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Emery scowled at her best friend and then turned to him. “I guess I can go home.”
“Love the excitement,” he deadpanned. “All right, why don’t you both wrap up and meet me out front.”
Muttering and whining followed, but they didn’t protest. Fletcher put everything away and left himself a note to spend some time teaching Emery how to properly read music. She had the determination and the excitement, but she was lacking in talent and patience. It was incredible how much Fletcher saw of Micah in the kid from the frustrated pout to the sass that poured off her constantly. He turned off the lights, ushered Benson out and found Emery and Nico giggling at something on their phones. He escorted them out, turned off the lights and locked the store before leading the way to his truck.
Nico gave him their address and the two of them sat in the back talking about things he could barely understand. After dropping Nico off, and waiting till they were inside their house, Emery climbed into the front seat and directed him. Pulling up in front of a beautiful white house with a dark blue roof, Fletcher’s brain finally registered that he now knew where Micah lived. He’d tried to keep her out of his head for most of the day, but seeing her house changed all of that.
Emery undid her seatbelt and started to get out of the truck before turning to him. “You’re coming in, right?”
“I am?”
Rolling her eyes, she hopped out and nodded before slamming the door shut. He looked back at the house and considered his options—he could drive away or he could stay until Micah came back home. Truth was, Emery didn’t look upset by the fact that her mother was going to be late and she clearly didn’t need him babysitting her. But he felt like he needed to make sure that the kid was safe. Especially when she let herself into the house and left the front door open.
Yes, let’s use that as a reason to go inside.
He huffed at his inner voice and turned off the truck. He locked it as he climbed out and carefully walked into the house, like something might jump out at him. Closing the door behind him, he toed off his sneakers and set them along with the other shoes organized neatly on a short shelf.
“Downstairs!” Emery called out and Fletcher descended the stairs as his eyes drank in the details of the house. There was a long hallway with doors leading off at that level, but he couldn’t see into any of the rooms. Instead, he focused on what came into sight as he hit the lower level—a spacious living-dining-kitchen area with big windows that opened onto a small patio. With the colors of the setting sun, the room was painted in shades of gold and pink, changing the essence of the space.
“What do you wanna eat?”
He turned at Emery’s voice and stared at the large kitchen that swallowed the teenager whole. Standing in front of an industrial size refrigerator, Emery had her lips pursed and one hand on her hip.
“Pasta?”
“I’m not allowed to make pasta anymore,” Emery said with a pout and closed the fridge. “Too messy.”
“How about I make the pasta and you assist?”
“What does assisting entail?”
Fletcher smirked and started opening cabinets to find what he was looking for. “Cleaning up as we go, making sure that we’re not messy.”
“Uggggggh, that’s the worst part.”
Once he’d found the pasta and cheese, he set them on the counter and then grabbed a few tomatoes, set them aside as well. “True, but the best part is getting to eat what we make. What meat does your mom keep in the house?”
Emery mumbled something under her breath, but after some rummaging in the freezer, pulled out a bag. “Mom bought that for tacos, but I guess we can use it for pasta.”
“Perfect.”
He looked at everything laid out and then handed out instructions to Emery, smiling when she only protested a few times. He wasn’t an expert at cooking, but Fletcher enjoyed the process. While on tour, he’d gotten so sick of eating fast food and the same shit every night that he picked up a cooking habit. Whatever he could whip together on the tour bus would be devoured by the guys, then during his time off, he attended cooking classes and made friends with chefs. Cooking could be tedious and a lot of work went into it. But for him, that was actually pretty therapeutic.
Despite her whining, cooking with Emery turned out to be so much more fun that he expected. Like with teaching her the drums, she asked questions and followed his instructions properly. They cleaned as they went, mostly because Fletcher didn’t want to leave Micah’s gorgeous kitchen an absolute mess when he was done. But also because it was a good habit to pick up.
Micah
This was a setup.
Letting herself into the house, Micah groaned as she dropped her things on the bench by the front door. With one hand on the wall, she peeled off her pumps and let them fall where they may. Stepping onto the shag carpet, she released a sigh of relief and curled her toes into the soft surface. She thought that working a job that allowed her to sit for hours wouldn’t be so tiring, but apparently there was a limit to how long you could sit without feeling pain. That coupled with the stress of the sessions was a lot for any one person to handle. But she’d survived another long day of one-on-one sessions with her adolescent clients and then an hour of reading with Mrs. Hershey.
She carefully ran a hand through her curly hair and inhaled deeply, mostly to center herself, when the scents of tomato sauce and meat greeted her. Then sounds came into focus—Emery’s laughter alongside a much deeper male voice. When she’d bought the house, Micah had liked that there were two entrances—one at the upper level from the street and the one she came through with a driveway. Given that she used the main entrance most of the time, she wouldn’t have known that they had a guest.
Frowning, she grabbed her phone, pushed her feet into her fluffy narwhal slippers and hurried to the kitchen, only to freeze at the sight of the broad shouldered form with a high ponytail. Emery’s head was tipped back as she laughed, her blonde ponytail bouncing with the movement. Swallowing hard, she took a step back and out of sight as she attempted to process the fact that Fletcher Kelley was in her kitchen and cooking up a storm.
He probably thinks you’re a terrible mother, letting your kid cook for herself while you work.
Forcing away the thought, she shook her head. No. Fletcher wasn’t going to react like Geoffrey, or like her parents did when she first got this job. He would be understanding. Or so she hoped. She held onto enough guilt when she worked long hours, she didn’t need anybody else making her feel like shit as well. Her job was demanding and on some days, it felt harder than others. And because she knew how difficult speech impediments could be if not treated properly, she worked twice as hard on a daily basis. Micah never wanted kids to struggle and suffer the way she did. She never wanted them to be bullied like she had been.
