Cutie and the Beast: A Roommates to Lovers Single Dad Romance (Cipher Office Book 3)

by Smartypants Romance

“Do you like it?” Well, that was a dumb question for me to ask. It’s not as if her giant smile means she’s sad.

  “I do, Mommy! What kind is it?”

  “Uhhhh…” There are different kinds? I snatched that sucker up on sale at Target. I didn’t know I was looking for a specific… creature… or whatever it is. “It’s a surprise!” I finally say, making Ainsley delighted all over again and my mother giggle. She knows I have no idea.

  “Elliott, it’s your turn,” my mother finally says. Because in this house, Christmas morning is controlled chaos. One person passes out all the gifts—usually Ainsley because she’s small enough to reach the ones that have to be pulled out from behind the tree. Lord knows no one wants to see my butt sticking out from underneath the decorations, nor do we want said butt to knock anything breakable off the branches—then, we each take turns opening. It helps us see what everyone gets so we can all “ooh” and “ah” over everything. But I like it because it makes Christmas morning last for hours, instead of being over in minutes. The holidays are such a blur anyway. Being forced to slow down for the morning isn’t a hardship.

  If only my mother would let us throw the wrapping paper on the floor, instead of it immediately putting it into a giant trash bag before its completely off the gift it’s attached to…

  “Which one are you going to open, Mommy?”

  Looking at my small stack, I opt for the letter-sized envelope sitting on top. My name is written in rough handwriting, and I immediately recognize it as Abel’s.

  Taking my time, because that’s what a Donovan does on Christmas morning, I slide my finger underneath the lip and slowly pull it open. I pull the paper out and a small square drops onto my lap.

  Picking it up and turning it over, I immediately throw my head back in laughter. It’s a magnet and it says “Clean.” Turn it upside down and it says “Dirty.”

  “What is it?” Ainsley asks, so I show her. She obviously doesn’t understand the significance, so I let my mother explain what a dishwasher magnet is while I read Abel’s note.

  Elliott –

  I figured the best gift I could give you is the gift of not having to redo the dishes again. Three times for one load is enough. You’re welcome.

  Although, triple-sanitized silverware isn’t something I’ll ever turn down.

  Thanks for always helping out with Mabel. And always helping out with me.

  Abel

  My heart swells at his words, despite how nonchalant and clearly “friends only” they are. I think it’s less about what he wrote and more about his thoughtfulness. Leave it to Abel to find the perfect thing for me, knowing I don’t have space to store “stuff.” And knowing my brain goes in a million directions at once.

  It makes me miss him. Miss them. I miss waking up to the sound of him banging on Betsy and miss hearing the girls race down to the basement for the daily Wii battle. I miss doing dishes side-by-side with Abel and talking about random things. I miss his cooking, and I miss the way he smells when he walks by.

  Don’t misunderstand, it’s nice spending Christmas morning, just the three of us. But it would be nice to spend this holiday at home. Maybe next year we can do it that way. We can invite my mother to spend the night and…

  Wait. No. That’s not how this works. Abel and I are roommates, nothing more. Right?

  All these thoughts confuse me. Not just because we’ve only been gone for a day, if that, but because I can’t have a crush on Abel. I can’t.

  A crush could lead to kissing, and kissing could lead to sex, and sex leads to a relationship, and then it’s all downhill from there. I like living there too much. I like my independence too much to screw it all up over a crush on a man half my age.

  Sixty percent of my age?

  Seventy percent of my age?

  How the hell old is he anyway?

  Regardless of the percentages, dating is not on the table for a myriad of other reasons, so I need to stop thinking about this very thoughtful gift and the strange way it makes my stomach flip-flop.

  Any time now.

  No more flip-flopping.

  Just a normal stomach.

  Why is it still flopping around like a fish out of water?

  And why can’t I come up with a metaphor that doesn’t involve fish?

  “Your turn, Gigi!” My mother allows Ainsley to pick out the next gift she’s going to open, and I try really hard to keep my focus on the woman who raised me, not the man who raises me up on a regular basis.

