Page 77 of Mr. Infuriating (Mister #1)

Gretchen

I bawled my eyes out on the drive to daycare; I actually had to pull over into a strip mall parking lot and sob for a good five minutes.

After glancing at the clock on the dash, I knew I needed to pull myself together and pick up Jake, so I willed myself to calm the fuck down. After a few deep cleansing breaths, I got back on the road.

I may have overcompensated in the cheery department to mask how devastated I felt.

“Hey, baby! Guess what? We get to go back to our house! Isn’t that awesome?”

My little boy held his hands out and asked, “Bandit’s house?”

“We don’t have to stay at Gabe’s anymore. We get to go home!”

Yippee.

“No, Mama. Bandit’s house.”

“No, we’re not staying at Gabe’s anymore. Our kitchen is all done. I’m so excited to see it! It’s going to be so pretty!”

At least I hoped it was. I hadn’t actually seen it yet.

Judging by Jake’s scowl, he couldn’t give a shit less about how pretty the kitchen was going to look, but he didn’t argue anymore.

My breath caught in my throat when we walked into the house through the garage door .

The kitchen was beyond anything I could have imagined. It was absolutely stunning. Like, be-featured-in-a-magazine worthy.

Even Jake agreed.

“Wow, Mama.”

“I know. Isn’t it so pretty? Gabe did this.”

Tears welled up in my eyes, and I quickly dashed them away, but they threatened to keep falling.

I handed Jake my tablet and said, “Why don’t you play mouse, while Mommy unpacks the car.”

Once I was back in the garage, I sat in the passenger seat and grabbed some napkins from the Honda’s glove box. Burying my face in the stack, I allowed myself another few minutes to cry until the napkins were falling apart in my hands.

Then I pulled my shoulders back, let out a deep breath, and got the rest of our things from the trunk.

“What should we make for dinner?” I called when I walked back into the kitchen.

I wasn’t excited about our prospects since I hadn’t been to the grocery store in almost two weeks. We probably didn’t even have milk that wasn’t expired.

“Mac ’n cheese!”

I’d been afraid he’d say something that required milk.

“How about fish sticks and fries, baby?”

He shook his head and repeated, “Mac ‘n cheese!”

Crap.

“We don’t have—”

Just then the doorbell rang, and Jake quickly set the tablet aside, slid off the couch, and raced toward the front door, exclaiming, “Bandit’s here! ”

I dashed after him and grabbed him just before he reached the door.

“Little kids don’t answer the door,” I reminded him, then called, “Who is it?”

“Instacart. I have a delivery from Gabe Mitchell.”

Jake clapped his hands and called, “Bandit!” while tears filled my eyes yet again.

****

Gabe

I couldn’t help but grin when the ringtone for her text messages alerted.

Gretchen: Okay, a couple of things…

One: You were right. My kitchen looks incredible. Better than I could have ever imagined. Thank you.

Two: That was really thoughtful to send me some groceries.

BUT

You can’t keep taking care of us.

My first instinct was, Wanna bet? But I knew she was right. Still, I wasn’t going to apologize for it.

Me: I just wanted to make sure you had something for dinner and breakfast. You’ve been gone from your house a while.

Gretchen: I know, but you didn’t have to do that. We would have figured something out.

Me: Well, now you’ve got choices.

Just say “thank you,” sweetheart and go make Jake dinner .

Gretchen: Thank you.

Fuck, I missed them already, and it hadn’t been more than ninety minutes since she left my house.

I was so screwed.

I needed a damn drink.