Page 74 of Give & Take

She actually thumbs-upped that one.

I’d say more over text, but I can tell things work better in person with her. Plus, I love the way she turns pink every time I look at her a moment too long. Or she catches me looking at her appreciatively in her running gear.

In some ways, it’s like we’re back where we started. We flirt. She hides her smiles. Only there’s an energy to it that wasn’t there before. A tight, high drone of anticipation.

We’re on a new track now. One that’s uncharted.

One that has me, frankly, more than just interested. In this present moment, I’m all in.

Maybe too far in.

My dissertation has taken a backseat over the past couple of weeks, and I vow I’m going to get back to it. But right now all I can do is focus on the kids during the day,and driving myself fucking wild with this tension every other waking moment. Thankfully, the girls’ have dance class on Thursdays, and I know for a fact Lana comes home while they’re there. Nova told me there are no parents allowed until recital time at the end of the summer, though she’s made me practice all the moves with them anyway.

So I’ve saved up my dirty laundry for tonight.

It’s not a euphemism, I really do have a shit-ton of laundry to do.

When I casually stroll into the house with my basketful of clothes, Lana—perched on the stool at the kitchen island, her laptop open in front of her—startles and snaps her laptop shut. I wish I’d been able to come in quietly, just so I could have another second of seeing her without her seeing me. She was so intently focused on her work, her hair’s messy bun falling out, wisps framing her beautiful face as she typed. Her tongue was clamped just slightly between her teeth.

It was sexy as hell.

She’s wearing this old white t-shirt that falls off her shoulder, and she pulls it up self-consciously now.

I smile innocently, praying for it to slip down again as I slip off my sneakers. “You don’t have to close your browser windows on my account, Sunshine.”

Lana scowls. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

There are papers all over the place. Notes. A book calledThe Body Dictionary.

She sees me looking as I casually walk in her direction, which luckily, is also the way to the laundry room.

She flips the tome upside down with a slap.

I pause by the island and quirk my head, setting my laundry down on the floor.

I lean on the island a few feet away from her, chin in hands. “Whatcha doin’, Lana?”

“Working, if you must know.”

“What are you working on?”

Her cheeks redden. I can see her debating what to tell me.

She’s flustered, but she’s also embarrassed. So I back off. I stand up, spreading my hands up. “I promise I won’t make any kind of remark about it. Seriously, Lana.”

She hesitates a moment more, picking up a pen and tapping it against the countertop. Then she says, “I’m writing a book.”

My eyebrows lift. This is a delicious new piece of information, though it kind of surprises me. I know she loves reading. She was all giddy the other day, and when I asked Nova about it after she’d left, she said “Mom’s favorite author has a new book coming out or something.”

“You didn’t tell me you’re a writer,” I say.

“Because I’m not. This is just…something I’m doing. It’s a one-time thing.”

With anyone else, I might think they were doubting themselves. But I’m learning that Lana doesn’t do anything without purpose. Except maybe when it comes to me.

“Non-fiction?” I ask.

“No.”

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