Page 52 of Love Expert

There’s a distinct tang of hot chocolate in the air, and alongside it, the soft strains of a movie I’ve heard this week already.

Twice.

Frowning, I carefully hang my keys on the hook by the door, then I toe my boots off and poke my head through the next doorway to discover Maggie and Jeremy laid out on the couch together, exactly how I found them that first night I went out, but this time, instead of getting caught up in Maggie’s hellfire eyes, I’m stunned by Jeremy’s stare and the finger he slowly brings up to his lips.

Shush.

I look just two inches to his right and find her. Her eyes closed, her lips puffed forward in a sleepy pout, her long lashes kissing her cheeks with the kind of finality that says she’s done with her day.

That’s what happens when you leave the house at four in the damn morning five days a week.

Inching forward, my socks making each step mercifully silent on the hardwood floor, I glance back at the television and catch The Bodyguard playing again—not entirely appropriate for an eight-year-old to watch on his own—then I stop in the gap between the coffee table and the couch and lower into a crouch that puts me on their level. “Has she been out long, buddy?”

“Almost since the start of the movie.” Fuck him, fuck my own son, because he strokes her cheek like they’ve been together their whole lives. “Don’t get mad at her for not taking care of me, Dad. She did all the things she was supposed to, and I haven’t moved since we sat down.”

Don’t get mad at her.

Fuck.

I study her perfect face, her slightly upturned nose and the shadows beneath her eyes that weren’t there when she first moved to Plainview. I pick up a long lock of her hair, careful not to tug, and bring it to my nose.Because it smells good, and because I’ve been smelling this girl’s hair since she was seven years old.

Grinning behind the mahogany lock, I bring my eyes back to Jeremy’s. “Did you have a nice night?”

“We made dinner,” he whispers. “And we even cleaned the kitchen so it wouldn’t be messy for you. Then we made cupcakes. They’re mine. She said I could take them to school, and if I put them in the freezer, they’ll last all the way till the end of next week.”

“You’re not even gonna share?” I chuckle. “Geez, buddy. You’re awfully possessive of those cupcakes you made inmykitchen. Usingmyingredients.”

He purses his lips. “We made them inherkitchen, usingheringredients. Cos she has the fancy cake mixer and all we have is a fork.” He gently drags the tip of his finger around her jawline. “Why are you always so mean to her, anyways? She’s nice.”

I sigh. “I don’t mean to be mean. It just sometimes comes out that way.”

“You hurt her feelings.” His green-eyed stare comes up and hits me with the weight of a prizefighter’s fists. “You’re not allowed to hurt her feelings anymore. Did you know she worksalllllthe time? Which is why she’s always tired. And even when she’s tired, she comes over here to play and does all the things I want to do, instead of being at her house, resting and doing the thingsshewants to do.”

My brow comes up as, behind me, Whitney Housten snaps out a furious line. “Watching The Bodyguard three times in one week is the thing you want to do?”

“Well…” His lips curl into a smug grin. “No. But every time we scroll for a movie and this one comes up, she sighs. So then I say I wanna watch it.”

“Even though you don’t want to?”

He lifts just one shoulder, shifting it barely half an inch higher than the other. “It’s okay, I guess. I like the main guy. He’s grumpy, kinda like you. And it’s good, cos she’s grumpy right back. Also, Ramone called on the house phone while you were out.”

“He did?” Curious, I snag my cell and check the screen. “He didn’t call me.”

“He said he wanted to talk to me spifically.”

“Specifically?”Nothing good ever came of Ramone Devereaux sneaking around behind my back.“What did he want to talk about?”

“The barbecue at his house on Saturday.” He casts a wary glancetoward Maggie as she smacks her lips in her sleep and burrows deeper into the couch cushion. Whispering, he adds, “Ramone told me about the barbecue, and said how I could bring my shorts if I wanted to, cos he’ll turn the hot tub on. Then he said to pack jammies too, cos he’s gonna get you drunk and you can’t drive me home after that.”

I roll my eyes and set my phone on the coffee table. “He’s real classy, huh?” Huffing, I push up straight. “Nice conversation to have with an eight-year-old.”

“He said he invited Maggie too, and that she should bring her swimsuit as well. And jammies. He said he had loads of spare rooms at the house, cos he’s single and has no kids ornuffin. He also said Franky would be there, and Molly, so we could have a giant sleepover and it would be cool.”

“Sounds like he’s offering to keep you for the weekend so I can come home and sleep for forty-eight hours straight.” Grinning, I rub my hands together and study the puzzle laid out in front of me. Literally. “Guess I should wake her, huh? Send her home.”

“No.” He snuggles in closer, laying his cheek comfortably on her chest. “She’s sleeping, and her house is cold and lonely, anyway. Just leave her here.”

“I can’t just leave her, buddy. She doesn’t live here, she has work tomorrow, and if we go upstairs and she’s down here all alone, she might wake up and panic.”