Fuck bees.
No longer will I share any Save the Bees Facebook posts.
Sorry, Cheerios.
My bottom lip is the size of a toddler’s fist.
All because one got into my can of LaCroix and stung me when I took a drink. The swelling has shrunk some, but it still appears I had a lip injection gone wrong.
I hated canceling on Noah, but there was no way I was going to go out in public looking like this. I’ll buy him extra cupcakes and maybe an action figure the next time I see him.
Shuffling from my kitchen to the living room, I hold a bag of frozen strawberries to my mouth and plop down on the couch before snatching my phone. The bag drops on my lap when I see a text sent fifteen minutes ago.
Cohen: Mind if we stop by? Noah has something for you.
I’m struggling to come up with an excuse when the doorbell rings. I snatch the strawberry bag, set it on the table, and tiptoe to the door. When I peek through the peephole, Noah and Cohen are standing on my porch, and there’s a familiar pink box in Noah’s hands.
“I hope she’s home,” Noah says. “Everyone knows you have to stay home when you’re sick unless you have to go to the doctor. Isn’t that what you tell me, Dad?”
“It sure is.” Cohen knocks again before peering down at Noah, who now appears heartbroken. “Maybe she’s napping. We’ll leave the cupcakes here, and I’ll text her to grab them when she can.”
“But what if someone steals them?” Noah whines.
My stomach burns with shame. I pull in a jagged breath, open the door, and cover my mouth.
“Hi, guys,” I say, my voice muffled under my hand.
Noah holds up the box, a proud smile on his face. “We brought you cupcakes to make you feel better.”
I return the smile at the heartwarming gesture and am unclear if they can make out my words. “That’s so sweet. Thank you.” Not wanting to be rude, I wave them in with my free hand.
They don’t move.
Cohen scratches his head and nods toward my mouth. “Is everything okay, Jamie?”
He has the hot dad vibe going on with his sweatshirt layered under a jean jacket, holey jeans, and Chuck Taylors.
I nod. “Mm-hmm.”
“Why don’t you uncover your mouth then?”
I don’t.
“Jamie,” he says my name like a warning.
I slowly remove my hand, waiting for the gasps and questions.
“Oh.”
“Yeah, oh.” I gulp.
“What happened to your mouth?” Noah blurts.
Cohen shoots him a don’t be rude look before his attention returns to me. “Are you allergic to something? I can run and grab you some Benadryl.”
“I took some already.” My words are still muttered, my lips not making it easy to speak.
Turning, I do a once-over of my house when they walk in. It’s clean, but since I’ve been lying around, whining about my lip, I haven’t exactly picked up today. An empty yogurt container is on the living room table next to the bag of strawberries and a bottle of water. A shag blanket is nestled in the corner of my couch, and a lavender candle is burning, the relaxing scent wafting through the air in an attempt to calm me.
My townhome has an open floor plan, allowing you to see the living room and the kitchen past the peninsula island separating the two rooms. Cohen carefully takes the cupcake box from Noah and sets it on the kitchen table. Noah doesn’t waste a moment before opening the box and snagging one.
He jumps up and down and comes dashing toward me. “Here! I picked it out just for you.”
The blue frosting lining his mouth tells me he’s already devoured one cupcake.
I rest my hand over my heart and set the cupcake on the counter. “I’ll eat this in a bit, okay?”
Noah nods.
Cohen shoves his hands into his jacket pockets and leans back on his heels. “Sorry if we’re intruding, but Noah insisted on seeing you and bringing you the cupcakes since he thought you were sick.”
I signal to my jumbo lip. “This qualifies as sick. No way am I going out looking like this.”
“Why?” He smirks. “They look cute.”
I smack his shoulder as I pass him. “Shut up.”
He chuckles.
Noah is at the table, shoving another cupcake into his mouth, and I start straightening up my mess.
“How’d you know where I lived?” I ask Cohen.
“Georgia.”
Noah hops up from his chair and barrels toward the living room. “Let’s watch cartoons!”
