Page 68 of Trouble from Abroad
I snort. “Brutal, isn’t she?”
Lily giggles, already climbing into her booster. “You're the driver, Dad. And I didn’t see her this morning. Also, Mia carries better snacks.”
She snuggles close once I’m buckled in beside her. Mid-crunch on a fish-shaped cracker, she glances up.
“How long are you staying with us?”
Something yanks in my chest. “Three months,” I say gently.
Her smile dips. “That’s not long.”
I bump her knee with mine. “Long enough to eat too much ice cream, paint our nails a neon disaster, and teach your dad how to dance.”
Lily snickers. “Dad doesn’t dance.”
“Exactly. That’s our mission.”
* * *
We eat dinner at the kitchen island. Lily asks Preston to cut her broccoli into 'unicorn bites' and me to blow on her carrots so they're 'not lava’.
At one point, I drop my fork onto my plate, and sauce splashes onto my chest.
“Oh, bloody?—”
Preston hands me a napkin, his fingersgrazing mine.
“You’ve got… tomato. Right there,” he says, pointing vaguely at my boobs.
“Helpful. Very surgical,” I mutter, blotting at the stain. Under the table, my bare foot brushes his. And he doesn't move away.
We exchange a glance. The air between us crackles.
After dinner, the bedtime routine is smooth. Preston brushes Lily’s teeth again after she claims she’s done it, and I hunt down her favorite pajamas, the ones with shooting stars. She makes me braid her hair while her dad adjusts the nightlight.
Then he turns to me, his voice soft. “I’ll take it from here. I promised her three stories tonight.”
I squint at him. “Are you trying to get rid of me? Do I smell?”
“No.” He steps closer, fingers brushing a strand of hair near my temple. “But you do have sauce in your hair.”
I groan. Of course I do.
He leans in closer. “Go shower. I’ll meet you after. Ten, fifteen minutes max. I’ll choose the shortest stories.”
“And then?”
One corner of his mouth lifts. “Tonight, you leave your door unlocked. When I step inside, class is in session.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
mia
I’m pacing my room,willing him to come over, already worried for his physical well-being if he actually does. I’ve lost track of time and heartbeats—whichever is racing harder, it’s a photo finish.
When I finally give my legs a break and plop onto the bed, there’s a knock. I bounce straight back up. Pathetic, horny—possibly deranged.
Preston cracks the door open, voice barely above a whisper. “Are you awake? Can I come in?”
