I smiled, feeling a lot less angry. He was good at that.
We returned to the living room, and though dessert was painful, it wasn’t excruciating. Cade chatted with my parents, so I didn’t have to. Cade was also exceptionally good at keeping them on innocuous topics that wouldn’t erupt into the arguments that normally typified our holiday dinners.
He was exactly what our family had been missing . . . well, since Alexandria’s accident. She was the good one, the one who always knew what to say and how to act. She was the ingredient that made our family work, and she was gone. Having Cade here made it easier to remember her without hurting.
When Mom brought out the pumpkin pie, she wouldn’t let anyone have a slice until they’d said something they were thankful for. Dad was thankful for the good food, and Mom was thankful that they got to be in Philadelphia for the holiday.
I wasn’t even lying when I said, “I’m thankful Cade could be here today.”
He had an arm around the back of my chair, and his hand came up and touched my hair lightly.
My mother said, “What about you, Cade? What are you thankful for?”
His eyes stayed fixed on mine. His hand brushed the side of my neck where my bird tattoos were hidden by my turtleneck sweater. He said, “I’m grateful that the past is the past, and the future is ours to make.”
I blinked, and thought pheromones. I mouthed, “Show off,” then slid him my piece of pie (which I also didn’t like). Somehow, Mom never seemed to remember that.
Mom asked, “Anyone want coffee with their pie?”
“I do,” I said.
Mom stood, and Cade joined her. He cupped my shoulder and said, “I’ll get it.”
“I take it—”
“One cream, two sugars. I remember.”
Seriously, this guy was good.
I watched him as he fiddled with my coffeemaker and chatted with my mom. The guy was too selfless . . . too everything. There had to be something wrong with him. Guys like him didn’t exist. And if they did, one had certainly never been interested in me.
19
Cade
The rest of the night went quickly, and before I knew it, we were saying good-bye. Mrs. Miller hugged me tightly, and Mr. Miller shook my hand.
“Say we’ll see you again soon, Cade. Christmas?”
I looked at Max, and she shrugged and said, “Sure, we’ll talk about it.”
We’d be “broken up” before then. I wondered how she would actually do it. She should make me the bad guy, that way she wouldn’t get any flack over it.
“Have a safe flight tomorrow,” I told them. Mrs. Miller hugged me again, almost like she was assuring herself I was real. Then they walked down the stairs and left. I closed the door and took in Max’s apartment. Her mother had insisted on leaving behind all the dishes she’d bought, along with some pillows, an afghan, the Christmas tree, and who knows what else.
It wasn’t empty anymore, but it was still lifeless because it wasn’t Max.
“Well, Angry Girl . . .”
“We survived,” she said.
I wasn’t ready to leave, but I didn’t have another excuse to stay.
I had one more reason to keep us together, but I was pretty damn certain it was a bad idea. When I’d agreed to do all of this, she’d promised me a date.
It had seemed harmless before—an innocent attraction. I had thought it would get my mind off of Bliss, and it had. I had thought of it like a date with a safety net, because we both knew it wouldn’t go anywhere.
But I didn’t know that anymore. Well, maybe my mind did, but the rest of me didn’t. Any date between us now wouldn’t be harmless, and it sure as hell wouldn’t be simple.
So as much as I wanted to, I didn’t mention the date.
She said, “Thanks for putting up with all of this. After what I’ve put you through, I probably should have paid you. You could have put it on your résumé—expert boyfriend.”
“Hey, I got some pretty great food out of it. I think that’s enough for most guys.”
“Food and sex,” she said.
Cue awkward silence. Her cheeks flushed prettily, and I let the silence go on for a little longer, just because I liked seeing her out of her element.
Finally, she threw her hands up, exasperated, and said, “What? It’s the truth! Are you implying that you don’t think about sex constantly, Golden Boy?”
“Oh, I definitely think about it.” I was thinking about it right now, and it was not making leaving this apartment any easier. My eyes, as usual, were drawn to her lips, and I had the sudden urge to ruffle her hair so that it was closer to her normal style. I wanted her out of that ridiculous turtleneck, so that I could see her creamy skin and the art that enhanced it. God, was it only this morning that I’d seen her tree tattoo in its entirety? I could still picture the bare branches and twisting roots. I wondered what it meant to her. I wondered what it would be like to trace the lines with my fingertips. With my lips.