Page 91 of The Matchmaker
I may or may not have forgotten that I’d invited Callum. With Gemma’s reluctant permission and Noah’s apathetic one, I’d hoped tointegratehim a little more with my friends.
Seemed like a great idea at the time.
“Come on in,” I say, pushing away from the counter. The act seems to break the spell and Gemma turns to the sink. “That’s great,” I continue. “He loves football.”
“Yeah, you mentioned. I don’t plan on sticking around or anything,” he adds, handing me the present. “Don’t worry.”
Adam watches the exchange stonily, but Gemma turns around, giving him a rare smile.
“Don’t be silly,” she says. “Stay. There’s plenty of food and I need all the help I can get.”
Loud laughter from the hall punctuates her words, and she takes a breath, grabbing a packet of Doritos from the table.
“Wish me luck,” she says and slips past Callum without another word. Adam waits a beat before snatching the nearest soda bottle and following her.
“I’ll go,” Callum offers, but I shake my head.
“That had nothing to do with you,” I say, staring after them. “It’s her ex. He’s a dick.”
“Adam? Really?”
“Huh?” I glance over to see a matching look of confusion on his face. “Adam’s not her ex.”
“Oh. Sorry, I thought…” He shrugs. “Never mind. My mistake.”
“Darren’s her ex-husband,” I explain. “And Noah’s dad. By blood anyway. Or sperm, I guess. He shows up every now and then but never for long and never when it counts.”
“Jesus.”
“Yeah.” I grab some more dirty bowls and dump them in the sink. “To be honest, we all thought she was having a breakdown when she moved back here. But she was right to. She needed a new start and that just happened to be in her old home.”
“It’s nice she was able to come back.”
“Yeah.”
More excitement sounds from the next room, but neither of us move.
“I like your hat,” he says after a moment.
“Ohshit.”
He grins as I take it off. I’d forgotten I was wearing it.
“I promised Noah I’d get rid of it when his friends came,” I explain.
“I think you look cute.”
“Well, he didn’t and he’s the birthday boy,” I say, smoothing my hair back into place.
“Does that mean when I’m the birthday boy, you’ll wear it for me?”
“If you ask nicely,” I quip.
He eyes me for a moment before he picks up the discarded hat, stretching the elastic band to fit it gently under my chin, and back over my head.
“I’m about to be proclaimed desperately uncool,” I remind him.
“You’ll survive.” He dips his finger into the leftover frosting, ignoring my warning look as he dabs it on my nose.
