I looked beyond him to his house then back to him. “Everything okay?”
“Get the kids back soon and was talkin’ with Ash,” he told me. “She wanted me to ask you for the recipes for the shit you made for the league sale. She wants to try ’em out.” He gave me his grin. “Since I don’t have your number and all that shit tasted good and I don’t mind my daughter tryin’ her hand at givin’ it to her brother and me, I’m here askin’.”
“Of course,” I replied, stepping out of the way. “Come in.”
He came in. I shut the door. He moved out of my way so I could walk to the kitchen. When I did that, he followed me.
And through this, I found having Mickey, more beautiful than ever and being a better person than me, clearly capable of moving past my idiocy, was the wrong choice in causing the least pain stakes.
In other words, I should have ignored the door and taken the call from my dad.
“I could email them to you or print them out or both,” I offered, making it to the kitchen counter where my laptop was, reaching to it, turning it to me and lifting the screen.
“Email,” he muttered. “Add your number,” he went on. “I’ll email mine back.”
Having Mickey’s number.
Why did the thought of having that, knowing I could never use it for the reasons I’d want to use it, make me wish someone would kill me?
“Gotcha,” I replied, sliding the on switch just as my phone, which had quit ringing, started ringing again.
“Need to get that?” Mickey asked.
I glanced at the display.
Mom was not ill-bred enough to call more than once.
Dad was arrogant enough to call repeatedly until you gave him the attention he felt he deserved.
So that was what he was doing.
“No,” I answered, eyes to the laptop, waiting for the login screen to come up.
Mickey was silent.
The login screen came up and I typed my password in.
The phone stopped ringing.
“House smells like heaven again, darlin’,” he noted.
I kept my attention on the laptop as I used the touchpad to bring up my email. “Cupcakes. I start volunteering at Dove House tomorrow and I’m using them to buy the old folks’ affection.”
“You’re volunteering at Dove House?” he asked.
The disbelieving tone of his voice made me glance at him.
Yes, still amazingly beautiful.
Somebody.
Kill.
Me.
I looked back to the laptop, confirming, “Yes, three days a week, three hours a day.”
“Not lookin’ for a job.”
My gaze went back to him to find that now his eyes were on the laptop and his face was impassive.
I knew why.
I’d shared a little bit of me and it was like the rest of me.
Not exactly promising.
“No,” I whispered.
He looked to me and there were a lot of things I wanted from his blue eyes, but the emptiness in them right then was not one of them.
Even with that, he said, “Cool you’re doin’ that. My great-gran went there when her Alzheimer’s got bad. They’re always needin’ help.”
“Yes,” I agreed.
He tipped his head to my laptop. “Ready for my email?”
In other words, let’s get on with this so I can do the errand my beloved daughter wanted me to do and get the heck out of here.
“Ready,” I told him.
He gave it to me. I typed it in then attached the recipe files and added a subject and my cell phone number in the message space.
All that done, I hit send.
“It’s away,” I said, lifting my eyes to his to see his aimed at my hips.
At my words, they cut to mine and he asked, “You had dinner?”
I stared, a little surprised that I hadn’t thought of dinner and it was probably close to eight o’clock.
I made myself smile. “I’m having cupcake batter for dinner.”
He stared in my eyes for long moments before he muttered, “Right,” like he wanted to say more, but he didn’t.
My phone rang again.
I looked to it and it was again my father. Seeing that made my neck muscles tighten, knowing he was likely getting angry and with every call he’d get angrier and more determined to find ways to share that anger with me.
“See you’re not tight with your dad,” Mickey noted and I tore my eyes from my phone to look at him.
“We have…issues,” I admitted.
“Shame,” he muttered.
“Yes,” I concurred. “Are you…” I hesitated to ask, to draw his visit out, to request information that was not mine to have, then my mouth went for it, “Close with your folks?”
“Absolutely.”
He answered and it was firm but it invited no further conversation.
“You’re lucky,” I mumbled, looking back down to my laptop.
“Absolutely,” he repeated, just as firmly.
I nodded to my laptop before looking to him. “Do you want a cupcake before you go?”
His mouth tightened and I watched it do this with an unhealthy level of fascination.
I did this because it had not escaped me he had nice lips, a full lower one, captivating creases running along both the top and bottom, all this highlighted by alluring whiskers and framed by hollowed cheeks under very cut cheekbones and his squared off jaw.