The First Taste (Slip of the Tongue Book 2)

by Jessica Hawkins

  “Oh, God.” Andrew runs both hands through his hair and turns his back to us. “This is not happening.”

  “I’ll be back in the morning to start the cake,” Flora sings, patting her purse at her side.

  “Actually,” Andrew says, turning back, a wary look etched on his face, “I thought Amelia could make it.”

  I gape. “Me? I can’t—I’ve never . . . I . . . don’t . . . bake.”

  He chuckles in a most irritating way. Flora joins in, to my dismay. “That’s a wonderful idea,” she agrees.

  “It’s not.” I give Flora a serious look. “I’m a terrible baker. Absolutely awful. The last time I made muffins, they were gluten-free and vegan. My assistant gagged, spit one out, and eventually went home for the day.”

  “Vegan?” Andrew exclaims. “Never mind. You don’t have to bake.”

  I plead with Flora. “It would be so great if you could just—”

  She shakes her head. “You’ll do fine, honey. Just make it with love, and it’ll turn out great.”

  Make it with love. That doesn’t really help. I’d prefer a more concrete tip, like using buttermilk or cage-free eggs. “Maybe you could come early and help me?” I ask.

  She looks at Andrew. They exchange a smile, as if they’re in on a private joke. I’m pretty sure I’m that joke.

  “I think that would be fine,” she says. “Everything’s already in the fridge. I’ll swing by around ten, and we’ll do it together.”

  I sigh with relief. “Thank you.”

  Andrew leans in and kisses her on the cheek. “Thanks, Flora. For tonight and tomorrow. You’re a huge help.”

  “It’s no trouble. Goodnight, you two.”

  Andrew closes the door after her and locks it. He turns to me and rolls his eyes. “Sorry about that.”

  “It was sweet. Is she a friend of your mom’s?”

  “She’s Pico’s mom.”

  “Oh, right. Of course.” I pause. “What’s a Pico?”

  “A guy who works for me. A friend.” He grins. “We still have quite a bit to learn about each other, don’t we?”

  I nod. That’s one way to kill the mood—a stark reminder that we’re about to embark on something huge while we’re still strangers in a lot of ways. “I probably shouldn’t have come here tonight.”

  “Really?” He closes the distance between us and lifts my chin with his knuckle. “You sure? I was just thinking the opposite. I’m glad you’re here.”

  “It’s not too soon?”

  “To sleep in my guest room?” He winks. “Come on.”

  As he leads me through the house, I finally get a look around. It’s a good size, much more spacious than my apartment, which is big by New York standards. Like the exterior, the decor is traditional but with modern updates such as hardwood floors, clean lines, and—to my delight—an exposed-brick fireplace.

  He notices my gaze. “It’s a little warm tonight,” he teases. “Let’s give it a few months.”

  A few months. With Andrew. Glee wells up my chest. “Can I get a tour?” I ask.

  “Not much to see,” he says. “I’ll get us a drink. Make yourself at home.”

  He may believe there isn’t much to see, but to me, it’s like opening the second volume of his life. When he leaves, I stand in place and look everywhere I can. There isn’t more than necessary in the room—a wood coffee table with a remote positioned next to some car magazines. An overstuffed brown leather couch that faces an obscenely big flat-screen TV. A table in the entryway with a dish for keys and spare change. Sparse but tasteful. If I remember our conversations correctly, Shana never lived here. He bought this after she left, so he must’ve decorated it himself.

  It doesn’t look like a child lives here. The biggest indication is a large bookcase with shelving that appears to be divided between the two of them. The lower half holds coloring books, crayons, fairytales by the Brothers Grimm, Disney DVDs, and a small, stuffed unicorn. I browse the books at eyelevel. Manuals on cars and motorcycles. Some crime fiction. I pick out a book with a spine that reads On Grief and Grieving and flip through the first few pages. It’s been four years since Shana left, but is Andrew really over her? What would I have found here even a year ago?

