25. Wren

CHAPTER 25

Wren

“ Y ou look tired.”

Marianna set a bag of cookie ingredients on the counter and then put Pablo down in a playpen that had appeared at one end of the kitchen while I was in a lust-induced coma. Had Blane set that up before he left this morning? Or was Joseph lurking somewhere? I’d worked out he didn’t live here, but he sometimes stayed in a spare bedroom.

“I didn’t get much sleep last night,” I confessed.

“Are you still having trouble with a man?”

“It never seems to end.”

“Blane will fix it. He’s one of the good ones.”

“You really think so? This past week has messed with my mind, and then I found myself here, but I barely know him.”

And he barely knew me, but from the way he was talking, now he thought I was tethered to him for all eternity. Which had to be a line, right? I mean, Dom had told me that we’d be together forever, but those declarations had only lasted until his tuition was paid. Blane hadn’t asked me for money or anything else, so what was his game?

It was a puzzle I couldn’t work out.

“He’s helped me so much since we met, and Vee has too,” Marianna said. “Without the two of them, I don’t know where I’d be.”

Lola held up her arms, and I lifted her to sit on the counter. The counter I’d been bent over last night as Blane fucked me into another dimension. Shit, had anyone sanitised it?

“Let me just wipe the surfaces before we start. It’s so kind of you to come over like this.”

“We have peanut butter,” Lola announced. “The crunchy kind.”

“That’s my favourite.”

“I know.”

Huh? “How do you know, sweetie?”

“From before. Your hair is pretty.”

I’d piled it into a messy bun and secured it with a chopstick. Sex hair chic.

“Uh, thank you?”

“You should put flowers in it. The ones that Mommy has in our kitchen.”

“She means orchids,” Marianna supplied, and a chill ran through me. I loved orchids. They were my favourite plant. The little girl had wormed her way into my heart the way she had into Blane’s, but there was also something not quite right about her.

“Orchids,” Lola echoed. “Pink ones. Can I have juice? The orange kind?”

“Sure, sweetie.”

I poured OJ into a plastic cup, and she sipped, watching me as I dug around in cupboards for a mixing bowl. Lola disturbed me, but at the same time, I felt weirdly protective toward her. Was that the sound of my biological clock ticking in the background? I was twenty-seven, and although I’d always assumed I’d have kids someday, I figured thirty was a good time to start worrying about finding a suitable father. How would Blane fit in with that plan? He obviously doted on Lola and Pablo, but did he want kids of his own?

Wait, why was I even thinking that way? Me and Blane, we wouldn’t last that long. He’d get bored with me in a week.

Once Lola had finished her juice, she slithered off the counter and went to help Pablo with his plastic blocks, leaving me a moment to talk to her mom.

“What did she mean, ‘from before’?” I asked quietly.

“Lola just says those things sometimes.”

“Really?”

“Often to Blane. And if we’d met him in the past, I’d certainly remember. A woman doesn’t forget a man like him.”

Perhaps I was puzzling over nothing? Kids said funny things all the time. Back in Wyoming, my neighbour’s little boy thought he was a frog, and for six months or so, he’d spoken in croaks with the occasional ribbit. He’d also insisted on frog-hopping everywhere until one sunny weekend when his mom’s back was turned. She’d taken him to visit a friend, and he’d jumped into the lady’s pond and nearly drowned. That was the end of the hopping.

And Marianna was right about Blane being unforgettable.

“That’s true.” An image of Blane’s O-face was permanently burned into my retinas. I’d spent half the night riding him like an X-rated cowgirl, and when I complained that my thighs were getting chafed, he’d offered to buy me a pair of chaps. “Although I can’t forget the douches either, no matter how hard I try.”

“My abuela used to say, ‘You have to kiss a few frogs to find your prince.’”

I had an unwelcome flashback to my ex-neighbour’s kid and his green facepaint. Yeuch.

“So far, all I’ve kissed is a snake and a bunch of slugs.”

Marianna pulled a face. “I also found a snake.”

“I like snakes,” Lola piped up from the playpen.

“She loves every animal,” Marianna explained. “She keeps asking for a dog, but we live in an apartment.”

“The only way a dog will break your heart is by leaving this world. I wish I could adopt one someday.”

Someday, when my future wasn’t a clusterfuck of calamities just waiting to happen.

Marianna knew her way around Blane’s kitchen, and once Lola was settled with her “special coffee” and Pablo was happily stacking his plastic blocks, she walked me through making the best peanut butter cookies I’d ever tasted. Chewy in the middle, crunchy around the edges, half dipped in chocolate. I began to understand how Blane lived on junk food.

“These are so good. I don’t suppose you have any tips on making actual meals? I tried to cook for Blane last night and accidentally set the pan on fire.”

“What were you cooking?”

“A stir fry. Nothing too complicated, or so I thought.”

“Were the leaves wet when you put them in the pan?”

“Uh, maybe? Does that matter?”

“The water causes the flames when it hits the oil.”

Wasn’t water supposed to put flames out? My online cooking course hadn’t mentioned a thing about fire hazards. The teacher had gone into a lot of detail about her travels around Italy on a Vespa, chopped up the ingredients real quick, and then glossed over the methodology part.

“So I just need to blot the leaves on a piece of paper towel?”

“Exactly. If you want, I can show you how to make some meals? Do you like Mexican food?”

“I love Mexican food.”

“So, how about I come over on Wednesday evening?”

“Does Blane like Mexican food?”

“You want to cook for Blane too?”

“I kind of owe him.”

For coming to my rescue, for the roof over my head, for orgasms past and future.

“Blane loves Mexican food.”

Lola appeared by my side, a cookie in one hand and her fingers covered in chocolate. She slipped the other arm around my legs.

“Churros are my favourite.”

“We can make churros,” Marianna promised her daughter.

“Dinner won’t be too late for her?” I asked.

The romantic dinner for two would have to wait because if Marianna was helping to cook the food, I could hardly ask her to leave. And she was probably used to sharing dinner with Blane and Joseph. Okay, a meal with friends—that wouldn’t be so bad. My aching thighs would appreciate the recovery time.

“As long as she has a nap in the afternoon, she can stay up. Pablo sleeps in the small guest room.”

I crouched to Lola’s level. Her eyes were the same colour as mine. Strange—I’d never noticed that before.

“Then it’s a date. We’ll make you all the churros you want.”