She said she’s free after Christmas, so…” Sue hobbles past me to the island to one of the barstools. “Your time will be your own again in just a few weeks.”
“Weeks,” I wheeze, sucker punched.
“Yeah,” she says sadly. Her eyes drift to mine, and I would only be capable of tearing my gaze away if she ordered me to. “I don’t know how I’m going to break the news to—”
“MOM! You’re home!” Maggie calls excitedly, dashing into the kitchen to reunite with her mother while my world ends.
“What were you up to?” Susan asks her. “Where’s Char and Ginny?”
“The trampoline,” Maggie explains. “Ginny and Charlotte told Deek they’d watch me while we played. Can I have ice cream?”
Charlotte and Ginny’s groans can be heard two full seconds before their arrival. “We told her she had to wait and ask when you got home,” Ginny explains, trudging into the kitchen.
“Did you eat your vegetables?” Susan asks.
Maggie grimaces. “Sort of.”
Susan’s eyes narrow. “What does ‘sort of’ mean?”
Maggie points to me. “Deek ate them.”
I nearly drop to the floor at Susan’s laser-like stare. “Explain.”
Resisting the urge to crouch, I raise my shoulders. “Her Brussels sprouts kept rolling off her plate. I didn’t want to waste them.”
Everyone but Maggie is making a face. At me. I give in to the urge to crouch on the tile after all.
“You ate them off of the floor?” Susan asks.
“As a wolf,” I explain lamely. “It’s not… you know, somehow, it’s less gross than it sounds.”
“Brussels sprouts are gross all the time,” Maggie corrects.
“Not when they’re fried in bacon grease,” I contend. “Maggie, you missed out.”
“You fried her vegetables in bacon grease?” Ginny asks.
“The pub does that too with vegetables,” Susan tells her. “They are crazy good,” she admits.”
“You’re saying frying it in bacon grease makes it taste good? Brussels sprouts? Really?” Charlotte questions.
“Anything,” Susan and I say together with real feeling.
“It’s approved for the keto diet,” I tell them. “Look it up.”
Ginny pulls out her cell phone. “I’m going to verify this.”
“Maybe it is, but I bet they don’t say anything about eating them off the floor,” Charlotte points out.
I shrug. “Bet you won’t find anything in the keto literature that says you shouldn’t.”
Ginny laughs. “Nice comeback, Deek.”
Still crouched, I drop a bracing hand to the floor to take a little bow. “Thanks.”
“Since we’re all here,” Susan starts, a hesitant quality to her tone, “we need to make an announcement.” I swear I can feel her gaze on me.
Charlotte—who has been waiting (patiently?) all week for me to magically manage to woo her mother, marry her, and live happily ever after with their family forever—squeals in delight. My eyes jump up and pin her, trying to convey caution.
Everyone is looking at Charlotte—and she’s looking between her mother and me.
Charlotte lowers her fists, which she’d been raising in a sort of victory cheer. Her excitement melts to confusion, then concern. She glances at me again, apologetically. “I think I got ahead of myself.”
“About what?” Susan asks.
Charlotte gestures to her. “No, no, you first. What’s the news then?”