  And there’s the small detail that she’s back in his life. As much as it concerns me to go head to head with someone who once captivated Andrew at every turn, I know I can’t back down. Because he deserves better. Bell deserves better.

  “That should be in a Goodwill box,” Andrew says from behind me. “It was a gift, honest.”

  I turn around, holding it to my chest. “Your house is tidy for having a small child.”

  “It doesn’t always look like this, but Bell is pretty good about picking up after herself. I told her that’s what adults do, and she listens.”

  I take a deep breath. My emotions are raw tonight, close to the surface, perhaps not the best time to get into a deep conversation. But if I’m going to sleep under Andrew’s roof, I have to speak up. “I need to know about her.”

  He pauses, looking me over. “Bell?”

  “No. I mean yes, her too, but this—” I hold up the book. “This is a book about losing a loved one to death. How badly did Shana hurt you?”

  He comes further into the room with two glasses of amber liquid and sets them on the coffee table. “I told you, I didn’t buy that book or even read it. Sadie gave it to me. There aren’t exactly many books on what to do when your girlfriend disappears overnight and leaves you with a small child. Sadie overreacted.”

  “You’re holding back.”

  “I’m not,” he says. “I just don’t see the point of living in the past.”

  “You want me to trust you. I’ve told you everything there is to know about Reggie and my life, but you’re still shutting me out. I understand why, but I can’t accept it.” I gesture around the cozy family room. “Not if I’m going to become part of this.”

  He glances at the ground. “Why give her that power over us? It happened four years ago. I’m not getting back together with her, believe me.”

  “I do, but Sadie gave you this book for a reason. You can’t just pretend it never happened because it hurts too much to revisit.”

  “It doesn’t hurt. I don’t feel anything about it.”

  “I think I’m falling in love with you,” I say and stiffen. I’m as surprised by my declaration as Andrew looks to hear it. Shit shit shit. This was the last thing I wanted. But standing here in his home is not as terrifying as I thought it would be. Maybe it isn’t what I envisioned for myself, a home in the suburbs, a young girl, a good, hard-working man, a career up in flames. But somehow, he and Bell and this home—they fit into the puzzle of my life like a piece I didn’t know was missing. Andrew wasn’t a complete picture until this moment, until I could see him here, as a father who comes home to his daughter every night. As a man who runs a household by himself.

  Silence stretches between us.

  “Is that what you want?” I ask him finally. “Does it scare you? Would you rather keep everything to yourself? If so, take me home now. Because you got it wrong. We both did.” I point at the steel machine tattooed on his chest. “Hard hearts break easy. It’s the soft ones that survive hit after hit.”

  He stands there in the stillness that follows, and as he does, the truth of my words sets in—for me, and, I think, for him. He was upfront from the start. Love wasn’t on the table. Is an ultimatum really fair? Maybe not. But this is what I need. It would hurt to walk away after all this, or to be left behind, but if he can’t move on from his past . . . then we have to say goodbye.

  And it has to be now.

  THIRTY-THREE

  Andrew hasn’t blinked in what feels like minutes. I’ve hit him with an unfair ultimatum—let me all the way in or let me go. It would be easier to take it back and trust we’d get there in time, but I can’t. I’m not prepared to endure what I went through with Reggie, who I don’t think I ever loved absolutely, with Andrew
, who I think I could.

  “We’ve always been able to be honest with each other,” I say. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

  “I don’t want you to leave,” he says right away.

  “I’m not asking for the world, but if you want me to stay, I need more.”

  With a swallow, he nods. “I know. I didn’t even realize I was . . . keeping you out. It wasn’t on purpose.”

  I replace the self-help book on grief on the shelf and go to him, rounding the couch. “I don’t blame you—we had a deal. But now we have a new one.”

  After a few tense seconds, one corner of his mouth lifts. “We do? What would that be?”

  “We’re allowed to fall in love.”

  He raises his eyebrows. “And?”

  “That’s it. We take it day by day. We stay honest with each other.” I chew my bottom lip. “Or, we walk away like we originally planned. But I know I’ll always wonder what could’ve been if . . .” I’m out on the ledge alone. I’m tempted to look at my hands, but I hold onto a thread of courage. This is new for both of us, and he deserves my patience.

