The Space Between Us. Megan Hart

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СКАЧАТЬ “Hey.”

      “Oh. Hey. You’re still here. Can’t get enough of the caramel crunch, huh?” I gestured toward the row of self-serve carafes.

      “I’m fully caffeinated.” She showed me her empty mug. “But I got my money’s worth today, I’ll tell you that.”

      “Joy’s going to charge you rent,” I said with a glance over my shoulder to the counter. Joy was serving Eric, actually giving him a bit of a flirtatious smile. “Jeez, that guy can make even Joy tingly.”

      Meredith closed her laptop. “It’s all in the smile. I think he makes everyone a little tingly.”

      “Yeah,” I said fondly, watching Eric take his plate and mug to his favorite table and lay out his paper.

      “You missed some good stories today.” Meredith leaned back in her seat. “The things people get up to, you’d never believe it.”

      “I’m sure I would. Want me to take that for you?” I pointed to her empty mug and the plate beside it. “How was the apple crumb?”

      “Tesla,” she murmured.

      I stopped with my hand halfway to the table, caught like the Tin Man with his ax up. “Hmm?”

      “We should do something.”

      I forced myself to take the dishes, though they rattled when I lifted them. “Like what?”

      “Something fun. Out of this place.” She twitched her fingers in Joy’s direction. “Without your boss hovering over us.”

      “Sure. That sounds great.” I picked up her napkin, too, faintly imprinted with her lipstick. It crumpled in my fingers. I didn’t want to throw it away.

      “What time do you get off tomorrow?”

      “I work early, so three.”

      “How about we grab some dinner or something? Maybe hit a club?” She paused. “It’s a Friday night. You don’t have a date or anything, do you?”

      “Me? Oh. No.” I laughed.

      “Good,” Meredith said, as though everything had been settled. “You do now.”

      Chapter 8

      “You look pretty.” Simone watched me carefully as I applied eyeliner and shadow. “Can I have some?”

      “You want some pretty?” I turned from the mirror to look at the kid. With her blond hair and big blue eyes, there was no question who she belonged to: Elaine all the way. But she had something of her dad in the set of her mouth when she wanted something. I held up the square box of eye shadows in one hand, my angled brush in the other. “Green or blue?”

      “I like the sparkly.”

      I eyed the tube of liquid glitter eyeliner. “That might be a little too much for you, kiddo. It’s messy and …”

      Her baby brother could really put on the waterworks, but Simone wasn’t much of a tantrum thrower. She could throw a mean pout, though, and now that rosebud mouth turned down with such skill there was no way I could deny her. I sighed. “Your mama might be mad at me.”

      More likely it would be her daddy who gave me the lecture about tarting up his four-year-old, but Vic wasn’t any better at denying Simone when she wanted something. She sighed, tiny shoulders shrugging. The pout stayed put.

      “Fine. C’mere.” I put down the shadows and pulled out the glitter liner. “But you have to promise, promise, promise me you’ll take a shower later and without complaining, you hear me? Because it’s really important you wash off all your makeup before you go to sleep, anyway.”

      “So you don’t get zits,” Simone said, with the sort of happy grin a kid gets when she’s having her way.

      “Yep. No zits.” At twenty-six I thought I should’ve grown out of zits, but I usually had a sweet monthly reminder that that wasn’t the case. “Sit up here.”

      She hopped up on the edge of my sink, her little feet banging against the cabinet beneath until I gave her a stern look and she stopped. I told her to close her eyes, then outlined the upper lids with the glitter liner. It was just cheap stuff, marketed to tweens, using the face of some ditzy pop idol, but as with all things glittery and sparkly, I loved it. So did Simone. She hummed happily as I painted a design on her cheek using a different color of liquid liner—surely her dad couldn’t complain about that, right? It was like face-painting at a carnival.

      “There. What do you think?”

      She twisted to peer in the mirror, brow furrowed. She looked more like her dad when she did that. Critical. Then she grinned. “I like the flower!”

      “Good. Now,” I said, lifting her down and patting her on the rear, “scram, kid, I gotta get ready.”

      “You’re going on a date,” Simone crooned in a sing-song voice. “Right? That’s what Daddy told Mama.”

      “Oh, did he?” It was my turn to frown then. Just a little. I glanced at myself in the mirror.

      “Yep.” In the glass, Simone’s reflection shrugged, barely interested.

      “Well … sure, I’m going on a date.”

      “Are you gonna kiss him?”

      I turned to look at her. “Where do you get this stuff?”

      “TV,” Simone said blithely.

      “You should read more,” I muttered, which was ridiculous, since the kid wasn’t even in preschool. “Now go on. Get out of here. I’m busy, kid.”

      She did reluctantly, my date preparations apparently more interesting even than the television. From upstairs I heard the pounding of small feet and the cries of welcome—Vic was home. I’d probably have to face him, too, before I went out.

      Sure enough, I found them all in the kitchen when I emerged from the basement. Elaine, her belly leading the way as she moved from the pot of mac-n-cheese on the stove to the table, gave me a once-over, but said nothing. Vic, on the other hand, snorted softly and shook his head. But he didn’t say anything, which told me a lot—there were times in the past when he’d have been unable to keep his mouth shut. Marriage had mellowed him.

      “Have a good time,” Elaine said as she plopped a spoonful of yellow noodles on Max’s plate. “Be careful.”

      I laughed. Just going on this “date” felt like the opposite of careful. “I’ll be home late. Don’t wait up.”

      “We’ll leave the light on for you,” Vic said.

      “Oooh, you and Tom what’s-his-face from Motel 6.” I paused to squeeze Vic’s shoulder. “Thanks.”

      “Cap said your car will be ready tomorrow.” Vic held up his plate for his own portion of macaroni and gave me a long, steady look. “I can give you a ride to the shop in the morning, if you want.”

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