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“She’s a kindergarten teacher.”
I wrinkle my nose at the thought of working with children all day, every day. “She must really like kids.”
“She does. And she has the patience of a saint. And then there’s me.”
I chuckle. “You’re not a kid person?”
She wrinkles her nose. “Not teaching a classful of them every day.”
“Do you want kids?”
“I’m not sure. I always think maybe if I wasn’t the youngest, I’d want kids. Like Beck. He took care of us, stepped into that fatherly role way too young, and now he’s the best dad to my nieces.” She shrugs, basically leaving out the ending and how she feels about having kids someday. “You?”
I shake my head. “I’m not really a kid person. I always liked the idea of having a couple sometime down the road, but I’m not sure if I still feel that way.”
She adds ice to each cup. “Why not?”
“I guess it might have something to do with watching my parents get divorced.” The words slip out before I can stop them, and they happen to be words I haven’t spoken aloud to another soul. And then somehow, I keep going. “I guess I thought after nearly forty years, they’d just be together forever. But clearly, it can still fuck up adult kids since it’s showing me that nothing’s meant to last forever, and I don’t know that I want to bring someone else into that kind of world.”
She stops making our drinks to stare at me, her head tilted a little as she takes all that in.
I feel a little self-conscious as I wait for her reply, and she shakes her head before she pours a healthy dose of vodka into each cup.
“I get that,” she finally says. “Totally. But it’s your life and your mistakes to make, not your parents’.”
It’s your life and your mistakes to make.
Why do her words seem to really put it all into perspective?
Why am I letting what somebody else is going through control me?
They’re good questions, but an even better one enters my mind unexpectedly.
Why am I so hell-bent on pushing this woman away when she seems to be the only person who knows exactly how to handle me?
Chapter 27: Ava Maxwell
Cookies Are the Way to a Man’s Heart
I hand him the drink I just mixed, and he holds up his glass. I clink mine to his.
“Cheers,” I say, and then I take a sip.
Okay, so I made them strong.
Maybe I’m trying to get him to loosen up. I just need him to abandon his morals a little so I can break away at his shell, we can have all the sex again, and we can get started on this whole him falling for me thing.
And on that note, I like to keep my hands busy while I talk. “Can you help me with something while we talk through some of this?” I ask.
His brows dip. “What do you need help with? Changing a lightbulb or something?”
I laugh. “No, we’re not helpless housewives from the nineteen-twenties. We’re pretty good at lightbulbs. I have an idea for some cookies I’ve been wanting to try, but I haven’t had time to execute them at work. Want to be my helper and guinea pig?”
Cookies are the way to a man’s heart, right?
It’s worth a shot.
He looks a little hesitant, but then he says, “Sure.”
