Page 21 of My Return to the Walter Boys (My Life with the Walter Boys #2)
After reminding Riley I had a new room—left at the top of the stairs, second door on the right—I grabbed a bag of cheese puffs from the pantry and went in search of whatever mischief was afoot.
As I passed by the formal dining room, which was more often used as a dumping ground and place to do homework, I spotted Jordan crouching beside the sideboard, his camera focused on the front door.
A water balloon swollen to the size of a soccer ball was duct-taped directly above the transom.
I grinned, knowing I’d been right.
“Nice twist on the classic water-bucket-over-the-door trick,” I said, stooping next to him so I didn’t give away his hiding spot. “Who are we pranking?
“Isaac.” He spat his cousin’s name as if it were a curse word. “He made Parker cry yesterday. I don’t think she’s done that since she was a baby. We want revenge.”
For God’s sake, Isaac , I thought. Is there anyone you aren’t willing to piss off?
“What did he do this—”
A familiar crackling noise cut me off. “Lee for Parker. Come in, Parker.”
“Go for Lee,” Parker responded, and that was when I noticed the walkie-talkie clipped to Jordan’s belt loop. It was exactly like the one Nathan kept out in the loft.
“What’s your twenty?” Lee asked.
“In position. Over.”
“The leather jacket jackass has landed,” he told her. “I repeat, the leather jacket jackass has landed.”
“Roger that.”
Everything was still for a single moment, then the front door swung open.
Parker, who must have been hiding around the corner, jumped out and aimed her slingshot at the bulging balloon.
It broke just as Alex crossed the threshold, only it wasn’t water inside.
A thick, cream-colored goo hit his head and splattered across the entryway.
The surprise attack made Alex freeze on the spot, and Katherine slammed into his back when she stepped in behind him.
Jordan and I didn’t hang around for the fallout, both of us choosing to scramble up the stairs where we would hopefully be safe from blame, but I could hear Katherine yelling about messes and wasted money.
Apparently, the mysterious substance was tapioca pudding, which was supposed to be the team snack following Parker’s next rugby game.
“What the hell, Lee?” Jordan hissed into the walkie-talkie. “We told you the target was Isaac, not Alex.”
Another crackle. “You didn’t actually think I’d help you prank him, did you? Brother trumps cousin every time. Over and out, losers.”
Swearing under his breath, Jordan dropped the device on the steps and disappeared into his room.
I scooped it up and pressed the talk button. “Lee, you still there?”
“Who’s this?” he asked.
“Jackie. Thanks for the heads-up.”
“No problem,” he replied. “I figured I owe you for the other night.”
By the time I joined Riley in my room, she’d finished going through my clothes.
There were three potential outfits laid out on my bed, but once she tried them on, she decided they weren’t what she was looking for.
Some of my dressier tops were packed away, so with a sigh, I resigned myself to returning to the art studio, even though the prospect made me blush.
Cole didn’t get off work until dinnertime, so at least he wouldn’t be there.
When I stepped inside the room, I kept my eyes off the bed and beelined for the closet, Riley trailing along behind me, and then quickly busied myself with searching for the right storage tub.
“Ooh, what’s this?” Riley held up a garment bag.
A knot formed in the back of my throat. “My sister’s prom dress,” I told her. My mom designed it for Lucy herself, and I brought it back from New York on the off chance I was invited to a dance.
Riley carefully eased the zipper open and gasped. “Oh my God! Jackie, this is stunning. You have to wear it to homecoming. I won’t take no for an answer.”
***
Later that night, Cole and I got stuck on dinner cleanup duty.
As everyone brought their dishes over to the sink, I lingered on the edge of the kitchen and tried not to choke on the dread working its way up my throat.
I hadn’t spoken to Cole since the mortifying moment I walked in on him, and I didn’t think I’d find the courage to do so anytime soon.
By contrast, Cole seemed perfectly at ease, joking with Jordan as he scraped the remainder of his plate off into the trash.
Once the room emptied, he surveyed the task at hand—there were dishes to wash, leftovers to put away, and counters to wipe down—before nodding to himself and cranking up the volume on the ancient stereo system mounted beneath the spice cabinet.
“You don’t mind, do you?” he asked after the fact.
