“Hi,” he said the corners of his mouth turning upward. “I see the family’s made it.”
“Yes. They want to drink your beer. Are they allowed?” she whispered dramatically. She felt like some sort of prohibition agent, guarding his loot, her eyes darting around so as not to offend anyone who may be in earshot.
He let out a big “Ha!” that nearly sent her tumbling backward. “Why wouldn’t they be able to? I think I would know where to get more,” he chuckled. He backed up and walked with her to the refrigerator. His laughter was addictive—she wanted to hear more of it. She thought back to the way he looked sitting at his huge desk in the office upstairs, his brows puckered, his lips pressed together in a serious expression. His face now was a stark contrast to that. To see all that stress lifted off of his face gave him a kind of familiarity—he was more casual—and she liked that. “It’s starting to snow again,” he said.
All the cooking, the warm glow of the Christmas lights, and having him home—it all made the idea of more snow seem perfect. She wished selfishly that the storm would dump so much snow that he wouldn’t be able to go into work. She was having such a lovely night with this family of strangers; she wanted him to be a part of it.
“Oh,” he said. “I brought you something.”
He’d brought her something? She smiled to conceal her surprise.
He reached into his briefcase and pulled out one Salty Shockoe bottle. The label was fancier with dark green holly and little red berries behind the words. “Since you were the designer, I thought I’d bring you your own bottle. No white space on this one,” he smiled, and her heart started hammering. Adam’s gesture was so unexpected that it floored her. He’d thought enough of Carrie to take time out of his busy schedule and do something nice for her. He’d focused on her and what she might like. As she looked at him now, his face was so attentive, so kind. When he did give her his undivided attention, it was as if they could talk all night. He was so conscientious, his eyes focused on her, his face set in a half smile while he listened to her. She hadn’t put her finger on it until then, but when he was in the present, he was really there. That’s what made the other side of him so hard to bear. Looking at him now, she wanted to know everything about him at once—what he liked, what he didn’t like, how he smiled after a good night out, whether or not he listened to music, what he did for fun—all of it.
“How many beers do we need?” he asked, his blue eyes on her. She took in a breath to try and get her thoughts straight.
“Four.”
“I’ll just get one of the six-packs,” he said, turning away and opening the fridge. Then, he stopped and said, “You know what? Let me just take a case inside. With everyone here, we’ll end up drinking it at some point.” A ray of hope tickled her insides. Would he finally put his phone down, sit at the table and play cards with his family? Would he kick back and have a beer? Suddenly, she couldn’t wait to get back in there. She followed him to the kitchen, trying to keep her emotions in check. She could feel herself getting too involved with him and his family. This was a short-term arrangement, and she was moving on with her life once the kids went back to their mother in January. Best she not get too attached. The trouble was, she could already tell she would be.
“Well look who decided to come home,” Joyce said with a grin as Adam walked in with the case of beer. He set it down next to the refrigerator and gave her a hug.
“Hey, Mom,” he said. “I warned you that I still have to work.” He gave her a kiss on the cheek. Looking at the two of them, Carrie wondered again what he was like as a kid. Had he run to this woman in front of him now with scraped knees after falling on his bike outside? She imagined Joyce, a wisp of a woman, younger, her arms stretched out, a consoling look on her face. Had she bandaged him up, given him a hug? Did he make her Mother’s Day macaroni necklaces in school and paint her pictures? Was he funny, or serious like David?
“I made supper. You’d better get that snowy coat off of ya and sit down and eat. The cornbread’ll be coming out soon,” she said with warmth behind her eyes. Carrie wondered if Joyce was thinking the same thing as she was: Please stay, Adam. Don’t go to your office and do work. Stay. Carrie was willing him, with everything she had inside, not to go.
“I’ll get us the beers,” Eric said, clapping him on the back and squatting down to pick up the case of beer. When the two men made eye contact, there was something unsaid between them—she could feel it. Eric was friendly enough, but his eyes said something else too, something that they hadn’t said when Carrie had met him, something she couldn’t quite decipher. Eric carried the case over to the island and gently set it down.