Page 92 of Hoax and Kisses
I move around her and use my foot to nudge the cereal into a small pile before she can step in it.
“It’s a bit messy. I’m sorry.” I swipe two bowls up and send them clattering into the sink with the rest of the plates. “I haven’t had time to clean this week.”
Zoey puts her hand on my wrist, stopping me before I can go for another armload of dishes. “Matt, it’s fine. I don’t care.”
I come to a halt, studying her face. “You don’t?”
“No,” she says, chuckling. “You think I expected you to be a neat freak? Please, I saw your office.”
“My office isold, not dirty.”
She pats my arm. “Whatever you want to call it.” Her teasing smirk falls quickly. “I know you work all day, then come homeand spend the evening taking care of your sister. It’s a lot. Give yourself some grace, yeah?”
She scans the kitchen and the living room, where the sofa is buried under a mound of blankets and pillows.
“Daphne loves movie nights,” I explain.
“I would too if I was bundled up in all these blankets.”
Her words conjure images of the two of us curled up beneath them on an ordinary weeknight, her snug against me.
I exhale, pushing the thought aside.
She continues her curious exploration, and I follow behind her like a puppy, eager to know if she likes what she sees.If she likes me.
I want to know what’s going through her mind as she gets a glimpse into my life. What makes her chuckle when she picks up the photo of Daph and me dressed as Tarzan and Turk on Halloween five years ago, or why she bites her lip to stifle a laugh when she sees my collection of random rooster memorabilia.
“I didn’t peg you for a cock guy,” Zoey says, examining a rooster-themed candle.
“I’m not. This is very much a joke between Lola and Charlee.”
She turns to me, one brow arched.
I tip my face to the ceiling with a sigh. “When I was young, there was a lost rooster in our garden. I begged my mother to adopt it, but she refused because of her monstrosity.”
“Her what?”
“Her cat.” I shake my head. “Anyway. I cried for days, and when I told Lola the story, she wanted to make me feel better and got me those figurines in honor of George.” I point to a pair on the shelf. “That was the name I gave him. From there, it became a bit of an inside joke between us. After a couple of years, it died down. And then Charlee happened.”
Charlee, who thought it wassooofunny and teased me about it for weeks.
“Looks more like a cock shrine than a collection at this point,” Zoey says as she surveys the second shelf of knickknacks, all “gifts” from Charlee.
“Cocklection,” I say flatly, and regret it instantly.
Zoey spins around, eyes wide. Her hand flies to her mouth, shoulders shaking like she’s about to explode. “What?”
I sigh, internally cursing myself. And Charlee.
“That’s what Charlee calls it. My cocklection. All her doing, by the way. She travels so much, and I swear, she finds rooster coasters, salt-and-pepper shakers, and little glass figurines everywhere she goes.”
This time, she can’t hold it in. Head thrown back, she laughs, loud and bright. The sound, the vision, is like a power surge for my own heart.
“Why don’t you… tell her …. to stop?” she asks between bouts of laughter.
“Because Daphne loves it.” I shrug. And I secretly do too. Minus the name she’s given it. Not that I’d ever admit it to Charlee. She’d never shut up about it. “It’s her favorite part of the house.”
“That’s adorable.” Zoey puts the candle down, a smile lingering on her lips, and continues to survey the shelves. “But they’re arranged all wrong.”
