Never Have I Ever Read online

  I arch a brow. “I didn’t realize you saw fit to eavesdrop on all my conversations.”

  “I was walking down the hall. She was leaving. The door was open. Ergo . . .”

  I nod. “Ergo, the next time you’re consulting with a client about how you’re going to rip his or her spouse to shreds, I’ll remind you that the door was open.”

  “I don’t have those conversations with the door open.”

  “Or do you?” I fire back. “Maybe I’ve overheard some.”

  He stands in the doorway, leaning against it, looking too good-looking once again. That’s his true special talent, besides being completely odious. He’s odious as he looks too cool for school. Today it’s courtesy of tailored slacks, a crisp blue shirt, and his tie, slightly undone. What is it about slightly undone ties that are too sexy to be fair?

  His tie sports a design of penguins, and that doesn’t help matters. Cartoonish, adorable penguins.

  Not fair indeed.

  Especially when he smooths a hand over said tie, drawing my attention to his flat stomach. Is there a rule somewhere that says men this handsome must also be dreadful? “Well, you’ve clearly overheard some of my finest work. I’ll assume you were impressed. Negotiation is my strong suit. Wait, everything is my strong suit.”

  I roll my eyes. “One, I was not impressed. Two, I can negotiate my ass off too, thank you very much. Three, humility is certainly not your strong suit.”

  “And may I remind you, never have I ever said it was.” A teasing glint flashes in his eyes.

  “Hey! You were eavesdropping.”

  He shrugs, but he’s grinning. “I only eavesdrop on good things, like butt stuff.”

  I glare at him, narrowing my eyes. “Did you come here for a reason?”

  He sighs then drops his lawyer demeanor and turns on some sort of sweet voice I rarely hear him use. “I stopped by because Lucy’s on her way. You sure you’re cool with this? With the mini golf stuff?”

  I smile. “Of course!” I adopt a nefarious tone. “I’ve been looking for a mini golf acolyte.”

  “You’ve definitely got one. She’s set on this.” He’s quiet for a moment as he jams his hands in his pants pockets, looks away, then back at me. “Listen, thanks. I appreciate this.”

  And I soften. It’s hard to hate a widower who’s good with his kids. It’s hard to hate a widower who’s walked through hell and back. Even though I contend he’s still odious, I suppose he’s a little less than he could be. “Lucy is always welcome.”

  He grins crookedly. “Unlike me, right?”

  I smile. “Exactly. Exactly unlike you.” I wave him off. “Move along, shark. Move along.”

  But he doesn’t leave right away. He stares at me as if he’s studying me. Raising one eyebrow, he peers more intently, like something is out of place.

  “What?” I swipe a hand over my cheek, my mouth. “Do I have something on my face? Is there a sesame seed stuck in my teeth?”

  I didn’t eat anything recently, so I’ve no clue what’s off.

  He points at my face, then makes a rolling motion with his index finger. “Your hair.”

  Raising a hand, I pat my strands. “Is there a bug? A piece of lint?”

  He shakes his head. “You cut it.”

  “Yes. The other day. But it was . . .” Wait. What the hell just happened? He noticed my hair?

  “Just a trim?” he asks, finishing for me.

  A flush sweeps over my cheeks, heating me up with the strange realization that he pays enough attention to notice.

  But then, just as quickly, I tell my cheeks to chill out. He didn’t even compliment my hair. He simply observed that it’s one centimeter shorter. That’s part of his job. To pay attention to details. It means nothing more.

  “Just a trim,” I repeat, returning to my crisp, you-drive-me-crazy tone as I gesture to the door. “The door is that way.”

  He makes a show of checking out the doorway. “Yes, this is indeed the door. Thanks for the tip.”

  A few seconds later, as his footsteps sound on the hallway, he calls out, “The haircut looks nice.”

  That flush? That heat?

  It comes back for an encore.

  Even though I want to punch him for saying something not horrid.

  Not horrid at all.

