Page 63 of Play With Me
“I live in Jersey,” she sasses back. Through my side mirror, I can see her staring at the beach as we drive by. Her eyes lighting up even if she won’t admit she’s excited to be here for a few days.
“Right on the other side of the river, so the shit smell drifts over. Nothing smells as good as being on the beach, little one. Trust me, you’re never gonna wanna leave.” He smiles at her through the rearview mirror.
There’s something about the way he says it before his eyes slide to me. Our fingers lace together over the center console, his thumb gently sweeping over mine before he brings them up to his lips to press a kiss against my knuckles.
Anders asked me on the plane how I’d feel about his mom and grandma watching Maya for one evening while we’re here. My anticipation forthe talkhe wants to have snakes around my heart, crushing it in a vise grip.
Logically, I know it’s his mother. But Mami hasn’t even met Maya. And with everything that’s been going on lately… Iknowwhoever is responsible for the murders isn’t here in California, but I’m stillhaving a hard time deciding whether to leave Maya alone with people she doesn’t know.
I have enough mom guilt as it is.
All I’ve ever wanted is to keep my daughter safe. It’s led to fourteen years of working my ass off while someone else spends more time with my kid than I do. I keep saying four more years until Mick can’t hold her parentage over my head any longer, but by then, she’ll be an adult—ready to go off on her own adventures. Make her own mistakes.
And I’ll be all alone.
“I’m happy you decided to come,” Anders says as softly as he can over the radio and wind. His sweet and smoky tone is a far cry from the gravelly, anger-laced manner in which he always spoke to me when we first met.
He makes me feel like a leaf—one that has holes all over it from being thoroughly chewed up by aphids. Me: leaf, Anders: aphid. He keeps taking chunks out of my armor that will be impossible to fill when he leaves New York.
I always knew it would happen when he caught the murderer, but now that we’ve brought feelings into the mix…
“You okay?” he asks with a concerned look. “You’ve been quiet today.”
“I’m fine. Just a little nervous.” I’ve never met a man’s parents before. What if they don’t like me? “I still think we should have just gotten a hotel.”
His smile melts my insides, full lips curving up in that damn smirk of his I love so much. “Nonsense. There’s plenty of room at the house. You have nothing to be nervous about, baby girl. They’re gonna love you.”
Looking back at the passing scenery, I catch Maya’s eye in the side mirror. She doesn’t know why we left so quickly, but I can tell she knows something is up.
“Why are we suddenly going to California? And why does he keep saying it’s his job to protect you? I thought Anders was a detective, not a bodyguard.”
My little girl is too smart for her own good.
Truthfully, Andersshouldhave stayed in New York. It’s what he was hired to do—catch whoever is killing these men and leaving me ridiculous threats. But honestly, I don’t feel safe with anyone but him. And even though I know it’s bothering Anders to leave all the work to Martin and Nikolai, I also know he wouldn’t have sent me away on my own.
We pull into the driveway of a ranch-style home with a peach stucco exterior, red-tiled roof, and an attached two-car garage. The yard is somewhat green, dotted with low, trimmed bushes and two giant palms that help shade the house. I’m not really sure what I expected when Anders said he bought a house for his mother and grandmother, but I would never have envisioned something sodomestic.
“It’s nothing like what you have in New York…but it’s home.” He sounds embarrassed, and the dry comment has me rushing to chase the hint of disappointment from his tone.
“It’s beautiful,” I reassure him. “And incredibly thoughtful to provide for your family. Most men would have stuck their mothers and grandmothers in an apartment and called it good.”
He shrugs, cheeks taking on a tinge of pink as he parks and turns off the Jeep. “They worked their asses off to raise me and make sure I had a good education. The least I could do was give back, especially when I was making decent money and could afford to pay for it. I wanted to give my mom a place she could call home. Get her out of the small apartment we lived in my whole life. Even though the neighbors here are close, at least there aren’t attached walls.”
As we get our luggage from the back, a petite woman with dark hair and light eyes appears on the porch. I know it's his mother from a photo he showed me on the plane. “You made it!” she cries with glee. Her round face lights up as she envelops Anders in a hug, moving slowly in a way that displays the arthritis that’s taken over her body. “Oh, how I’ve missed you. How has New York been?”
“It’s not home, that’s for sure.” Anders’ response digs into my side. I love the East Coast. And while California is lovely, hearing Anders say New Yorkdoesn’t feel like home is just another reminder of the impending disaster that will be our break up.
“Well, you’ve barely been there a couple of months and already snagged a girlfriend.” She turns to me and opens her arms. Maya stares at me while I stiffly return the hug, not used to being touched in such a familial manner. “So good to meet you, Carmela. Anders has told me so much about you. I’m Greta.” She turns to Maya. “And you must be Maya. Tell me, do you like brownies? I just pulled some out of the oven.”
The way to my teenage daughter’s heart is through sweets, so Maya has no problem following Greta. I’m a little shocked at how easily Anders’ mom treats us as though we’re already family. I fondly think of how my parents were always warm like that, too.
Warm, chocolatey goodness wafts over us as we enter the house. It reminds me so much of the one I grew up in. A wave of nostalgia rolls through me as Anders gives me a quick tour—flowery wallpaper and rooms with shag carpet, old birch plywood cabinetry, and laminate countertops.
“It has a lot of potential for a renovation, but she refuses to live in a house‘that looks like it belongs in a magazine and not meant to be lived in,’” Anders whispers as we join them in the kitchen.
Maya looks like she’s already at home, which I find strange since she’s always a little more reservedaround new people. But she warmed up to Anders quickly, so maybe it’s just part of his family’s charm. Greta fires off question after question, bouncing from what Anders has been doing all this time to what Maya’s favorite subjects in school are as she dishes up the thick, fudgy dessert.
A little bell chimes, filling the kitchen with a melodic ding. “I’ll go get her,” Anders says with a grin.