“We can get out of your hair,” Cohen says when Noah flies past him into the living room.
“You’ve already seen my face, so there’s no hiding it. I could actually use the company.”
“I figured you’d be eating Cheetos and watching Netflix.” He winks at me.
“I save those for my wild nights, remember?”
“Ah, yes. I see it’s frozen fruit and yogurt day instead.”
Noah makes himself comfortable in the yellow paisley print chair with the remote in his hand and starts flipping through channels.
“Noah,” Cohen says in his dad voice, “you can’t turn people’s channels without asking them.”
Noah frowns. “You let me turn channels all the time.”
“At home. We’re at Jamie’s home.”
“It’s totally fine,” I say. “Flip away.”
Noah shrugs and stops at a cartoon.
I fall on one end of the couch, and Cohen takes the other.
He looks around the room. “I like your place. It suits you.”
I drive a hand through my hair, realizing it’s a hot mess, but all I can do now is roll with it. “I mean, I do live here.”
“You know what I mean. It matches your personality.”
I shift to face him. “What exactly is my personality?”
“Sophisticated but fun. Stylish but not too overboard or tacky.”
“Hmm …” I tap my chin. “Has someone been reading Martha Stewart magazines?”
“Smart-ass,” he grumbles, cracking a smile.
My townhouse does scream me. The two-bedroom home isn’t large, which was number one on my wish list because less cleaning. My father had all my appliances updated, and I changed the deep brown cabinets to a clean white, making the place brighter. An electric fireplace—another item on my wish list—is under the TV.
All my furniture is white, and I’ve scattered color throughout the room with my décor—bright pillows, large candles on my coffee table, and two bookshelves lining a wall, filled with medical textbooks, paranormal romances, and thrillers.
“Speaking of homes, your crib definitely doesn’t suit you. I was expecting a man cave,” I say.
“It’s the Martha Stewart magazines. She knows her shit.”
I cock my head to the side. “Family man design is all the rage.”
He points at himself. “Funny, because that’s what I am, minus the whole cheesy dad T-shirts and tacky jokes.”
“Uh, that cheesy dad joke was plenty tacky.”
“Dad! It’s my favorite!” Noah shouts, turning back to look at us while pointing at the TV where Toy Story is playing.
Cohen scoots in closer to me, bows his head, and whispers, “To be honest, the sequel is nowhere near as good as the first one.”
I raise a brow. “Look at you, Mr. Cartoon Critic.”
“What can I say?” He shrugs. “I know my shit.”
“Dad!” Noah yells. Briefly peeking back at us, he furrows his brows. “We’re not allowed to say that word.”
“Shit—shoot, sorry,” Cohen replies with a chuckle.
I elbow him. “You’re in trouble now.”
“Who would’ve known the hardest part of raising a kid was not cursing around them?” He shakes his head. “It’s not like I work in a school where I regularly have a PG-rated vocabulary.”
“Speaking of work, do you have to go in tonight?”
“Nope. Georgia and my friend Archer are covering for me.”
I glance away, fake focusing on Buzz Lightyear, when I ask, “Which bar do you own?”
“Twisted Fox Bar.” There’s no mistrust in his tone. No sign he doesn’t want me to know.
Buzz loses my attention while Cohen reclaims it.
“Really? You were voted one of the top bars in the state.”
“Heck yeah, we were.” Pride shines on his face.
Noah’s gaze whips back to us. “Dad! Bad word!”
“I said heck,” Cohen argues.
“My teacher, Mrs. Jones, said we’re not allowed to say heck either.”
“Jesus,” Cohen mutters. “Mrs. Jones is on my nerves.”
Noah responds, “Shh … this is my favorite part of the movie. You guys watch, okay?”
I nod, feeling like a kid in time-out, and talking toys are the only sound in the living room.
Noah is engrossed in the movie.
Cohen? Not so much.
Me? I couldn’t care less about Woody.
Sorry, not sorry.
