He jerked his sagging jeans up with one angry fist, a wrinkle forming on his forehead. “What’s for dinner?”
I scoffed, turning back to the dishes as I scrubbed the plate caked with ketchup harder than necessary. “Whatever you want to fix yourself, I guess.”
“What’s the matter with you?”
I sighed because the problem really wasn’t with him and he knew it, but I wasn’t about to admit it right then. “What’s the matter is that my son can’t seem to treat this beautiful house I pay for him to live in with respect,” I said, my upper lip curled.
“Beautiful’s a bit of an exaggeration—”
“Excuse me?” I slammed the plate down. This boy was going to be the death of me. “What the hell do you know about—”
“What is going on in here?” Jaren demanded, walking into the room dressed in a sweat-stained white T-shirt and jeans. His forehead gleamed with sweat as he laid his toolbox on the kitchen table. “I can hear you two arguing from outside.”
“We weren’t arguing. I was informing your son that he needs to take his shoes off before he goes traipsing across my floors. I just shampooed the carpets last week, and between the two of you,” I glanced at my husband’s grease covered shoes, “I’m already going to need to do it again.”
Jaren looked at me, then at Nolan, his lips pressed together with a sigh. “Just take your shoes off, son. Do as your mother says. Don’t make it more difficult than it has to be.”
“Dad, I just walked in. If she’d just asked—”
“Why should I have to ask? You’re seventeen years old! I’ve been telling you your whole—”
“Enough,” Jaren said, holding out a hand to stop me mid-sentence. “Do what you’re told, Nolan.”
Nolan’s head leaned back with an irritated sigh. “Whatever, man, this is bullsh—”
“Language!” I chided, cutting him off.
He disappeared from the room and, when he was far enough away, Jaren sank down in a chair, untying his boots and plopping them on the floor. I watched the dried mud fall onto my freshly swept tile. “You know, if you actually made an effort to do it, he might, too.”
“For God’s sake, Natasha, I just walked in the damn door. I sided with you, okay? Isn’t that enough for this exact moment?” I shook my head but didn’t say anything else. “What’s gotten into you anyway? You still mad about this morning?”
I hmphed. “Nope.”
He stood, walking across the room and pulling open the fridge. He grabbed a canned beer from the top shelf and popped it open. “You know we can’t afford to take the time off.”
“I know.”
“We’d do it if we could.”
“If you say so.”
He rested a hand on the open refrigerator door. “Don’t be like that.”
I turned off the water again, drying my hands and spinning around to face him. “I’m not being like anything, Jaren. We both know what this is…” I lowered my voice. “We both know we’re just counting down the days until he turns eighteen. It was a stupid suggestion anyway.”
His jaw tensed. It wasn’t unspoken—we’d said it aloud many times to each other during a fight, but it may have been the first time it had been said calmly. Either way, it was true, and we did both know it.
“Don’t be like that. It’s not that simple. We can’t afford the time off,” he said, shaking his head slowly, his voice soft. “And, even if we could, do you trust leaving him here for a week by himself while we’re out of the country?”
I looked in the direction our son had just headed, my chest tight. The very idea terrified me. We’d raised a good boy, though I felt like I didn’t recognize who he’d become in the past year, but he was a teenager. With teenage ideas and teenage plans. I knew what would happen if we left him alone—and dirt on my carpets would be the least of my concerns. “Like I said, it was a dumb idea.” Truth was, the very idea of getting away from the day-to-day was enough to push me to do it. Even with a husband who drove me insane. Even with a teenage son who was sure to cause problems for me to fix upon our return. The last vacation we’d taken was so far back, I could hardly remember it. I deserved the chance to get away, but no one would ever see that. It wouldn’t be mentioned. Jaren wouldn’t work it out as a treat for me. I knew that like I knew it would be me cooking dinner in an hour when Nolan still hadn’t resurfaced from his room to do it and my husband still sat on the couch waiting. It was always me.
I walked across the room, lifting the white envelope—our names scrawled across the front—from its place. “I just thought it would be like…I don’t know.” I inhaled sharply. “We never had a honeymoon of our own. We haven’t been on a vacation since Nolan was a toddler. We deserve it, don’t we? A chance to enjoy ourselves for once?”
Jaren laughed under his breath. “That’s for sure.”
I stared at him hopefully, watching his expression for any variation that would show he was considering it.
He wasn’t. I tossed the envelope into the trash. “Just forget it.” With that, I walked out of the room, leaving my husband with the refrigerator door still standing open, his gaze locked on the trash can.
It was a dumb idea in the first place.
Chapter Four
Andy
I rushed into the house, the white envelope in my hand, nearly exploding from joy.
“Guess what?” I asked before I’d even made it into my bedroom. She was sitting on the edge of my bed, typing on her phone—posting something on her Instagram, most likely. “Guess what?” I repeated, drawing her attention to me finally. She looked up, her dark hair tied back in a tight bun. God, she is so beautiful. She always looked like a ballerina like that, though she hated for me to mention it. “This was in the mail when I got home from work.” I couldn’t stop my eyes from traveling to where the fabric of her dress stretched too tight across her chest.
“What?” she asked, placing her phone on the edge of the bed. Her gaze traveled to the envelope in my hand, her eyes widening as she stood. “Oh my God. Is that what I think it is?”
She took the envelope from my hands, and I ruined the surprise before she could see the brochure. “They chose us!”
She grinned, a melancholy look filling her face as she ran her fingers across the front of the brochure, over the couple and the script of the resort’s name.
Isla del Amor—Spanish, maybe? Or French?
Either way, I didn’t care because we’d gotten it! We’d been chosen. Or, rather, she’d been chosen. I was just lucky enough to be her plus one. She flipped it over, reading the instructions for RSVPing.
“It sounds perfect. I can’t believe they chose us.”
She looked up, blinking slowly behind thick, dark lashes. I could get lost in her eyes so easily. “It’s super exciting.”
“Are you okay?” I asked, shocked to see her smile fading so quickly.
“No, of course I am. It’s just…I’m shocked, I guess. I mean, I get trips like this all the time, but I’m feeling really grateful to be able to bring you and your friends along. It’s going to be magical.” She pressed up on her tiptoes, leaning in until our lips met, enveloping me with her honey scent.