  Oh geez. This is out of control. I don’t know what my problem is. Or maybe I do. Maybe I need the attention of a man my own age to keep me occupied. Derrick never filled my emotional bucket, so to speak. Clearly, it needs a little pouring in of compliments, so I can get over myself and these irrational thoughts.

  “Oh Ainsley! I love it!” my mother gushes, as she pulls a deep purple sweater out of the box. “Did you pick this out?”

  My daughter nods excitedly. “I picked purple! Mom said you’d like blue better, but I knew purple was your favorite color like me.”

  My phone buzzes an alert. The matriarch and the baby of the family don’t seem to notice, too engaged in the discussion of all the clothes we considered giving as gifts, which gives me the opportunity to check the message. I know who I’m hoping it’s from, and I’m a little disappointed in myself for those thoughts.

  Until I see that it is, in fact, Abel texting.

  Abel: Thank you for my gift. You spent way too much money on this!

  Me: You don’t know this about me, but I’m actually a bargain hunter. You’d be surprised how little I actually shelled out.

  Abel: I’m not sure if I’m hurt to not be worth very much money or thrilled to know you found a good deal! Either way, Betsy has been retired and the Mystery Machine has officially taken over her spot.

  Me: Mystery Machine? That’s what you named it?

  Abel: For now. I’m not opposed to renaming, but it was a mystery figuring out who sent it to me, especially since Mabel got to it before I did in her attempt at breaking the world record for fastest present opening.

  Me: Oh no! Lol. I’m glad you figured it out.

  And I’m glad we open presents in an orderly fashion to avoid issues like that. I don’t say that to Abel, though. Everyone does the holidays different, and as long as everyone is happy, there’s no right or wrong way.

  Me: I’m also proud of you for letting Betsy go. And my condolences.

  Abel: Lol. Thanks. It’s a hard time for everyone.

  Abel: What time will you guys be back tomorrow?

  Me: Probably a little after lunch. Will you be there?

  Abel: We’ll be here. Probably still finding bits and pieces of wrapping paper on the floor.

  Me: I’ll be sure to pull out the vacuum. ;)

  Putting my phone down, I don’t wait for a response. Instead, I turn my attention back to my child, who is back in her little spot, slowly unwrapping her next gift, completely oblivious to her mother’s internal conflict. I have to keep reminding myself that Abel is my roommate. A fantastic, kindhearted, generous roommate, but nothing more. That’s the way it has to be.

  Chapter Fifteen

  ABEL

  “Okay, I’ve got popcorn, chips, miniature brownies, and caramel M&Ms for the cutie,” I joke, as I hand the bowl to Elliott, who shoots me an annoyed glare that quickly turns into wide-eyed delight. “And some leftover peanut brittle.” Placing the rest of our goodies on the table in the living room, I pick up a piece of the brittle and hold it up to the light to inspect it. “Although, I’d be careful with this stuff. I’m not sure if it’s from this year or last year, so it might actually pull one of your teeth out, depending on how sticky it is.”

  Elliott laughs around one of her M&M’s. “It’s from Dinah, and since I haven’t known her that long, I guarantee it’s from this year.”

  “Aaaah. Except I knew her last year, so I knew peanut brittle was coming. You don’t know if I combined our collective
leftovers,” I joke and plop down next to her on the couch.

  Her eyebrows rise. “Wow. You’re taking this ‘what’s mine is yours’ thing seriously, aren’t you?” she amuses and pops another piece of candy in her mouth.

  I squeeze the sides of her knee in response, making her squeal from the unexpected tickle.

  I win.

  “It’s called space-saving,” I admonish. “No reason to have duplicate tins hanging around, clogging up the kitchen.”

  Elliott shakes her head and rolls her eyes.

  So far, tonight has been pretty fun. It’s New Year’s Eve and neither of us had plans, so we opted to hang out at the house with the girls. It worked out well since Ainsley was supposed to be with her dad tonight. I don’t know the whole story, but somehow, she ended up being brought home early, and not shockingly, on the biggest party night of the year.

  None of us were disappointed.