I steal glances at Cohen, and there’s no missing the way his eyes flash to me every few minutes. We’re not snuggling, this isn’t romantic, but I never imagined I’d be on my couch with him, watching—ignoring—a movie. With each peek, I take in the differences in him from the past and how maturity has changed him.
Dark stubble covers his cheeks and the angular curve of his jaw.
The old Cohen had smooth cheeks and was cleaner-cut.
His laid-back clothes are different than when he went to clubs.
The man who was once the life of the party now makes cartoon character-shaped pancakes.
Heather never deserved him, his love, and she definitely doesn’t deserve the man he is now.
How could you turn your back on them?
If only I’d been older.
If only he’d seen me as more than just his girlfriend’s geeky sister.
If only he hadn’t dated my sister.
But then again, I would’ve never known him.
Is that a good thing?
Did fate bring Cohen and me together?
Did it bring Noah into my life?
Shaking my head, I mentally slap myself for my stupidity.
Cohen will never be anything more to me than my sister’s ex-boyfriend.
I’ll never be anything but the little sister of his ex-girlfriend—albeit less annoying and geeky.
What made me fall in love with Cohen was how he treated me. He’d give Heather shit when I wanted to watch a movie with them and she’d scream at me to leave a room. My parents were lenient with them and allowed Heather to have sleepovers at his house even though they knew his mom was always MIA. I’m shocked Noah was their first pregnancy. They screwed like teenagers who’d just discovered sex.
I adored her relationship with Cohen.
Everyone knew it.
Everyone teased me about it.
Noah’s snoring breaks me out of my thoughts. I stand, grab a blanket, and wrap it around him.
“We should get going.” Cohen lifts to his feet. “He has school in the morning, and I need to make dinner. He won’t be happy when he finds out dinner doesn’t consist of pizza or cupcakes.”
“What’s on the menu then, chef?”
“Cheese quesadillas.”
“Oh, yum.”
“I’ll have to make you some when you come over sometime.”
I scrunch up my face. “It’s so weird.”
“What is?” He turns to look at me.
“You cooking, being responsible, being a dad.”
“Hey now, I knew how to cook before I was a dad. People seem to forget I took care of Georgia before Noah. We couldn’t eat fast food all the time. It was too expensive and bad for our health.”
“Good point. I don’t know why I ever doubted you.”
His face falls at my words.
My voice lowers and softens. “I’m sorry, Cohen. From my parents and me, we wish everything had happened differently.”
“I appreciate that. I grew up with your family. You knew I was the parent for Georgia when I was a teenager. I could take care of a baby in my twenties. I’m not fucking selfish, and it hurt.”
My parents and I went to the hospital when Noah was born, assuming Heather would change her mind, but nope. That was when they asked Cohen to allow them to adopt Noah.
It was wrong.
We saw how over the moon Cohen was about becoming a father.
“Trust me, we hate how things went down. My mom recently asked for your number to apologize, but given how private you are, I didn’t want to cross any lines.” I hesitate, my stomach twists, and my head hurts, in fear I’ll piss him off. “She also asked for a photo of him, which I haven’t sent either. I’m following your rules here.”
A pained expression passes over his features. “Your parents really want to meet him, huh?”
“You have no idea.”
His shoulders straighten. “All right then.”
“What?”
“They can meet him.”
I perk up. “Really?”
“On the condition they don’t tell Noah who they are. You’re Georgia’s friend, they’re your parents, and you’re just babysitting for me.”
“I understand. I promise.” I clasp my hands together and hold myself back from squealing. “Thank you so much.”
His voice hardens. “Heather had better not be there.”
“She’s in Vegas and very rarely comes home. It’s been over a year.”
“Good.” He runs his tongue over his lips before gesturing to mine. “Ice that.”
I touch my lips because I’d forgotten about the swelling then salute him.
He collects Noah in his arms and sends me a polite wave, and then they leave. I snag a cupcake and shove half of it in my mouth.
I love this new Cohen.
How he’s coming around and letting me in.
No longer is he being as cold and callous as he was at the hospital.
What’s changed in him?
And what does it change with me?