  “If what, Amelia?”

  “If I had let myself love you.”

  His expression sobers. “I would wonder too. Always.” He sits on the couch. Taking my hand in his, he tugs me down next to him. “She made us my favorite dinner that night. Back then, I didn’t cook. I didn’t clean or do much of anything around the house, honestly. I was just trying to get the garage going, and that took up a lot of my time.”

  “You sound like you regret that,” I say.

  He nods. “Part of what I struggle with is the fact that I wasn’t a good boyfriend. I thought I made up for that by being a good dad, but Shana didn’t see it that way.”

  I bring our laced hands to my lips and kiss his knuckles. “You blame yourself.”

  “Sometimes.” He pulls my legs over his lap, and I settle back against the opposite arm so I can see him. “We all went to bed that night. When I woke up, Bell was crying in her crib. Shana was nowhere to be found, but she didn’t have a job or anywhere she had to be at six in the morning. Once I’d calmed Bell down, I went into my closet. Most of her things were gone. I panicked and called the police, but they knew better. When I admitted her things were missing, they told me to wait a couple days.”

  He leans forward and picks up his drink before passing me mine. “So, she was gone. I called her mom, who said Shana was safe but that was all she could tell me. I would’ve gone to her parents’, but they lived hours away, and I was saddled with Bell and work. Plus—I was fucking bitter. I wasn’t about to go banging on her door, begging her to come back. Eventually, when I was ready to face her, her parents said she was no longer there.”

  “Where was she?”

  He shakes his head. “Either they didn’t know, or they wouldn’t tell me. Her mom wanted to come visit, but I held Bell like ransom. It was a way of punishing Shana, not letting her parents see Bell.”

  “Didn’t they fight you?” I ask. “They’re her grandparents.”

  “Not hard enough.” He clears his throat. “All of this happened right before Bell’s third birthday. I would’ve been happy to crawl into a hole and drink myself stupid, but I couldn’t. We had friends and family coming over. I spent the party explaining Shana’s absence and getting a sickening amount of pity. At one point, I actually went into the bathroom and puked.”

  “God,” I say, covering my heart. “That’s awful.”

  “I was fucked. Because I worked a lot, Shana had handled almost everything when it came to Bell. Sure, I helped out in the evenings, but I had no idea what went on during the day. Sadie and Nate came for a weekend and forced me to man up. I wanted to go straight to the bar and drown myself in liquor.”

  “That’s why you got that tattoo,” I say.

  He nods. “The stress of suddenly being a single parent, plus the fact that I’d loved Shana, sent me into a black hole. But I couldn’t let that show when I was around Bell, which was basically every hour of every day.”

  “What about the garage?”

  “My guys held it down.” He looks into the distance and nods. “They’re my family. At home, Flora and Denise stepped in. Flora was a friend of my grandfather’s, and Denise was Shana’s close friend, so they knew Bell. My parents were useless.”

  I shake my head. Flora was more than a babysitter, Sadie more than a sister, Denise more than a fling. They’d seen Andrew and Bell through a horrible time. “How’d you get through it?”

  “Bell. And my grandfather. He was my role model, and I just kept thinking—if he were here, what would he do? I asked myself that every day for years, and every day, I got my answer. He was a real man. He faced responsibility head on. Once he decided to get sober, he never looked back.”

  “I’d like to have met him.”

  He smiles a little. “He would’ve loved you. Grandpa had two weaknesses—women and cars.”

  “What about your grandma?”

  “They split soon after my dad was born, she moved away, and she passed a few years ago.” He pauses, swirling his drink as he thinks. “So that’s it.”

  “That’s it?” I ask. “Until now? Did she say why she left?”

  He squeezes my knee. “It’s not easy for me to say. I’m afraid of what you’ll think of me.”

  I shift against the arm of the couch. If there’s anything to fear about Andrew and his situation, I want to know now. “Go ahead.”

