Page 54 of I Think He Knows
Just an act.
“Cold!” I squeak, jumping backwards so fast that I bang the small of my back on the countertop. “Is it cold in here?”
I spring into action, moving around the kitchen and closing windows. Carter remains still, watching me as I flap around like a disorientated bat. By the time I’m done and dare look at him again, he’s rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands.
“Tired?” I ask.
“Yeah, I am actually. Maybe I should get an Uber and let you get to bed. We could probably both do with a good sleep after today.”
The thought of him leaving fills me with a strange sadness. I have no idea what’s going on with me, too much champagne or something. I mean, I’m used to him leaving. He leaves all the time. Why would now be any different?
So I shrug and say, “Your Jeep will still be parked out front, which is probably enough proof. Plus, there were people lurking out there when I came home earlier. They’ve likely already gotten a ton of pictures.”
He studies me for a long moment, eyes guarded. “I hate the thought of you being hounded like that,” he says quietly. “And honestly, forget adding credit to our story. I’d feel better if I stayed tonight in case one of them is dumb enough to ring your doorbell or harass you or something. I want to make sure you and Legs are safe.”
He looks so serious, so earnest, I can’t help but hug him. He responds right away, pulling me almost roughly towards him and holding me tight in a bear-like cuddle.
I’ve never felt safer.
When we eventually pull apart, he smiles down at me. “If you’re good with that, we could still watch one quick episode before we go to bed? I can sleep on the couch so we don’t confuse Allegra.”
“I’m definitely good with both the you staying over plan and the one episode ofGilmore Girlsplan.” I find myself nodding in agreement way too fast. I’m like an overeager beaver at the thought of him staying.
I’m also sure that he can see right through me because he smiles widely. Then, he starts walking towards the living room, calling over his shoulder, “Come on then, Wifey. We don’t have all night.”
But we do.
And even if it is all pretend, I’m going to savor every damn second of it.
18
LANA MAE
True to his word, Carter slept on the couch that night.
And the night after that. And the night after that, too.
“May as well make this as believable as possible, right Lan?” he said last night before once again retrieving the pillow and blankets from the linen closet and making up the couch. “And, of course, I should be here in case anything happens.”
And even though I was sure his back must be in agony, I agreed all too eagerly. Because having this much time with Carter is incredible. When he’s gone, I don’t let myself miss him because it hurts too much. It’s only when he’s here with me that I can feel the hole his absence leaves in my life.
It’s going to be so hard to see him go when this is all over and he’s back in LA or New York or whereverIf Onlyis going to be filmed—because I’m sure he’ll get the part—and I’m still here. But I’ve done it before and I’ll do it again, supporting him without ever wavering. Cheering him on in his success.
But still, I’m trying not to think about it too much just yet. Because carpe diem and positivity and all my mantras that I actually have to start living by.
This morning, I wake to the unmistakable smell of pancakes wafting from the kitchen. Voices and laughter carry up the stairs, mingling with the cooking scents, and I roll over in bed to look at my alarm clock. It’s almost eight. Allegra has field day at school today, so she doesn’t need to be in until later, and my shift at work today doesn’t start until noon, so I decided (wild and crazy person that I am) that I wasn’t going to set an alarm this morning. This has gotta be the latest I’ve slept in years.
I stretch luxuriously before stepping out of bed, and pad to the bathroom to brush my teeth. The woman staring back at me in the mirror might have crazy bedhead hair and no makeup and is wearing a mismatched pajama set consisting of a faded Snoopy tee and shorts with burgers all over them. But she looks rested. Content.
Happy.
After I rinse my mouth, I consider going to my room and getting dressed, but I change my mind and head downstairs instead, gathering my hair into a loose knot on top of my head.
The morning sunshine is streaming through the windows in the living room, casting the house in a golden glow. That sweet, mapley smell is filling the air to the point that my mouth is practically watering.
Carter’s standing at the stove in my tiny kitchen, looking altogether too large, but at the same time, perfect for the space. He’s wearing a pink plaid “Kiss the Cook” apron (I wish) over a ridiculously sexy white-t-shirt-and-gray-sweatpants combo while he spoons ladles of pancake batter onto a griddle pan. He doesn’t look so much a DILF as a DILTSMELWAHAHB (Dad I’d Like To Spend My Entire Life With And Have All His Babies, for those of you who are not fluent in acronyms).
I don’t know what his secret is. Carter never cooks and seems to order all his meals from nice restaurants and those nutritionally balanced, fresh-prepped dinner companies—you know, the ones that arrive premade in pretty packaging and cost a pretty penny, too. But somehow, the man makes the best pancakes this side of the Mississippi.