Page 28 of The Best Worst Mistake (Off-Limits #2)

Abby

It’s after ten o’clock when I finally sneak back into the house.

I don’t know why I’m sneaking, other than it just feels like I’m breaking some late-night curfew at a house that isn’t really mine.

Starry and Charlie have been beyond welcoming since I arrived, but I haven’t been able to shake the feeling that they aren’t really here for me.

They’re paid by someone else to keep an eye on everything — including me — while I’m here. It’s as simple as that.

Millie greets me at the door and I pick her up, immediately feeling the slow roll of her purr beneath my fingers, even before she’s pressed against my chest. This cat, on the other hand, has decided to enjoy my company based purely on her own free will.

I tuck her soft ears under my chin and we make our way to the kitchen. We round the corner just in time to see Starry pulling a dish from the oven.

She looks up. “Ah, I thought you might make it home soon,” she says, beaming happily at us.

Whatever is under that tin foil in her hands smells divine.

Brett’s burger order had arrived with both ketchup and mustard on it, but sans the barbeque sauce I’d requested for him.

He’d complained so vehemently after manhandling the bun that I’d just shoved my curry across the table for him to eat instead of dealing with his hangry attitude the rest of the evening. So, it just happens that I’m starving.

After what Brett had mentioned off-handedly in the supply room, I was too mad to hear him complain about something as miniscule as mustard on a burger, and spent the rest of our day in silence with AirPods stuck in my ears unless the mediator was back in our room to talk.

He’s my boss, sure, but shutting him out felt warranted.

Brett is privy to more information about me than most, based on two unfortunate events.

The first was when he asked an array of unprofessional, prying questions about my past life during my second interview, which I answered based solely on a steady rush of nerves.

The second occurred on Christmas three years ago when he’d rushed into the office that evening for a quick client emergency and found me half-drunk at my desk, shedding a few tears over the fact that my aunt and uncle had left for a cruise with their children a day before I arrived home to spend the holiday with them.

I thought they’d just run off to a store to finish holiday shopping until I sent them a text asking where everyone was.

My aunt responded with a photo of them all on the ship’s deck in their swimsuits.

Hence the alcohol and tear-fest that followed.

However, Brett had never brought any of that stuff up in the way he had today. The stress of this deal must be bothering him even more than usual since I’d always assumed he was at least decent enough to keep his mouth shut about everything he knew about me.

Until today. And of course Dax was hiding in the closet when he broke that invisible barrier.

I eye the dish in Starry’s hands. “Does that happen to have something edible in it?”

“I should think so,” she says, laughing, placing it on the center island in front of one of the barstools. She pats the counter beside it, inviting me over.

I take a seat and lift the foil off, releasing a pillow of steam from what looks like a ground-up pile of meat and potatoes.

“I hope you like meatloaf, hon,” she says. Then she picks a bottle out of the nearby wine fridge and pours two glasses, handing one to me. She settles down with her wine glass opposite me. “How are things going with the deal? And that Dax fellow? Have you two sorted things out yet?”

I stare at her over the top of the meatloaf as she talks.

It’s not that I don’t want her to stick around, I do.

I really do. After everything that happened today, I want to talk to someone — and Liv is on a flight to Tokyo right now with Dom, so I can’t call to get her perspective on any of it.

Even beyond all that, I enjoy talking to Starry — more than most people, actually.

But I assume she’s ready to officially end her workday and head to bed, not stay up late talking to her house guest, i.e. me , yet again.

“You don’t have to stay,” I tell her, gently. “I totally get it if you’re ready to clock off for the day. It’s pretty late.”

I nod like I understand, but she looks a little taken aback.

“End my workday?” she asks, then she starts to stand, looking embarrassed that she’d planned to stay up with me, chatting. “Oh, I’m sorry.” She grabs her glass off the counter. “I should have asked if you wanted company before I sat down.”

“What time do you normally get off work?” I glance at the clock on the wall.

“Tell you what, I’ll start ordering dinner to pick up on the way home for myself so you don’t have to wait up like this.

I did order some curry tonight during the meeting, but Brett’s burger had ketchup on it and—” I pause when I notice a new look in her eyes.

She looks embarrassed, which was definitely not my intent.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know why I’m wasting your time with all these details.

You’re probably exhausted from a long day of work, which I totally understand, and thank you so much for the dinner. It smells amazing.”

I smile wider while she studies me.

I don’t know if it’s the subtly sad look on her face, or the fact that I feel like she can see right through me, but after everything that’s unfolded today, my eyes do the most uncharacteristic thing.

