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Not properly.
I haven’t asked her to be my girlfriend, either, and though I’m pretty sure we’re exclusive with our odd little arrangement, it’s not because we agreed to anything.
I’m not ready for that step yet.
At least, I didn’t think I was, but now I’m here with her, and this visit feels less terrifying than I thought.
Remember, jackass, you’re not dating her. You’re setting your mother straight because your shit-flinging little brother opened his fat mouth and lied for kicks like he always does.
I need to stake that thought in my head before I forget.
Before I fall into easy laughs or innocent touches with Winnie in front of Mom.
Before I make this insanity too painful to quit.
We get out of the car and head to the front door, very much not hand in hand. I do that deliberately.
She keeps a few generous inches between us, really hanging on to this ‘just friends’ ruse. I don’t let that bother me, though.
Inside, whatever’s baking smells good.
Always does, but I think Mom has upped her game.
That’s Junie’s influence, giving Mom off-the-cuff lessons ever since she and Dexter tied the knot, and Mom has really taken it on board. Today it’s a fruity dessert smell, maybe cinnamon, too, though I’m no expert.
“I think she’s busy cooking,” I say when no one jumps out to welcome us. I tilt my head, angling my ear to the faint bluesmusic bleeding from the kitchen. Safe to say she’s dancing in there too. “Let me give you a tour while my mother’s occupied.”
“You sure?” Winnie glances around and gives me a sharp, amused look. “We don’t have all week to make her think nothing’s going on.”
“Very funny.”
“I thought so.” She snickers.
I take her hand without thinking. So much for fucking appearances.
“Come on, I’ll show you the library first. You’ll like it.”
“Library? You have a wholelibrary? In yourhouse? Has anyone ever told you that’s excessive?”
“No, little smart-ass.”
Smiling, she holds up her free hand. “Hey, I come from money, too, okay? I know what wealth looks like, but I bet your library is next level.”
To be fair, the shelves in Mom’s study have been cultivated over generations. Books that belonged to my great-grandparents still live on the shelves, filling the room with the cozy smell of long-lost memories the instant they’re opened.
This house has been in our family forever, and the library is one of the few things each generation has actively added to. Dad’s additions were the last and best, I think.
There are still times I’ll steal a book or two to bring home to Colt, poems Dad made me appreciate. I wasn’t born with a literary bone in my body, but my old man made me grow a few.
Winnie’s mouth drops open when we head inside.
“Holy—oh, wow. You weren’t kidding when you said library.” She breathes, taking a second to drink it in. “I haven’t felt this book drunk since I’d walk through the Library of Congress.”
“Book drunk, huh?”
She grins sheepishly.
I try to see it from her perspective.