  * * *

  Lucy hops up onto the pink couch, sitting cross-legged. She glances around, like she does every time she’s here. “Your office is so pretty. You have so many pretty things. I’m going to make a list of all the pretty things from your office that I want to have in my office someday.”

  “Why limit it to your office? Why not just make a list of all the pretty things you want to have in your room right now?” I say as I grab my favorite purple golf balls and drop them in my purse.

  Her eyes brighten. “You’re right. I’ll tell my dad.”

  “He’ll be delighted, I’m sure.”

  She whips out a notebook from her backpack and begins writing. She shows me the list: pink couch, white curtains, a whiteboard.

  “Whiteboards,” I say, sighing happily as I snag my golf clubs. “They’re the best. Make sure to get many colors of dry-erase markers.”

  “Ooh, I will,” she says, then writes that down. “Also, I’m super excited, because I’ve never had a pink couch.”

  “Never have I ever had a pink couch,” I offer.

  “You need candy now!”

  “I do?”

  “I play that game with my friends, and we eat candy when we’ve done it.”

  I shake a finger at her. “You’d better be playing a kid-friendly version.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Obviously. Also, I have gummy bears. We can use them.” She dips her hand into her backpack and grabs a plastic bag of gummy bears as I usher her toward the door. “Don’t tell my dad, because he doesn’t like it when I eat candy. But I picked some up after school today.”

  “Why doesn’t he like you having candy?”

  “Because he says it’s going to send me to the dentist, but I brush my teeth all the time, so I’m fine.”

  “I have to tell you something,” I whisper as I lock my office door. “I love candy.”

  “Me too. Okay, let’s play. You go first.”

  As we walk to the waiting Lyft, I try to think of something to stump her. “Never have I ever licked a frozen pole.”

  Lucy laughs. “Why would anybody lick a frozen pole?”

  “To see if your tongue sticks to it.”

  “I think your tongue would stick to it. I’m definitely not licking a frozen pole.”

  I grab a piece of candy and pop it in my mouth.

  She points at me. “That’s not fair. You knew you licked a frozen pole, and you just wanted a piece of candy.”

  I wiggle my eyebrows as the car arrives. “Exactly.”

  We hop into the car and Lucy goes next. “Never have I ever retaken a selfie ten times to make sure I look better in it.”

  “Please, girl. One hundred retakes is more like it.”

  We both reach for gummies and pop them in our mouths.

  I hold up a finger, taking my turn as the driver heads toward the closest mini golf course. “Never have I ever had dessert for dinner.”

  Again we both reach into the bag.

  Lucy clears her throat, and a twinkle gleams in her blue eyes. They’re an ice blue, like her father’s, and they’re quite stunning. I mean, on her. Her eyes are stunning on her.

  “I’ve never tried to convince my brother that he was born on the moon.”

  I huff. “That’s so not fair. I don’t have a brother.”

  She shimmies her shoulders, reaches for a gummy, and chews it proudly.

  “Fine. I have an excellent one.” I go for the pièce de résistance. “Never have I ever pretended I won an Oscar.”

  We both reach for the candy bag at the same time. I laugh and then say, “What’s your Oscar speech? Do it right now.”

  She straightens, clasps her h
ands to her chest, and begins. “Oh my God, I’m totally shocked, I didn’t expect this at all, and I didn’t even prepare a speech because I was so sure I was not going to win. This is such a surprise. But I’d like to thank the Academy. I’d like to thank my agent and my manager and the producers, and I want to thank Marvel for casting me as the most awesome superhero of all time, and I want to thank the producers of Girl Power for making such a great movie about how awesome girls are. I’d like to thank all of my best friends. I’d like to thank my daddy. And most of all, I’d like to thank my mommy.” She stops, and her voice catches, then turns somber. “She’s my inspiration.”

  And on that wobbly note, my heart hammers and a wave of sadness crashes over me. “You still miss her a lot.” It’s not a question. It’s an acknowledgment of the truth.

  “I do. Will I always?”

  I squeeze her arm as the car slows at our destination. “She was one badass lady. And you will probably always miss her in some way.”

  “I think so too,” she says, and we head to the course.