  “She never wanted to get pregnant. Bell was an accident, but I pressured Shana . . . I wasn’t exactly open to other options.” He glances at his hand on my leg. “Motherhood was hard for her. She cried a lot. She didn’t connect with Bell. And I made her feel as bad as possible about it, because I didn’t understand. How could she not want this perfect baby that was somehow the tiniest and most enormous thing in my life?”

  My chest pangs with regret. When I first met Andrew, his status as a father didn’t appeal to me. Children were nuisances. He never made me feel bad about that—it’s not like either of us had planned on me meeting her—but now that I’m getting to know Bell, I feel protective over her. “Knowing how important Bell is to you, that must’ve been difficult for both of you.”

  “I was an asshole. I didn’t give any merit to her doubts or concerns. Considering her penchant for drama, I assumed she was just trying to get a rise out of me—which she usually did. I wasn’t always this . . . sensitive.”

  I laugh. Big, hulking, gruff Andrew—sensitive? I’m about to protest, but Andrew really is more sympathetic to and understanding of my needs than any other man I’ve dated. As tough as he comes off, he takes care of what he loves. Shana’s mistakes are my gain. “What changed?” I ask.

  He blows out his cheeks with an exhale. “A lot. Bell taught me so much about the opposite sex. She started to come into her personality. I can’t fathom ever discrediting how she feels or trying to change or control her like I did with Shana. That, and with time, I gained perspective on my relationship with Shana. I saw how I’d let her down. Where I could’ve done better.”

  “But it couldn’t have been all you,” I say. “You said she was dramatic.”

  “Absolutely,” he says. “She wasn’t exactly the gold standard of girlfriends. More than once, I’d come home to find Flora watching Bell because Shana had taken off with some girlfriends. She wouldn’t check with me because she knew I’d say no. She’d come home wasted and make enough noise to wake up the baby, then bitch about the fact that Bell was always crying.”

  I cover Andrew’s hand, not to console him, but myself. It’s uncomfortable to hear about another woman’s family and how she let them down. “I’m sorry.”

  “She kissed me.” The direct statement surprises me enough that I take my hand back. “At the bar, before I came over tonight. She tried to get me to go home with her.”

  I stare at him. Andrew watches me open and close my mouth. This is my weakness—other women. Unfaithfulness. I trust Andrew.
Enough to ask what I want to know. It’s a step forward that I’d even be able to trust his answer. I pull my legs from his lap and sit cross-legged. “Did you sleep with her?”

  He narrows his eyes at me. “No. I realize you think all men lead with their dicks, but some of us are capable of controlling ourselves.”

  “But it wouldn’t have been cheating,” I say, picking at nothing on the couch. “We weren’t together.”

  “I’m aware. No matter how potent Shana can be, it would never be enough to make me forget about what she did to Bell. And, as it turns out, she isn’t enough to make me forget about you.”

  I bite my bottom lip. We’ve demanded communication from each other from the start. The simple act of sharing Shana’s attempts means more than I thought it would. I unfold my legs and crawl to him. He checks over his shoulder, presumably toward Bell’s bedroom, before pulling me into his arms. “With Shana, it was just lust,” he says. “I’m not in lust with you, Amelia.”

  I glance up at him. “Is that a good thing?”

  He kisses me on the tip of the nose. “Do you think I could’ve honestly stopped myself from coming to your apartment tonight? That I could’ve ever accepted that money to stay away? Do you really think I’m not falling in love with you too?”

  I get a rush of adrenaline, as if I’m at the edge of a cliff, one toe over. Any fear I might have is hidden by excitement, though. I’m not going to fall. I’m jumping. “You are?”

  He nods. “I am, but make no mistake—just because I’m not in lust with you doesn’t mean I’m not crazy horny too.”

  I laugh. “You’re such a poet.”

  He smiles. “Just keeping it real.” Andrew locks his lips with mine for a hard, steamroll of a kiss that takes my breath away. He explores my mouth with his tongue, sliding his hand up my waist over my breasts.

  “What was that for?” I ask breathlessly when he slows down.