  Quite the contrary. Mabel was so excited by her friend’s unexpected return, she decided we should have a huge New Year’s Eve party. And by huge, she meant lots of snacks I had to prepare, and she and Ainsley would dance around the living room to whatever “Rockin’ New Year’s Eve” special is on this year.

  With such short notice, I had to scramble to find the appropriate snacks. We don’t typically keep junk food in the house. Or, at least, I don’t. Turns out, Elliott has been hiding a few things here and there. Not that I’m mad about it on tonight of all nights. It meant I was able to find appropriate party food with a couple of hours to spare before the new year, when we’ll probably all resolve to eat healthy again. It happens. Nothing spurs on the desire to eat better like completely overdoing it while celebrating the “New Year, New You.”

  “Oh! I almost forgot!” Elliott uses my thigh to push herself up off the couch. The contact sends a warm feeling from my leg straight through the rest of my body. What would it be like if that was our normal way of touching? How would it feel if I could put my arm around her when she sits back down and hold her close? Would her body melt into mine? Would she rub her hands down my chest? Would I rub my hands down hers?

  A man can dream, right?

  Almost as quickly as she left, Elliott bounces back in the room, more party supplies in hand. “I can’t believe I forgot these! Look, girls, I’ve got party hats, some noisemakers, and a few sparklers left from the Fourth of July.” She stops and looks out the window. “Although, I don’t know how well those will work when it’s snowing.”

  “Again?” I turn to look out the picture window. Sure enough, giant flakes are falling. I don’t mind snow, but I wouldn’t mind a reprieve from almost-daily accumulations.

  The girls, on the other hand, are too excited with the new party supplies to notice. I am not nearly as enthusiastic, too busy rubbing the buzzing out of my eardrum after my wild child purposely blew the horn in close range.

  Elliott says something else I don’t catch.

  “What?” I bang the side of my head in an overexaggerated gesture. “I’ve suddenly gone deaf in the last thirty seconds from those horns blowing in my ear. Good thinking, by the way.” I give her a sarcastic thumbs up.

  “Girls, let’s save the horns until midnight, so we can get really loud.”

  Ainsley complies. Mabel, not so much. She continues her attempt at making music by adding some sort of rhythm to the single note.

  Wait. Is that supposed to be “Wrecking Ball” by Miley Cyrus? Huh. That’s not half bad.

  “Mabel, please,” Elliott pleads. “Your dad is old enough without him needing hearing aids prematurely.”

  “Right,” I say and immediately register what she just said. “Wait. It’s not very nice for the pot to call the kettle black.”

  Elliott shrugs with an ornery smile. “And yet, you agreed.”

  “Only because I couldn’t hear you,” I grumble like a petulant child who wants to always be right. I’m pretty sure the incessant horn blowing is making this conversation about a thousand times harder to have. “Mabel!” I finally yell loud enough to be louder than her horn. “Stop with the horn, baby.”

  Mabel smiles and drops the horn on the couch and grabs a shiny, pointy hat that has fringe all around it. Putting in on her forehead, she bounces back over to Ainsley, laughing about being a unicorn.

  Ah, it must be nice to be eight. Old enough to be relatively self-sufficient, still young enough to enjoy imaginative play.

  “I wish I could get her to listen to me like that,” Elliott cracks as she sits back down.

  Her quip piques my interest. Putting my arm on the couch behind her, I turn to face her. “Does she give you lip in the mornings before school?”

  Elliott refuses to look at me, but if I’m not mistaken, her face is getting a little flushed. That’s not a good sign.

  “If she is, I need to know.”

  Still no response.

  “Seriously, Elliott, I need you to tell me if Mabel is giving you grief in the mornings. I’ve been working with her on respecting authority better, but if I need to talk to her again, I need you to tell me.”

  Elliott sighs, but at least she finally looks at me. “That’s the thing. I don’t know if it’s lack of respect, or just trouble transitioning to us moving in.”

  “What’s the difference?”

  “Motivation, I guess.” Elliott’s gaze drifts back to the girls, and a smile immediately graces her lips. “It’s tough to lose a parent. I did it as an adult, and it sucked. I can’t imagine being a child and not simply losing a parent, but it being the parent’s choice. I’m trying really hard to be sensitive to how she’s probably feels every time ‘Ainsley’s mom’ tells her to do something.”