Katherine’s dinner music was notorious, but not because she had bad taste.
Back in the early 2000s, she burned a CD containing all the usual suspects, like Ella Fitzgerald, Louis Armstrong, and Frank Sinatra, but at some point in the last decade, the disk drive broke.
To this day, the CD was still stuck inside, making it the kitchen’s one and only soundtrack.
I shook my head. My mom loved jazz, so listening to Katherine’s dinner music reminded me of her.
“Cool,” he said, pushing up his sleeves. “I’ll wash, you dry?”
That was doable, so I offered him a nod, and we got to work.
I did my best to focus on the task at hand and quickly realized that drying dishes required little concentration.
That left me with plenty of room to overthink.
With Cole beside me, it was impossible not to relive the humiliating moment when I interrupted his alone time.
I kept my head down and eyes trained on the plate in my hands, the memory embarrassing enough to heat my cheeks.
Even worse, Cole was acting completely normal.
He swayed back and forth as he sang along to the music, his shoulder brushing lightly against my own.
The brief contact was enough to make my thoughts spiral further, and I found myself clutching each dish in a death grip.
Cole’s singing grew increasingly louder.
Soon, his vocals were so theatrical, I couldn’t resist glancing over at him.
Soapy water slid down the spatula he was using as a makeshift microphone, and it took me several long seconds to register that Cole was serenading me with a kitchen utensil.
I watched dumbfounded, unable to form an adequate response as he reached into the sink and splashed me.
When the water hit my face, I let out a startled gasp, which quickly turned into an open-mouthed smile.
Cole seemed pleased with this reaction, and the next moment, he was pulling me away from the sink and into a sporadic dance, his wet hands clutching mine as he swept us across the kitchen.
“You’re in a good mood tonight,” I said, surprised at the ease with which my words came. Somehow, he’d managed to chase away my panic with his terrible singing and a few swift moves.
Cole was looking down at me as we swayed to the music, his intense expression bathing me in warmth. My earlier feelings of embarrassment quickly faded into a different sort of uneasy, one with the power to make my insides flutter.
He pulled me closer and wrapped his arms around my waist. “I had a great day,” he said into my ear.
I tried to steady my breathing as his scent washed over me. “Will you tell me about it?”
“A new customer came into the shop today looking for an engine rebuild,” he explained. “He’s a dirt track racer. Not famous or anything, but he competes in all the local races. I guess his mechanic quit out of the blue, so he’s hired me to do it.”
“I take it you’re excited?”
“Yeah, I miss working on my car. Normally, all I do at Tony’s is change oil or replace brake pads.”
Though I couldn’t see his face, I could tell Cole was smiling.
“So what exactly does an engine rebuild entail?” I asked.
I rested my head against Cole’s chest as he dove into the intricacies of rebuilding an engine.
Though it was nearly impossible for me to follow along, the intensity of his words told me everything I needed to know.
Working on cars made him happy, and the passion in his voice continued to ease the tension in my body.
It was no surprise when a fear that had been plaguing me for weeks—could we really just be friends?
—flickered to awareness inside me again.
My head knew I’d made the logical decision, but every other part of me wanted Cole Walter.
Although I told myself it was for the best, I couldn’t ignore how I felt when I was around him.
As we continued to sway around the kitchen, I imagined us in the gym, me in my sister’s dress and Cole in a white dress shirt with the first few buttons undone.
He looked effortlessly handsome, as usual, his hair messy and his eyes bright.
Just the thought of us attending homecoming together filled me with anticipation, though I reminded myself that I’d already ensured it wouldn’t happen.
The realization that I’d messed up rushed over me, darkening the pretty picture of us I was painting in my head.
The sound of Alex’s voice pulled me out of the daydream.
“Jackie?” he said, appearing in kitchen doorway, a book clutched in his hand. “Can you help me with the problem set for physics? I don’t think I’m doing this right.”
It took a moment for me to come back to my senses. Cole and I glanced at each other, and I felt an undeniable pull to move closer to him despite Alex standing only feet away. A long silence filled the room.
Eventually, Cole spoke, his voice teasing. “Don’t worry, New York. I can finish the dishes on my own.” He released my hand and stepped back. “Alex needs as much help as he can get.”