Page 53 of When We Met

After brushing my teeth, I take a peek at myself in the mirror on the wall and frown, holding my toiletry bag to my chest. “What the fuck are you doing here?” I whisper to myself, hoping for an answer. This screams stalker, or crazy, I just know it. But I also can’t make myself leave. Why? My car is totaled, that’s a reason, but I don’t have to be staying here. I could insist he takes me to town and I get a hotel room. But the insane need to know this guy seems to be winning out in this scenario.

Something deep inside my chest keeps screaming at me. And it’s not like the time I ate that questionable sushi from the gas station and thought my stomach was going to explode into my heart, and I called a doctor to ask if it was possible. We’ve already established by my map reading skills, I did not pay attention in school, so you can see how this is possible.

This is like me thinking the universe bitch slapped me and made that buck jump in front of my car.

Breathing in deeply, I open the door to find two pairs of curious eyes staring back at me. “Hi!” Camdyn says, smiling as if she saw me kissing her dad last night.

I wave. “Morning.”

Sev eyes me, blonde curls all over the place. “I gotta pee,” she rasps exhaustedly, moving past me to the bathroom. Without a care in the world, she drops her pajama bottoms and sits on the toilet, staring at the wall.

Camdyn rolls her eyes and grabs my hand, holding it in hers as if we’re best buddies. We did spend the majority of the day coloring yesterday. “Where’s my daddy?”

“He went to work with your uncle Morgan.”

Camdyn nods as if she was just testing me and tugs on my hand, leading me down the hall. I glance over my shoulder to see Sev unrolling what looks to be the entire roll of toilet paper. “Are you watching us? Where’s Nana Lee?”

“I said I’d watch you. Is that okay?” She nods, and I point to Sev over my shoulder as I’m being dragged away. “Does she need help?”

“No.”

In the kitchen, Camdyn scoots a chair from the island over to the cupboard and stands on it. Nervously, I watch, wondering at what point do I ask what she’s doing. I didn’t even know what was in our cupboards growing up. My nanny dealt with all that. Standing on her tippy-toes, she picks a box up and tosses it over her shoulder as she balances precariously on the edge of the counter, and I nearly have a heart attack.

I try to catch the box she throws, but I’m more concerned that I shouldn’t be allowing this. My experience in babysitting is cleaning up after drunk people and buying condoms in the middle of the night. Or begging a doctor’s office to prescribe antibiotics without seeing the patient because of a questionable rash they don’t want anyone knowing about.

These girls are practically babies, and Barron left me alone with them. I’m actually starting to question his common sense at this point because,obviously.

“Do you like pancakes?” Camdyn asks, jumping gracefully down from the chair to the floor.

I smile, relieved she’s no longer balancing her tiny body on the edge of a counter. “Who doesn’t?”

She points to the stove, picking her pajama bottoms out of her butt. “Can you turn that thing on?”

“The stove?”

“Yeah.”

Sev holds up the pancake mix. “We need you to make des.”

Taking the box from her, I notice Sev has what looks to be hives on her face or chickenpox. “What happened?” Awesome. I’m alone with them for five minutes and she’s sick? What am I going to tell Barron?

“I gets hives,” she tells me, itching her arms.

“You do? Is that normal? Please tell me that’s normal.”

“She gets them.” Camdyn points to a cabinet by the sink. “Sometimes. Daddy gives her allergy stuff.”

“That sounds like I shouldn’t do that.” I kneel next to Sev and look at her arms and face, running my fingertips over the raised bumps. “Do they itch?”

“No,” she says, itching her arms. “Can I have pankicks now?”

“Pancakes,” Camdyn corrects, opening the fridge door to retrieve what I think is the rest of the ingredients for the pancakes—milk, eggs, which she drops, and butter. She scowls at the mess, trying to get the milk on the counter. “Dang it.”

Reaching for it, I scoot the milk away from the edge and pick up the eggs off the floor. Some are salvageable. “Are you sure you’re okay?” I ask Sev.

Sev stares at me, her beautiful blue eyes wide. “My bunny itches.”

“Bunny?” Do they have another animal I haven’t met yet?

---