Page 22 of Under One Roof

She sniffs a laugh that sounds more sad than humorous. “Sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“I’ll…try to stay out of your way.”

I swallow the lump in my throat. “I’ll keep my hands to myself.”

She bites her lower lip and steps away from me so my hands drop from her legs and her fingers fall away from my shoulders.

I hate it.

Her fake smile guts me. “I’ll get out of your hair and go finish cleaning up the kitchen.”

I stand, my fists at my sides, and let her go.

Chapter8

Andi

Ilet out a relieved breath as the sound of Griffin’s truck fades down the driveway. Ever since our moment in the bathroom the other afternoon, things have been…delicate between us. If we’re not deliberately avoiding eye contact, we’re accidentally bumping into each other in our attempt to run away. Neither one of us can get out of the room fast enough if the other is in it.

The last two days have been nothing but replaying our conversation in my head.

You scare me.

You make me feel things.

I’ll keep my hands to myself.

It’s everything I don’t want.

I don’t want him to be scared of me or to keep his feelings shut down, and I especially don’t want him keeping his hands to himself.

What I do want are his hands on my thighs, his eyes tracking my movements, his mouth turned up as he fights a smile.

I want his gruff voice and his callused palms.

I want him.

But I can’t have him.

And I need to get it together, remember why I’m here—for this job. For two ten-year-olds who don’t like me.

So, I decided I would break protocol tonight and bribe them. I learned they love Thai food. They’re pretty adventurous eaters, according to their father. A factoid he told me while studiously scrubbing the counter so he didn’t have to meet my gaze. And I figured I’d use that to my advantage.

After school, I followed the usual schedule of picking up Logan from the bus stop, homework for him, then drop-off at baseball practice, so that I could drive back to the school to get Grace from her science club before swinging around to the Thai place. I ordered a bunch of different things, hoping I could impress them with a buffet.

“I heard you love pineapple fried rice and drunken noodles,” I say, catching her gaze in the rearview.

She reluctantly agrees, and I turn to smile at her. “I ordered pad Thai and two different curries. I know your brother likes spicy food, so I got one spicy and one mild for me.”

“You don’t like spicy food?”

I shake my head. “I’m a wimp when it comes to spice.”

She nods and flicks her gaze out of the window. I take it as a win. A conversation that was more than one word.

I pick up Logan from practice, thanking the baseball coach, the mechanic who fixed my car so quickly. Like Griffin, he shrugs off my appreciation before gesturing to whom I assume are his wife and kids, a cute little family that suddenly has me wondering if I’ll ever have that.

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