Dumping My Ex For His Uncle novel · Chapter 12 of 32

Chapter 12: Third Floor

I put the towel down on the counter.

"No," I said.

He turned his head and looked at me.

"No, you won't tell me?"

"No, I don't want you to stop."

For a second neither of us moved.

Then he reached out with one wet hand and touched my jaw, just his fingertips.

I stepped into him.

This kiss wasn't like the one on the counter.

That one had been a wave breaking.

This one was slow and deliberate, his mouth on mine.

His hand slid into my hair and held my head where he wanted it.

I grabbed two fistfuls of his shirt and held on.

When he pulled back, his eyes were dark.

"Upstairs," he said. "Mine. Not yours."

"Tilly's asleep right over us."

"I know where she is."

I put my forehead on his chest and laughed, shaky.

"Friday," I said. "My mate's granddaughter is having a sleepover on Friday. Tilly's been invited for two weeks. She's bringing her rope."

He breathed out slowly against my hair.

"Friday," he said. "That's three days."

"Is that a problem?"

"It's a very long problem."

Those three days were the longest of my life.

On Wednesday my blood test came back clean, and the inspector called to read it to me himself.

On Wednesday night I passed Bram on the stairs.

He put one hand flat on the wall beside my head and just looked at me, and then went on down.

On Thursday Ellis's lawyer sent a letter about "concerns regarding the minor's living situation."

I used it to light the burner on my stove, which only works with a match.

On Friday afternoon I drove Tilly to Locust Point with a sleeping bag, her crab, her rope and a bag of popcorn.

My mate met us at her door.

Her granddaughter, a skinny eight-year-old in a unicorn robe, pulled Tilly inside by the hand before she'd said hello.

My mate looked at me.

She looked at my hair, which I'd washed.

She looked at my mouth, which had lipstick on it for the first time since my birthday.

"Have a nice night, Cap," she said.

"I'm just going to sleep."

"Sure you are." She shut the door, then opened it again. "It's about time somebody was good to you."

She shut it again before I could answer.

I drove back to Fells Point with the windows down in the cold.

The shop was dark.

The artists had gone.

The sign on the red door said CLOSED.

The bell rang over my head when I let myself in with the key he'd given me.

I didn't stop on the second floor.

I went straight up the next flight, to the door at the top, and knocked.

He opened it in a gray T-shirt and jeans, barefoot.

Behind him the third floor was one long room.

Brick walls.

A kitchen at one end with a cast-iron pan on the stove and nothing else on the counter.

Bookshelves full of paperbacks and drawing pads.

A wide bed at the far end, under a big window that looked out at the harbor.

The red Domino Sugars sign glowed across the water.

He looked at me for a long time.

"You came," he said.

"You thought I wouldn't?"

"I thought you'd come to your senses on the way over."

"I drove with the windows open," I said. "To make sure I didn't."

He laughed, low.

Then he stepped back to let me in, and shut the door behind me, and I heard him turn the lock.

I didn't move for a second, just stood inside his door with my back to it.

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