“Yeah.” I pushed the stretched-out sleeves up over my forearms.

“There’s a picture in the hallway with you in a Vanderbilt shirt, your dad, too.” His tone left answering up to me. I knew he was curious, but not intrusive.

“It’s where my dad graduated from, where I always dreamed of going. It was our thing, I guess, since I was born while he was in medical school there. I think my first sleeper was from Vanderbilt.” I looked up from my plate and caught his eyes. It was still surreal that Josh Walker was in my cabin, eating breakfast with me. More surreal that he’d kissed me. Touched me.

“Why didn’t you go?”

I swallowed back the twinge of bitterness that always accompanied this question, especially when my father had asked me. “Riley got into CU early admission, and that’s where he wanted to go.”

“Did you get into Vanderbilt?” He leaned slightly toward me over his empty plate.

I moved my eyes back to my disappearing eggs. “I didn’t bother applying. Riley didn’t think a long-distance relationship would work.”

“Did you?”

I shrugged. “Apparently a same-school relationship couldn’t work.”

“Do you think long-distance relationships work?”

I grabbed my empty plate and stood. “Why the twenty questions, Josh?”

He looked up at me through his lashes, and I almost forgot what I asked. “Just trying to understand you. Do you think those relationships work?”

“I think people who love each other, like genuine love, can make it, sure.” I headed for the kitchen and swore I heard him sigh. “But after seeing what my mom went through time and time again, I know it’s not what I would ever choose.”

He snuck up behind me and gently stole the plate from my hand. “I get that. I can’t imagine always waiting.”

I watched him methodically wash the dishes, and I took them to dry, putting them back in the cabinet for the next time we’d make it up here. “It’s not the waiting that gets me, not anymore. It’s the not knowing if he would come home. I won’t live like that. I can’t put everything in my life on hold, not like she did. Everything she did was about my father, and now what does she have? She’s a train wreck.” I turned around and found him leaned back against the counter. We were nearly in the same position we had been when he’d kissed me last night. I closed my eyes briefly, failing to rid myself of the images. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to go on and on.”

He stepped forward, eliminating the space between us. “I told you. You don’t need to apologize. If you need to talk, I’ll listen.”

He caged me in his arms, making escape, if I had wanted one, impossible. I leaned back enough to tilt my head and see him. “You don’t owe me anything.” Blood rushed to my cheeks. “I’m so sorry about last—”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence,” Josh said, his voice was flat, final. “Never apologize to me for something I wanted so badly I could practically taste you before we even left your house.” He raised his hand, the back of his fingers grazing down my cheek, leaving chills in their wake. His gaze dropped to my lips and that smile was back on his face, sending “go” signals straight to my thighs. “Oh, and December?” His lips brushed against mine, and every fiber of my being reacted. “Feel free to use me again any time.”

Chapter Seven

It was Monday morning and, darn it, I was determined to make pancakes. We always had pancakes Sunday morning, but up until now I’d forgotten. We’d all forgotten. Dad had been gone three weeks now, and we’d already let so much slip. Some things had to return to . . . whatever this new normal was. I dragged my Vanderbilt hoodie on over my tank top and headed into the kitchen, ready to rock out breakfast before April and Gus came down for school. I’d checked on Mom earlier, but she didn’t look any closer to living than she had when I’d left on Friday.

Dad’s copy of The Joy of Cooking bore an earmark at the pancake page. It was slightly marred by drops of egg and milk. He’d let us help no matter how messy we were. I stroked the dried bits of paper with my fingertips like I could jump back into those moments.

I grabbed the eggs and butter from the fridge, then went to wash my hands. Ugh. Yesterday’s dishes were stacked up in the sink. I’d have to leave them for later, once the kids were at school. I folded my sleeves up on my forearm, revealing Josh’s number in permanent marker. I couldn’t control the smile that lit my face. He’d taken the Sharpie from his glove box and gently etched his name and number onto my arm. When I’d asked why—I already had his number on Gus’s hockey roster—he’d dropped that smoldering look on me.

“Gus has my number because I’m his coach. Now you have it because I’m your whatever.”

“My whatever?”

The soft kiss he’d placed on my lips had me leaning in for more. “Whatever you need me to be,” he whispered against my mouth. He’d opened my door and brought my bag up the walk. “It’s not so easy to wash off,” he added, “and neither am I.”

My cheeks flushed with the memory, and I scrubbed around the mark, hesitant to wash over it. I called up the stairs to wake Gus and April. Crap, I sounded like Mom. I flipped the spatula in agitation. Of course I sounded like her; I had stepped right into her morning role.

Gus thundered down the stairs in his favorite, faded Star Wars hoodie, and I promptly had breakfast on the table. “Ember! You rock!” He was covered in syrup in fifteen seconds, flat.