Her Name Was Annie, Beth Rinyu [fox in socks read aloud TXT] 📗

relationship. Yes, she was angry at him for what he had done, but I always felt in some small way, she was angry at me too for not giving him a second chance.

“It’s all good,” he muttered, throwing back the rest of his drink. His eyes were glassy and heavy. Even all these years later, I could tell when he was drunk, and he was just about there.

“Jack, I think maybe you should stay in the guest room or on the couch tonight. You’re really in no condition to drive.”

“No, no, really, I’m fine.” He widened his eyes, trying to appear more alert.

I took his glass from his hand and carried it to the kitchen sink, letting Max outside along the way. I stood by the sliding glass door with my head pressed against the cool glass, watching the condensation form from my warm breath as I waited for Max to do his business. It had actually been an enjoyable night with Jack. We spoke to each other in a way we hadn’t in years, and if I was being honest, I missed that. I knew the alcohol had a lot to do with it, but it was nice to be able to speak to him without the fifty-pound chip on my shoulder that normally weighed me down whenever he was around. Even though we were no longer husband and wife, we had a common love in Kara, and that would never change.

Max came roaring up the patio, almost slamming into the glass door. Lucky for him, I was paying attention and opened it just in time. “Go lie down!” I demanded as I pointed to his bed, stunned when he walked over to it, then circled around before plopping down and making himself comfortable once again.

Maybe Kara was right and he really was a good boy. As I reentered the living room, I stood in the door and laughed at Jack passed out on the couch snoring. I was thankful because it meant I wouldn’t have to argue with him about driving in the condition he was in. I grabbed the blanket from the back of the love seat, covered him up, then turned off the fireplace and television. As I headed up the stairs to bed, I couldn’t help but laugh at the two most unlikely houseguests sleeping in my living room—my ex and a dog.

Chapter 7

AS I MADE my way down the stairs, I inhaled sharply. Was that cinnamon I was smelling along with the strong aroma of fresh brewed coffee? The sound of pots and pans clanging together forced me to pick up my step a little. Did someone break into my house overnight and commandeered my kitchen? “Kara!” I exclaimed, watching her with a spatula in her hand, tending to something on the stove.

“Well, well, well, sleeping beauty is finally awake.”

I was feeling like I was in an alternate universe or maybe a little like the movie Freaky Friday where the mother and daughter switched bodies. Normally it was me standing behind the stove cooking breakfast, waiting for Kara to wake up.

“What is this? Last time I checked, you didn’t even know how to work the stove.”

“Very funny, Mom.” She poured me a cup of coffee and motioned to the island for me to have a seat. After taking a few sips of some much needed caffeine, it finally occurred to me who was on my couch. I craned my neck, trying to get a glimpse into the living room without being too obvious. “He had to go. I was just about to serve him my delicious French toast, then he got a work call and bolted out of here.” Kara busted me.

I nodded, certain that it wasn’t a work call that led him out the door at such an early hour. It was more than likely one of the women in his life, putting out an APB on him, or he didn’t want me to get the wrong idea over the sentimental conversations we had last night. Whichever the case, I hated that he felt the need to lie to Kara about it.

“So, what went on here last night?” Kara asked, lifting up an empty wine bottle in one hand and an almost empty bottle of Jack Daniel’s in the other.

“Let’s see, your dog crapped on almost every surface of my kitchen floor. You know how well I handle cleaning up bodily fluids, so Dad had to take charge. After that we both needed a little drink.”

“A little drink?” Kara’s eyes shifted to the bottles of alcohol she had placed on the counter just moments ago.

“So you’re making French toast?” I asked, trying to shift the conversation back to the present and not last night. Not that anything had happened, but I was getting the feeling that Kara may have thought differently. “Do not feed him any!” I added, as my gaze focused on Max, who was sitting right by Kara’s feet, just waiting for a scrap of food to fall his way.

She removed the French toast from the pan and plated it up. “Here you go, madam,” she teased, placing it in front of me. I had to admit, it was picture-perfect and smelled divine.

“What is all this about?” I asked, as I watched her pour a glass of orange juice and then place it in front of my plate.

She shrugged. “Can’t a daughter do something nice for her mother?”

“Sure, but be warned, I can get used to this.” I cut into my French toast and took a forkful to my mouth. “Kara, this is delicious! When did you learn to cook like this?”

She took a seat next to me. “I don’t know. I guess I got sick of eating all that frozen crap and decided to give a try at cooking. See, I did pay attention to some things you tried to teach me.” She laughed and took a sip of her coffee. “It was really nice to spend time with you