Brown. Cute as hell. And while he’s far from the most handsome man she’s ever romanced, there’s something special about him—a charming mix of innocence and stability. Unlike her former partners, Kevin isn’t broken. He’s wounded, just like her, but Tina doubts anyone over thirty lives without a few deep scars.
“It’s perfectly acceptable if you rip the boxes, sweetheart,” she says.
He glances at her for a second, then goes back to his methodical procedure. “Want to be careful,” he says. “You never know when you might need these boxes again.”
She stands and paces, trying not to let Kevin’s words inflict injury. He didn’t mean harm, she tells herself. But that doesn’t make her inference any less painful. Or maybe it was his implication, even if only subconsciously. None of that, however, changes the grim reminder that her hold on this home is tenuous.
With hands on her hips, she barks, “What are you trying to say?”
Confusion darkens his face as he slides his glasses up the bridge of his nose and clears his throat. “What are you talking about?”
“Why would I need these boxes again? Are you already planning to kick Hannah and me out?”
He shakes his head and waves his hands defensively. “No, no, of course not. That’s not what I—”
“What did you mean, Kevin?”
“Don’t be angry,” he pleads. “I’ve always been careful with packing materials. I’m the same way with wrapping paper. Check the closet in the bonus room upstairs if you don’t believe me. You’ll find more Amazon boxes up there than any man has a right to. It’s just an old habit I inherited from my mom. I’m sorry.”
He wraps his arms around her, but she breaks away from him and drops onto the couch. After a tense period of silence, she heaves a groan, then says, “I’m sorry.”
Sliding next to her, he places his arm around her back and pulls her close. “Look, it’s all right. I’m sorry, too. All of this is new to us. We have to cut each other some slack.”
“I can’t help it, Kevin. I’m afraid. I know I shouldn’t be, but I am.”
“Why?” he asks. “You have nothing to fear.”
“Like I said, I know that, but it doesn’t change the fact that I am.”
He hugs her, and this time she returns the gesture. “You belong here, Tina. So does Hannah.”
“I’m just so tired of my transient life,” she says. “My parents moved a lot when I was a kid, then college, then Chet. I’ve never felt like I belonged anywhere. I’m ready for home.”
He releases her and extends his arms wide. Looking around the living room, he says, “This isn’t home.” Then he points at his chest. “ This ,” he says, “ this is home. This is what’s been missing from your life. Someone who loves you unconditionally.”
She smiles.
“We may need boxes to leave this house someday,” he says, “but when that happens, we’ll use them together, and we’ll go someplace even better than here.”
“And what if I like it here?”
“Then we’ll stay.”
* * *
When her mother’s shout rings out below, Hannah turns her attention from the cat. She’s worried. Mom and Kevin are already fighting. When she looks back at the figurine, she feels an unaccountable pang of sympathy for her father.
No, she tells herself. This is his fault, not Mom’s.
But Kevin isn’t like her father; he’s a good man. Why would she fight with him? Hannah’s not only confused by this, she’s upset. Part of her wants to rip the tape from the cat’s eyes and let the adults sort everything out. This is too much pressure for a twelve-year-old girl.
But that would unleash hell, and she has to do her part to keep the peace. Like it or not, this is her charge.
Hannah slides the bottom drawer of her dresser open. Beside her journal, she places the cat figurine. Over its head, she drapes a cloth meant to clean the flute she no longer plays.
“Turn away,” she whispers, and tears trail down her cheeks.
* *
“It’s perfectly acceptable if you rip the boxes, sweetheart,” she says.
He glances at her for a second, then goes back to his methodical procedure. “Want to be careful,” he says. “You never know when you might need these boxes again.”
She stands and paces, trying not to let Kevin’s words inflict injury. He didn’t mean harm, she tells herself. But that doesn’t make her inference any less painful. Or maybe it was his implication, even if only subconsciously. None of that, however, changes the grim reminder that her hold on this home is tenuous.
With hands on her hips, she barks, “What are you trying to say?”
Confusion darkens his face as he slides his glasses up the bridge of his nose and clears his throat. “What are you talking about?”
“Why would I need these boxes again? Are you already planning to kick Hannah and me out?”
He shakes his head and waves his hands defensively. “No, no, of course not. That’s not what I—”
“What did you mean, Kevin?”
“Don’t be angry,” he pleads. “I’ve always been careful with packing materials. I’m the same way with wrapping paper. Check the closet in the bonus room upstairs if you don’t believe me. You’ll find more Amazon boxes up there than any man has a right to. It’s just an old habit I inherited from my mom. I’m sorry.”
He wraps his arms around her, but she breaks away from him and drops onto the couch. After a tense period of silence, she heaves a groan, then says, “I’m sorry.”
Sliding next to her, he places his arm around her back and pulls her close. “Look, it’s all right. I’m sorry, too. All of this is new to us. We have to cut each other some slack.”
“I can’t help it, Kevin. I’m afraid. I know I shouldn’t be, but I am.”
“Why?” he asks. “You have nothing to fear.”
“Like I said, I know that, but it doesn’t change the fact that I am.”
He hugs her, and this time she returns the gesture. “You belong here, Tina. So does Hannah.”
“I’m just so tired of my transient life,” she says. “My parents moved a lot when I was a kid, then college, then Chet. I’ve never felt like I belonged anywhere. I’m ready for home.”
He releases her and extends his arms wide. Looking around the living room, he says, “This isn’t home.” Then he points at his chest. “ This ,” he says, “ this is home. This is what’s been missing from your life. Someone who loves you unconditionally.”
She smiles.
“We may need boxes to leave this house someday,” he says, “but when that happens, we’ll use them together, and we’ll go someplace even better than here.”
“And what if I like it here?”
“Then we’ll stay.”
* * *
When her mother’s shout rings out below, Hannah turns her attention from the cat. She’s worried. Mom and Kevin are already fighting. When she looks back at the figurine, she feels an unaccountable pang of sympathy for her father.
No, she tells herself. This is his fault, not Mom’s.
But Kevin isn’t like her father; he’s a good man. Why would she fight with him? Hannah’s not only confused by this, she’s upset. Part of her wants to rip the tape from the cat’s eyes and let the adults sort everything out. This is too much pressure for a twelve-year-old girl.
But that would unleash hell, and she has to do her part to keep the peace. Like it or not, this is her charge.
Hannah slides the bottom drawer of her dresser open. Beside her journal, she places the cat figurine. Over its head, she drapes a cloth meant to clean the flute she no longer plays.
“Turn away,” she whispers, and tears trail down her cheeks.
* *
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