Chapter 13
Mitch and I are parked down the street and around the corner from Juniper Court. We look like detectives staking out a suspect as we stare at my house.
“So how are we going to do this?” Mitch questions me.
I had planned to go home last night. I had planned to be in my own bedroom this morning when the boys woke up. Those plans went deliciously sideways, but now I must get back in without them knowing. I texted my mother and father last night and told them to go to sleep, that I’d be home very late. It’s not uncommon for them to spend the night in the guest room when they come over. My mom texted me a “Sure” and a smiley emoji. Damn those kids for showing her emojis!
“I’ll sneak in. Go to my room and change.”
Mitch moans in frustration before reaching over and pulling me to him. “Now I’m thinking of you changing clothes.”
“Stop.” I press my hands against his chest, but with little resistance.
I kiss him quickly and then scramble out the door. “Wait about fifteen, twenty minutes and then come over.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Mitch salutes me as I get out and trot down the street.
As I approach the door, I can’t hear a thing from the house. Not unusual for this early on a Sunday morning.
After punching in the code to turn off the alarm to the house, I creep in. I’m able to sneak down the hall and into my room undetected. I change into some soft, gray jersey sweatpants, a #coolNerd baseball shirt and slouchy socks. A quick glance in the mirror reveals my mussed hair and smudged makeup. Yep, I pretty much look like I do every Sunday. Except the mussing and smudging are from a night of amazing sex. I catch myself smiling. Better calm that down or I’ll give myself away.
As I open my bedroom door to go to the kitchen and start coffee and breakfast, I startle. My mother is standing directly in front of me. Completely dressed. Hair perfect.
“Posey? Did you have a good evening?”
I smile. “Yes, I had a really good time.” Better than you know, Mom.
“I thought so, you must have gotten in really late. I went to bed a little after midnight.” She’s totally digging for information.
I turn and head down the hall to stop the inquisition.
“Yeah, it was a couple hours after that.” Technically, I’m not lying. Sure, it was more than a couple hours, but it was after she went to bed.
No sooner do I get the water and coffee in the coffee maker—all the while avoiding my mother’s gaze—than the kids rush in.
“Hey, Grandma. Hey, Mom. Where’s Mitch?”
“He’ll be here soon.”
“We thought he’d be here already,” Van says.
I look over my shoulder. My mother’s jaw drops. I guess she wasn’t prepared for the kids to be expecting him to be here. Or that we’d all be so familiar and accustomed to him being in our house.
“Is Mitch here a lot?”
Shane pipes up, completely innocently. “Yeah, almost all the time.”
My mother opens her mouth and I know she’s about to ask more questions, but there’s a loud knock at the front door.
I jump slightly.
Van and Shane rush to the door and greet Mitch. They escort him, or more accurately pull him, into the kitchen.
I finish pouring the cup of coffee I turned away from my mother to get, then set it down in front of her. She thanks me, all the while assessing the interactions between Mitch, the boys and myself. I can see in her eyes she’s trying to figure out how attached we all are.
“Good morning, Mrs. Spence.”
“Good morning, Mitch. Nice to see you again.”
I’ve turned back to the coffee maker, sure I won’t be able to keep a telling smile off my face.
Not looking at him, I ask, “Mitch? Coffee?”
Mitch enthusiastically answers, “Yes!” He makes his way over to me, stands right next to me and slips his arm around my waist, cupping my hip.
Mitch leans in and kisses me on the head. “Good morning. Again,” he whispers.
“Shh!” I point a thumb behind me at my mother.
My father pads out from the guest room, dressed in an open bathrobe, white T-shirt, plaid boxers and black socks.
“What’s all the noise? Oh, I didn’t know we had company!” He quickly closes his bathrobe and ties the belt.
Mitch pours and delivers a cup of coffee to him as he sits at the kitchen counter next to Mom.
“Good morning, sir. How are you?”
My still sleepy and somewhat baffled dad rubs his eyes, like he’s not quite sure he’s seeing what he’s seeing, “Uh, good morning, Mitch.”
Mitch takes control of breakfast before I can even get started.
“I’m thinking waffles, scrambled eggs and bacon. Van and Shane, can you set the table?”
“Yup,” they answer. Without complaint the boys gather plates and silverware and get on the task.
Mom volunteers to help and is soon behind the counter with Mitch. Mitch hands me a cup of coffee and shoos me out, directing me to sit with my dad. Mitch and my mother act as a well-oiled machine, preparing breakfast. They chatter as if they’d known each other for years. Mom tells him to stop calling them Mr. and Mrs. Spence and call them Charles and Caroline. My heart goes a bit mushy.
My slow-to-rise-in-the-morning father attends to all the breakfast making impassively as he sips his coffee.
But he finally speaks. “How was your evening?”
“Uh, good. It was really good.” Really, really good!
“What did you do?”
I tell him about dinner and Mitch’s gig, but stop there.
In all actuality, I can’t stop thinking about spending the night in Mitch’s arms. In Mitch’s bed.