Page 65 of Room for Us

“Yes. Definitely yes.”

We eat at the island where we shared PB&Js—almost a week ago, now, which feels surreal. It’s equally odd to think of our first interactions. How annoyed I was by him.

When the halibut is gone—he ate two servings, thank you—I take the dishes to the sink while he replies to text messages on his phone.

For a few minutes, everything is mellow and cozy and comfortable.

Then he says, “Oh shit, I keep forgetting to tell you—Daphne’s flying into town tomorrow. She’ll be here for the weekend.”

My fingers spasm, a plate clattering into the basin. I spin around. “What did you just say?”

He blinks at me. “Daphne, my daughter. She’s coming to visit. I’m sorry, but it totally slipped my mind this week.” His brow furrows in concern. “That’s not a problem, is it?”

“No!” Too loud. “I mean, of course not. It’s awesome!”

“Then why do you look like I just stepped on a kitten?”

I ignore that. “Has she ever been to Idaho?”

“Nope.” He stands, gaze wary, like I might whip out a chainsaw and have a go at him. “You’re upset. Why?”

I turn to the sink, gripping the lip of the basin until my knuckles are white. “Oh, I don’t know, because your daughter is coming here! I can’t believe you forgot to mention it. Like I wouldn’t care or something.”

“I don’t get it. Why is it a big deal?” He sounds perfectly confused.

I face him with my best glare. “It probably hasn’t occurred to you that we should talk about how to act around each other? Or did you assume we’d wing it?”

He laughs. The asshole.

Finally realizing I’m not amused in the least, he falls silent and lifts his hands. “Okay, okay. I’ll admit I didn’t really think things all the way through. I’m assuming we should, uh… What are your thoughts?”

“For starters, we can’t act like we’re sleeping together!”

“Okay.” He smirks. “But I can sneak down to your room at night, right?”

“How old are you?” I snip.

He frowns. “Thirty-six. Why?”

For the first time, I don’t need Aunt B’s input. My internal commentary is loud enough. God, men are stupid sometimes.

“Do you even have anything planned for the weekend? Stuff for her to do?” Or were you going to keep writing all hours and leave her to fend for herself? The question floats, unasked but unnecessary—from his narrowed eyes, he hears it well enough. I brace for his defensiveness, even his vitriol, but he surprises me with a sigh.

“I won’t write while she’s here. If I do, it will be while she’s asleep. I promised her we’d ride horses.”

“Did you book with a stable?”

He winces. “Not yet.”

“Christ on a cracker, Ethan! How do you manage life at home?”

He shrugs. “A virtual assistant. A housekeeper. Grocery and laundry service.”

Unable to help myself, I start laughing.

“I’m glad you’re amused by my adulting inadequacies.”

I laugh harder, but make myself stop and assure him, “It’s not you. I’m not laughing at you. Well, maybe a little. It’s just… this whole thing. You and me. The last two weeks, and now this. A surprise visit from your daughter—well, a surprise for me. It’s fine. Everything will work out. Right now I need to call around to a few places that offer guided horseback rides. They book up fast this time of year, so cross your fingers.”

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