  If I wasn’t sure how I felt about Elliott, I’m pretty sure I’m half in love with her now. Not many people would take a child’s feelings into consideration during a major life change. Nor do many people take motivation into consideration when thinking about someone else’s bad behavior. I like that about her. I like it a lot. Probably more than I should.

  “Hey.” I nudge her with my knee, so she’ll look at me again. “I think you are an amazing person in general. But for you to see beyond the things Mabel says and does to the why of it, that bumps you up to the extraordinary category in my book.”

  Embarrassed, she rolls her eyes and tries to turn away. “Whatever, Abel.”

  I nudge her again. She’s not getting away from this so easily. “I’m serious. I know Mabel can be—” I look over and find my child playing a strange game of tag, now with two hats over her eyes. “A little weird sometimes.” Elliott huffs a laugh. “And she’s full of energy and as sassy as they come. I want you to know how much I appreciate that you’re taking the time to look beyond that, to see the person beneath. She’s my whole world, ya know?” Of course, Mabel takes this opportunity to run right into the wall, smooshing both hats and possibly blinding herself. It remains to be seen. “And that’ll never change. Even if she pokes both her eyes out from some ridiculous accident that could have been prevented.”

  “Oh yeah.” Elliott responds with a laugh of her own, as she keeps her eyes on the girls. “Amazing how we can love them despite things like that.”

  She points at Ainsley who has a hat on her rear and is yelling, “I’m gonna catch all my farts and light the whole hat on fire! It’ll be a giant fireball!” Mabel is rolling on the floor, howling with laughter.

  I’m only half-kidding when I ask, “You think peanut brittle ferments into some sort of stimulant?”

  “I have no idea. But they definitely need to be cut off from the sugar.”

  Simultaneously, we lean forward and grab all the treats with sugar in them off the table. The girls immediately protest until we promise to turn on a movie of their choice. Bad move on my part. They choose some Disney kids musical about a dancer turned boxer. Bonus points that it covers each of their favorite activities. Negative points for it being a musical.

  Yay, me.

  But it at least keeps them somewhat entertain
ed while we wait for the main event. And by “somewhat,” I mean they have to dance and sing through every musical number, and when it’s solely dialogue, they’re glued to the TV. Still in the standing position, of course. No need to waste precious time sitting down and standing back up with this many songs to enjoy.

  “Dad!” Mabel shakes my shoulder, rousing me from my relaxed state. “Dad, did you sleep through the movie?”

  I suck in a big breath. “Nope. Just resting my eyes.”

  “Was that your eyes snoring during their rest?” Elliott quips. I shoot her a dirty look.

  Mabel nudges me again, so I return my attention to her. “Why did you sleep through the movie? It’s my favorite.”

  With some quick thinking on my part, I blurt out, “Well I couldn’t see the screen because you ladies were dancing in front of the TV. I was listening really hard and imagining everything that was happening.”

  Elliott does a terrible job of stifling a giggle, until I squeeze her knee again. Mabel just glares at me.

  “That is a terrible excuse, Daddy. But I’ll forgive you.”

  “You will? That’s sweet of you, baby.”

  “Yep. Because we can watch it again tomorrow, and we’ll dance behind the couch so you can see.”

  The smile on my face is frozen. “Amazing idea.”

  Mabel nods once, like she’s putting a period on the end of the conversation.

  “Well, that backfired on you, didn’t it?” I hate it when Elliott’s right.

  “Not quite.” Pushing up off the couch, I begin to grab the now empty bowls of popcorn to clean up. “If they’re dancing behind the couch, they can’t see that my eyes are closed.”

  “Oh, I can’t wait to see you try to sleep sitting up.”

  “Please,” I retort. “I mastered that move in my high school chemistry class. Mr. Berik would drone on and on about reactions. Man, he was boring. And blind as a bat. As long as we were upright, he never knew we were sleeping.”

  She hands me a few dishes I begin rinsing before putting them in the dishwasher. “It’s good to know you got so much out of your public education.”