Page 35 of Give & Take

Yesterday morning, I told him that the trash collectors had started leaving the recycling bins behind if the glass wasn’t kept separate. That afternoon, after Raphael left, I glanced outside as he walked down the street—totally not creepily—and saw him do a double take at the bins. Not ours, which are always sorted, but my elderly neighbor’s.

“Mrs. Brown told me the trash collectors sorted her bins for her. I know they don’t do that.”

That’s not a lie—she did tell me that happened. But I also watched Raphael do it. He separated all the glass, then he lined the bins up neatly and moved the trash bins into a better position too.

That was just one little thing in a string of little things I’d seen this week.

For the first time since I’ve met him, he seems uncomfortable. He shrugs. “I hardly did anything.”

“Well, anyway,” I say. I hold my breath. Am I really going to do this? I’d actually called my mom last night because I was in such a quandary. I’ve mostly tried not to bother her over the past year. She’s usually either with a laboring woman or sleeping off spending a night with one. But I was desperate. Luckily, she’d picked up. She’d heard me out, and I’d shared everything. My mom and Iwere very close growing up, and still are except for the distance keeping us apart this year. She’d told me gently and confidently that she was pretty sure I already knew what the best course of action was.

God damn her for being so wise.

Raphael grips his thighs, inching slightly forward. My skin prickles at his proximity. I ignore that. I’m a superhero for ignoring all of this and carrying on.

“The girls love you,” I blurt out. “So, I’d like to ask you, formally, if you’d please stay with us for the balance of the summer. I uh…” I clear my throat. “I promise not to talk about you like I did out there on the patio. That was unprofessional.”

He shrugs, but his mouth is split in a wide smile. “I like that you think I’m beautiful.”

My mouth goes dry, embarrassment shooting through me hot and spiky.

“And professionalism is overrated. Respect, yes. Ignoring feelings, no.”

My eyes go wide. What is that supposed to mean? Whose feelings? But before I can say anything to that, he holds out his hand. “I accept.”

My hand moves on autopilot, even as my brain saysMistake! Mistake! Error!

Then his slightly rough, warm hand wraps over mine. It’s sobig. The way it engulfs mine with its size and heat makes all the sensations I’ve been fighting so hard during this interaction come flooding back.

And hard.

His fingers are so long they fully wrap around my hand, brushing against the back of my hand in a firm,hot graze. His thumb sweeps against the soft divot of the side of my wrist not once, but twice, like he too notices the way it so perfectly fits.

When his eyes meet mine, my blood slows to syrup in my veins. Everything quiets, and suddenly I wonder very, very hard if the reason I decided to go through with this was entirely for the kids. Because as unnerving as it is, as wrong as the way I feel around Raphael is, something’s happened over the past week. The whole clattering mess of my feelings has angled in a completely different way, like a school of silver fish slipping into a gulf stream. The feelings are still there, still a jumble of confusion. But for the first time in a long time, I feel a loosening. A trust, that no matter what my feelings are doing, Raphael makes my life better.

The girls are in good hands, and despite everything, I think, so am I.

Chapter 11

Raphael

While it’s my second week in this gig, it’s the first out of probation, and it feels like the tiny, slightly chilled, but oh so sexy ax that’s been hovering at the back of my neck has lifted. The weekend after Lana gave me what felt somehow like the best news of my life, Mac and Cal drove me around town to help me pick up a few things for my place. Everyone and their uncle apparently heard I’m moving into Lana’s suite, so the place is now overflowing with housewares, plants, and food. The local church even donated a desk and chair to work on. But the chair must have belonged to a sadistic monk (okay, choir lady, maybe—I know how churches work, I swear) because after writing in it all day Sunday I was so stiff I made myself wake up early to do laps in the ocean on Monday morning to get the kinks out before work.

The girls and I continue to settle into our rhythm with fun adventures in and out of town, including the Bean Scene, a coffee shop with extremely comfortablechairs where I set up shop in that same night, and a trip to the fish market in Swan River, where we played a game of ‘How much candy would it take to convince you to lick that fish’s scales?’ Aurora’s limit is shockingly low—two chocolate bars and ‘one of those marshmallow cookies Grandma makes’. Nova’s is ‘seventeen dump trucks of skittles’. I offer to lick one of the fish for free just to gross them out, but the fishmonger good-naturedly tells us it’s you lick, you buy.

On Thursday, Nova mentions something about Lana going out on Saturday night.

“Mom never goes out at night,” Aurora says.

We’re at the beach collecting sea glass—Aurora’s choice of activity—but she now looks worried. “Who’s gonna tuck us in?”

Suddenly I’m worried too. “Did she say what she was doing?” I ask casually.

Nova shrugs. “I don’t remember,” Nova says, already losing interest in the conversation. “Maybe Chris.” She frowns. “No wait, Chris said she’s going to some motorbike thing this weekend. Maybe Annie?”

“Annie?” Aurora asks, wringing her hands. “Who’s Annie?”

Nova reminds her that Annie is Mac’s sister and she’s super nice, she just flies around for her job a lot so Aurora doesn’t remember seeing much of her.

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