  While there, I turn my focus solely to the sport, telling her how I played for fun with my friend Kristen when we were growing up in Florida, then I turned more serious in high school. I show her the tricks of the trade, how to plant her feet, how to hold the club, and the most important tip of all: how to hit rather than whack the ball to the next county. Admittedly, smacking the hell out of a ball can be a blast and a great way to blow off steam, but it doesn’t help your game.

  And on a mini-golf course, whacking usually translates into striking something you shouldn't be striking. The next obstacle or, say, a person.

  Lucy’s no prodigy, but she’s a quick study, and she improves as we move through the course. I’d like to think her mom would be proud, and I tell her as much.

  “Thanks, Piper. Also, will you keep it a secret from my dad that I ate so many gummies?”

  I hold up a hand to high-five. “Obviously, that’s vault.”

  When we return, my phone buzzes as we head up the steps to the brownstone. It’s Charlie.

  I pick up and say hello. “What’s cooking, good-looking?”

  “Group dinner tomorrow night. Are you in? I have some big news to share.”

  “Better not be that you’re entering the wedding planning business, because you’re the last person I’d want to compete with,” I say, unlocking the front door.

  “You think I’d make a good wedding planner? I’m not sure if I should be honored or offended.”

  “Silly man, it’s a compliment. Obviously. I don’t want to go head-to-head with you in the battle for business. You have the Midas touch. You’d somehow find a way to be the best in two days.”

  “That’s kind of you. But it would take three days.”

  I laugh. “What’s the news?”

  “I’ll unveil all my wedding business plans tomorrow night.” He gives me the time and location.

  “I’ll be there.”

  I walk with Lucy down the hall to her dad’s office, and when we go inside, he’s on the phone, Henry in his lap, coloring on his desk. “You’re sure it’s just a group dinner?”

  Zach waits.

  “I know, but I have to ask.”

  He pauses.

  “All right. No drool bibs. I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

  He looks up at me and our eyes meet. I raise a hand like I’m going to ask a question in class. “Why would there even be drool bibs?”

  A lopsided grin is his answer. A grin that’s far too crookedly sexy for my good. “Long story.”

  Parking my hands on my hips, I stare, letting him know I’m waiting.

  “You don’t need a bib anymore, Daddy. I don't need one. Bibs are for babies,” Henry says, without even looking up from his drawing.

  Zach shrugs amiably. “And that’s the long and short of it.”

  I’m getting nowhere on the drool bibs, so I return to the matter at hand. “I take it you’re going to Charlie’s group dinner?” I wouldn’t be surprised—we run in the same circles. But I want to make sure.

  Zach nods. “Charlie said he has news to share.”

  “I have an idea. You guys should go together,” Lucy suggests, pointing from her dad to me and back, in case there is any confusion who she means.

  “You definitely should,” Henry seconds.

  A cough bursts from my throat. “I have an appointment beforehand.”

  Even though I don’t.

  But I don’t want Zach to be the one to say how ridiculous Lucy’s idea is.

  I don’t want to hear him reject me when I haven’t even asked him out.

  Not that I would.

  But I especially don’t want to be laughed off while he’s sitting there being all effortlessly handsome as his son draws on his desk.

  I swivel around. “See you there.”

  Zach nods. “See you there.” Then he calls out, “And thank you.”

  “Thank you, Piper,” Lucy adds.

  I leave, wondering what to wear.

  7

  Zach

  My mother gasps. “You. Look. So. Handsome.”

  My sister nods so vigorously she’s making nodding a sport. “Sharp. You’re totally sharp.”

  Lucy bounces on her toes. “You’re adorable.”

  Seriously, why is everyone here in the kitchen? Are they gathering a coven of Nolan ladies?

  I only asked my mom to come over to watch the kids tonight. And naturally she dragged my big sister, Emmy, along. My daughter was two floors down at her friend Melanie’s house, but she mysteriously popped back up a few minutes ago after I finished getting dressed for Charlie’s big dinner.

  And now Lucy stares at me with wide eyes as she perches on the edge of a kitchen stool alongside the two other women.

