Page 26

RYAN

My dad’s wife, Cheryl, is as midwestern as they come. She pronounces ‘bag’ like ‘beg,’ says ‘ope’ whenever she bumps into someone, and seems to have an endless supply of casserole recipes. All of them involve a can of cream of something soup, and all of them are terrible.

Tonight’s casserole: salmon and rice.

Cheryl sets it in the middle of the table and takes a seat next to my dad. None of us reach for the serving spoon sticking out of the side.

“Well, dig in!” Cheryl chirps.

My dad is the first brave soul. The serving spoon taps against the layer of burnt cheese on the top, eventually cracking it like crème brulee. Underneath, a thick layer of black olives is revealed, followed by a grayish sludge of canned salmon and undercooked rice.

Every Christmas, I consider buying cooking classes for Cheryl, but I’m always worried it might insult her. This might finally be the year though.

We all take our first bites with bated breath and then chew exactly as many times as we absolutely have to in order to swallow it without choking to death.

Kevin is the only one who doesn’t seem to mind Cheryl’s casseroles, presumably because he grew up eating them. He’s half done before the rest of us have summoned up the will to take a second bite.

It’s my dad’s birthday, but he doesn’t like any fuss about it. Instead, all of the dinner conversation has revolved around the wedding, since we haven’t all been in the same room since then.

This is the moment when I should be announcing that Marlow and I have broken up if it all went according to plan.

Luckily, it didn’t.

Our carefully laid plan was shot to hell the moment I touched her.

And now, it’s been two weeks since we officially started dating.

Aside from a few minor stumbles in the beginning, it’s been pretty perfect.

Marlow is finally letting her guard down around me…

and it helps that we are having more sex than I thought humanly possible.

Just never at work again…though I can’t say I haven’t tried.

Between thoughts of Marlow and our phenomenal ability to have sex on practically any surface, I am grinning like an idiot when I notice Blair glaring at me expectantly.

Then I realize that the whole table is quietly following suit.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, Cheryl’s voice is echoing, and I realize I’ve missed a question aimed at me.

“I’m sorry, what did you say?” I ask as I force another bit of casserole past my lips.

It’s a huge mistake. Now everyone’s attention is on me and I’m involuntarily wincing through the process of delivering this hellish muck to my stomach.

“I asked how things are going with you and Marlow,” Cheryl repeats.

“Oh, right. Things are great.”

“Really?” Blair asks with one eyebrow tilted. “Aren’t you worried that things might be moving a little too fast with her?”

“No?”

It takes me a minute to remember the conversation we had at the wedding – the one where Marlow suggested that we would be getting married soon.

Everyone is still looking at me, expecting me to elaborate on my single-word response, but I’m not sure what to say.

I have no idea if Marlow wants to get married one day (to me or anyone else).

I have no idea if I want to get married one day.

“I think she was just a little caught up in the moment,” I finally shrug.

Blair stares at me for a long second before finally glancing back down at her plate and pushing a forkful of casserole around.

“Well, I liked her,” Cheryl declares. “I was sure happy to see her put Ashley in her place. Ashley was way out of line. And why she thinks that anyone wants to hear about her son’s diaper habits over dinner is beyond me. I’ve never cared much for that girl.”

Admittedly, I was a little worried that Cheryl would be upset by the exchange between Marlow and Ashley at the wedding. Ashley is her niece, after all. I stand by Marlow either way, but I don’t want her to feel weird around Cheryl.

“Marlow is lovely though. And tougher than I imagined. That’s the sort of woman you need,” Cheryl adds with a cheerful smile.

“Agreed,” I say.

“Bring her next time,” my dad chimes in for the first time all night.

“Sure…maybe.”

No way in hell. I am not subjecting Marlow to an intimate dinner with my ex-girlfriend and a mystery casserole. That seems like the quickest way to ruin everything.

After dessert – a store-bought cake, thank God – Blair and Kevin head home and I head up to the guest bedroom for the night. As I settle in, it dawns on me that Marlow and I haven’t spent a night apart since we started dating.

I miss her.

Luckily, I am vaguely aware that something called video chat is a thing these days. It takes me a few minutes to figure it out, but once I do, I’m staring at Marlow.

She’s wearing her funny avocado shirt and looking very sleepy. And very pretty.

“Do you want to get married?” I ask right off the bat.

Her eyes flare as wide as saucers, but Marlow doesn’t miss a beat. “Yes, to Gerard Butler. Why? Are you hoping for an invite? Because we’re trying to keep the guest list small.”

“You can do better than Gerard Butler.”

“Are you saying that you’re better than Gerard Butler?”

“Yes.”

“Debatable…”

Marlow rolls her eyes and laughs at me. The screen snags for a second on the moment when she glances downward. She’s all thick eyelashes and rosy cheeks. It’s one of many, many moments when I can’t even fathom how I got so lucky.

“How was happy hour?” I ask.

“Fine, I didn’t stay too long.”

Obviously. It’s only 8:30 and she’s already wearing her avocado shirt.

“Nothing too exciting then?”

“Nope, Abby and Hunter left early. Kayla showed up again though. She was asking everyone about you.”

Great. When will she get a fucking clue?

Even though Marlow isn’t ready to go public with our relationship at work, I routinely go out of my way to mention that I have a girlfriend in front of Kayla.

That’s the extent of my interactions with her.

If she comes anywhere near me, I run away like I’m on fire.

No matter what I do, it only seems to make her work harder to get my attention.

Marlow yawns against her palm. She’s getting tired, but it will be another hour or so before she actually admits it.

“I miss you.”

Marlow contorts her face into the exact expression she gets during karaoke night at the bar when someone is embarrassing themselves by shrieking “Livin’ on a Prayer” into the microphone.

“Wow, so clingy,” she says with a smile on her lips. “This is embarrassing for you.”

“On second thought…it will be nice to get a good night’s sleep without the snorchestra playing beside me.”

Marlow shakes her head and laughs. “I miss you, too.”

“Goodnight, Marlow.”

_____

I wake up to the buzz of my phone on the nightstand. The room is pitch-black aside from the blinking blue light at the corner of my phone. When I bring the screen to life, the clock reads 2:14. Underneath, there are two text messages from a number I don’t recognize.

It’s a Tennessee area code. It could be the Incident Command Center. They have about a hundred different phone numbers and extensions.

But they usually call. Getting a text from them is almost unheard of. The whole point of the system is to respond to urgent situations after hours – murder, fires, injured hikers – and a text is obviously not a great way to communicate that sort of thing.

I drag my hand across my eyes, rubbing the sleep away, before typing in my passcode.

The first message is a short line of text: “Missed you tonight.”

The second message takes a second to load, but once it does, I can’t exit out of it fast enough. It’s Kayla pulling a pouty face in front of a bathroom mirror…and she’s completely naked.

Fuck.

How did she get my phone number?

I know the answer immediately: it’s on the emergency contact sheet in the binder at the front desk. She’s always hanging around there flirting with Emmett. She must have found it.

My first instinct is to delete the messages, but then I worry that I need proof. Proof of what…I’m not exactly sure. Proof that this girl is a giant pain in my ass? Proof that I didn’t ask her to send the picture?

Then there’s Marlow, who is probably going to strangle me. And maybe Kayla, too.

My pulse is racing, but my brain is still half-asleep.

This is going to have to be a tomorrow problem.