Role Playing(53)

She felt her cheeks heat. Which was silly, but there it was. “Thanks.”

She watched as his gaze moved over her bookshelves, taking in her Funko dolls, her LEGO hobbit hole, various reference books, and novels that she loved.

“Love that you have graphic novels too,” he said. “I read Sandman over and over as a teen.”

“Somehow, I have trouble picturing you as a goth kid.”

He rolled his eyes. “Yeah. That would’ve gone over. If the football team didn’t rib me endlessly, my parents would’ve lost their minds. Especially if I dyed my hair black.” He chuckled.

She grinned back. She wondered, absently, what he looked like in high school. What he was like.

“I suppose you were a goth kid?” he asked.

She shook her head. “No. My Nana Birdie would’ve been appalled and kicked me out, no question.” She did not chuckle, because she wasn’t kidding. She’d always subtly—or not so subtly—felt like she lived on borrowed time in Nana’s house. “I was your typical honors student. Editor in chief of the school paper. Stuff like that.”

“Huh.” Now his curious gaze was trained on her. “Got any pictures?”

“None I’m willing to share,” she said, shooting him an are-you-nuts look. “C’mon. I figure you’re going to be here for a bit, so I should get started on dinner. Nothing I cook seems to be quick.”

“You’re taking awfully good care of me,” he said, slowly shuffling after her and heading toward her kitchen. She settled him down at the table. Her living room, dining room, and kitchen were open plan, so it was easy to prep dinner and talk to him at the same time. “Seriously. I owe you, for grocery shopping, and saving me from Deb—twice. I feel like you deserve a kidney or my firstborn child or something.”

She frowned, pulling out the ingredients for cottage pie. It was hearty, perfect for fall. She used to make it all the time when Kit was home, because he was a growing teen with a black hole of an appetite and they could cruise on the leftovers for longer than a day. She put ground beef, vegetables, and potatoes on the counter, and started to go to work.

“You don’t have any kids, do you?” she asked. “I seem to remember you saying something like that.”

He’d made a passing remark about not being married or having kids, actually. Yet she remembered it clearly.

He made a face. “No,” he said. “I like kids, and I hope I would’ve been a good dad if I had any. But I would’ve wanted a solid marriage first. And at this point—God, this might sound like shit, but the thought of kids is exhausting.”

“You are not lying,” she said. “Kit is my heart, but there’s a reason we were one and done.”

Pain, sharp and unexpected, slapped at her.

“You okay?”

She looked up, startled. “What?”

“You just . . . I’m sorry,” Aiden said, and his deep rumble was impossibly gentle. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“No. No, it’s fine.”

Aiden shifted in the chair, studying her intently. “Was it your ex? Didn’t want children?”

She threw carrots, onions, and celery in the food processor, buying time by pulsing it before letting it whirl the large chunks to bits. Then she put it all in the large pan to brown in some ghee. “He didn’t want the child he had,” she said. “He probably didn’t want children at all. Kit was an unexpected accident . . . although I guess if it’s expected, it’s not an accident.” She laughed, but it was a dry, dusty sound. “And this is why I’m a paid editor, am I right?”

Aiden didn’t take the bait. “That sounds incredibly hard. Did . . .” He paused. “Did Kit know how his father felt?”

“Yes.” Fury burned, quick and familiar. “I thought I could compensate. I acted as a buffer for a while, but it never quite worked. Honestly, I probably shouldn’t have hung on for as long as I did, but . . .” She shrugged.

“You didn’t just tell him to fuck off, Bogwitch-style, I guess?” Aiden said, with a small, teasing smile, but his eyes were compassionate. Possibly just a tiny bit pitying.

“Eventually. Just took a while to get there. Too long.” She added some garlic and stirred, probably a little too vigorously, like the vegetables had somehow wronged her. “But he’s gone. Out of the state. Last I checked, he was in Wyoming.”

Aiden’s face darkened like a storm cloud. “He hasn’t even been in touch? With Kit, I mean?”

“No.” She added tomato paste, letting it brown with the mirepoix she’d created. “It’s probably better that way, honestly. They didn’t have a lot to talk about when they were under the same roof. But yeah, sometimes, I could strangle him with my bare hands. It’s probably safer for him, and better for my life outside of a prison, that he stays at least a state or two away from me.”

“I . . .” Aiden looked like he was gearing up. “Sorry, but . . . how did you marry this guy in the first place? How’d you meet?”

“He was from the town I grew up in,” she said. “I lived in a smaller city, outside of Napa, California. His family was friends with my grandparents, who raised me.”

“Nana Birdie?”