  Who all gawk at me.

  Like I’m a zoo animal.

  Watch Zach getting ready for dinner!

  Be amazed at how he can dress himself!

  Prepare to be dazzled at the way he hails a cab!

  Why, yes, the modern male can indeed accomplish basic tasks on his own.

  Only Henry is uninterested in my attire: dark jeans, blue-and-white-striped button-down, and wingtips. My son plucks blueberries from a bowl, arranges them in a circle, then pops them in his mouth as he flips through pages in an early reader book on baseball. Like father, like son—he knows our nation’s pastime is the best sport ever. Full stop.

  “Thanks,” I say to the ladies as I head to the cupboard, grab a glass, and pour some water from the tap. I turn around, take a drink, and am greeted by three still-smiling faces.

  Yup. Coven.

  I down the water, set the glass on the counter, and cross my arms. I can go toe to toe in any staring contest. Like a cat. So I do. They stare back at me, wide grins still intact.

  Satisfied grins.

  What the hell?

  Fine. I crack. “Okay, what’s with the giggly faces?”

  “I’m just excited that you’re going out,” my sister declares, yanking her brown hair from its hair tie, then refastening it in a bun on top of her head.

  “You do know I’ve gone out before,” I point out.

  “I know. But it’s still exciting,” my mother chimes in as she pushes the coffee pot against the counter backsplash, then adjusts the toaster’s position just so. My mother can’t resist straightening things. Any thing. Every thing.

  I arch a brow. “Really? Why is it exciting?”

  “Because you’re doing stuff with your group of friends again,” Emmy adds.

  “I’ve done stuff with them before.” Haven’t I?

  I scratch my jaw, trying to remember. Admittedly, I haven’t been the most social cat in the last couple of years, but who can blame me? Still, I must have gone to a bowling night or a beer-tasting event or a brunch?

  Wait. I hate Sunday brunch. Who has time to wait for a table in Manhattan or Brooklyn just to order avocado toast and poached eggs to take pictures for Instagram?

>   Emmy shakes her head. “I don’t think you have though.”

  “Do you track my social life?”

  “Well, seeing as you usually ask Mom, Miranda, or me to take care of the kids if you have plans, and you’ve only asked us to watch them when you have work, it’s not that hard to track,” Emmy says, like it’s normal to remember these details rather than, say, incredibly nosy and overly interested.

  “She’s right, dear. You haven’t done much besides work and take care of the kids,” my mother says.

  “That’s sort of how it goes when you’re a single parent,” I deadpan.

  “It’s just nice to see you socializing,” Emmy says.

  Wait! I’ve got it. I did do something. “I went to David’s fundraiser last year. I donated one thousand dollars too. There. I have socialized.”

  My sister scoffs. “You lasted all of forty-five minutes. You came home early, when we’d just started watching Mythbusters.”

  Henry’s gaze snaps up. “You can lift a car with duct tape, but you can’t stop it with duct tape.”

  I hold up a hand to high-five. “You know it.”

  Then I gesture to my sister. “See? We finished the episode and learned something valuable. Plus, those forty-five minutes felt like hours.”

  My mother shoots me a motherly look. “Dear.”

  That’s all. Just “dear.” It says so many things, mostly that she vastly disagrees with everything I’m doing in my life.

  Emmy shoots me a look. The I’m older and know better one. “You’re proving our point. You don’t socialize much. And when you do, you only do stuff with the guys. Basketball and that sort of thing.”

  “You really only have playdates with Charlie and David,” Lucy adds. The little rat. “But not girls.”

  I hold up a hand, jumping in immediately to make the most vital correction. “One, they are definitely not playdates. Two, so what? Charlie and David are cool.”

  “Yes, they’re lovely gentlemen. We’re simply happy you’re going out with boys and girls tonight,” my mother adds.

  I grin, fully onto them. All of them. Maybe especially my daughter. But I can’t toy with her. “Lucy, sweetie pie, can you and Henry find a tie for me? You’re so good at picking out ties.”