They tear up. My eyes almost never tear up.

Especially in front of someone else — someone I hardly know.

I blink a few more times, clearing out the onslaught.

Lord, it’s been a long day.

She tilts her head to the side then sets down her glass.

“I’m happy to trudge off to bed, sweetheart, but I do want to let you know that I don’t stay up with dinner for you because I have to. I stay up to see you when you get back home because I want to.”

I sniff. I can’t do more emotions today. I simply cannot.

“You what?”

She tilts her jaw, then sits back down lightly on her chair.

“This is my job, sure, but I enjoy taking care of people. I enjoy taking care of you. None of it feels like work to me.”

I blink and spin a little back and forth on the stool.

“Right,” I say, frowning. “But, you’re also paid to, which I appreciate. And your days seem awfully long — you’re up to make breakfast, and then still waiting for me this late at night. It’s really not fair to you.”

She laughs that twinkly sort of laugh, like she can’t believe I’m making this assumption.

“I thank my lucky stars every day that this is my job, because it never, not once, has felt like one. Of course, I take it seriously — making sure everyone under this roof has exactly what they need.” She reaches across the table to pat my hand, squeezing gently before letting her palm slide off.

“But make no mistake, I don’t stay up for you while you’re here because I’m paid to.

I could just leave the food in the warmer, if that’s what I thought you needed. ”

“Then why?” My voice nearly cracks but I keep it together.

“Well, I make sure I’m up to say goodnight before turning in because I know how much nicer it is to come home to a warm kitchen and a listening ear, at least most of the time. And if I get to add that to your day, then I’ve done what I was put here to do. And I don’t mean by Quinny and Selma.”

I lean back, noticing how her eyes shine in the soft light of the kitchen. In a way, she reminds me of someone. Someone I haven’t seen in a very long time.

“I think you’re actually being serious,” I admit.

Her laughter rings through the kitchen and I finally crack a real smile.

“Of course I’m being serious,” she says, shaking her head as if I’m ridiculous.

And maybe I am being ridiculous. “Honey, I didn’t grow up in a house like this.

” She twirls her wrists around over her head, gesturing around the room.

“One filled with this much comfort, like Quinny and Selma have. But, I swore to myself that one day I’d create the type of home I always wanted to live in.

Take control of how my future turned out.

I’m just happy that this, right here, is where I landed. ”

“You didn’t grow up in a nice home?” I ask, startled that someone this robust and warm didn’t grow up in a place just like this one.

“No.” She shakes her head.

“So how did you learn to create this?” I lean against the counter. “This type of — feeling — you have here?”

“Honey, I took a good hard look at how I grew up. Everything I felt, everything the people around me did, and I decided that I wanted the exact opposite. So that’s exactly what I did.”

I tilt my head to the side. “Just like that?”

“The proof is in the pudding, isn’t it?” she asks, winking.

“I suppose it is,” I say, suddenly seeing her in a whole new light. To think that all this could be learned instead of inherited, like blue eyes or a face full of freckles. It’s something I’d never even considered.

“Do you think that might work for anybody?” I wonder aloud — more to myself than to her.

The lines around her eyes deepen as she leans in to grasp my hand.

Then she holds it for a minute before saying, “We can make our lives out to be exactly what we want them to be. Personally, I just had to wake up one day and take a good hard look at where I came from and choose to run the other way. Carve a new path without a map.”

“You make it sound easy,” I mumble, wondering how much about me she might recognize in herself.

“You’ll figure it out,” she says, passing a fork across the island. “Now eat up before it gets cold.”

I shift on my chair, pushing a square of roasted potato onto my fork. “How — how would you know that I have something to figure out?” I ask, quietly.

“Because everyone has something to figure out, hon.” Her voice is firm, leaving no room for error. Then she gently adds, “And now that you know I’m off the clock, I can leave you here to enjoy that, if you’d like.”

She smiles like she understands if I’d rather eat alone, and starts to stand, but I hold my hand out to stop her.

“No, don’t,” I blurt. Then I straighten my spine and swallow. “I mean, I would love the company. If you don’t mind.”

Her grin grows and she rests her elbows on the counter between us.

I lower my voice and raise a brow. “Do you want to hear what happened in the supply room today?”

She throws her head back to laugh, nodding. Then she hops up and bustles across the kitchen to grab a plate of brownies from the cupboard. “Dessert when you’re done. Now, tell me everything. I’ve got all the time in the world.”

I take a bite of the meatloaf and grab a brownie for good measure. Then, I do. I start at the very beginning and tell her everything.