But, dude, this man was her boss. Her boss whom she lived with. Her boss who was also the dad to two young kids whom she was also going to live with. Her boss who'd admitted to being a wreck over the loss of his beloved wife just a few years before.
So. Well, damn. Given all that, there could be no boss's big, rough hands involved. But, fine. Whatever. That didn't diminish her excitement about this new chance one bit.
"Thanks, Slider," she said, an idiotic grin finally breaking through, but she was too happy to resist.
He gave her a single nod, his suddenly intense gaze locked onto hers. "No, thank you, Cora. Welcome to the family."
Chapter 8
Slider opened a door he hadn't walked through in almost two years-the door to the master bedroom. The room he'd shared with Kim through twelve years of marriage. The room in which she'd spent the last days of her life.
Dust motes swirled in the sunlight pouring through the windows. Slider flicked on the ceiling light over the room, mostly empty except for a few dressers and nightstands. Their bed was long since gone, the frame of which he'd stored in the attic, having been replaced by a hospital-type bed during the final months of her illness. But the medical device store had taken that away, too, leaving the room with a forgotten, neglected feeling.
One he was here, at long last, to rectify. For Cora, but also for himself.
"Can we help?"
Slider turned to find Sam and Ben in the hallway, warily looking at him. They hadn't entered this room in the past two years either, not that Slider had ever forbidden it. "You guys sure you're okay with this?" he asked, sensitive to their feelings since this was where they'd spent time with their mom at the end.
"Yeah, Dad. Cora needs a place to stay, and it's just sitting empty," Sam said. The boys had been ecstatic when, over Sunday-morning pancakes, Slider and Cora had announced that she'd be moving in. So ecstatic that, when it was time to take her home, they'd argued that she shouldn't go. But she'd asked if she could officially start her new gig with them the following week so that Haven wouldn't be living alone at the clubhouse while Dare was away. And that worked just fine for Slider, since he needed time for this.
Ben nodded. "It's just a room, Dad." He'd been only four when Kim died, and Slider suspected his memories of the months before were murky at best. But that wariness was still present in Sam's eyes, which meant the kid was, at least on some level, putting on a brave front.
"Okay, then. I'd appreciate your help."
Three hours later, they'd dusted everything, washed the windows and mopped the hardwood floor, and retrieved the queen-sized bed frame from storage. They'd also cleaned out and scoured the adjoining bathroom, perfect for Cora to have a little privacy. Finally, they'd bagged up the clothes from the closet and drawers. Slider had been worried about doing the last in front of them, but the boys had been all business about it. All business about everything except the more personal things on top of Kim's dresser.
"We should save those Disney figurines," Sam said quietly. "Mom collected them."
"Okay," Slider said. "Let's box them up and figure out where to put them." Nodding, Sam grabbed a box and wrapped each figurine like it was priceless.
"I . . . I know it's girls' stuff, but could I . . . can I keep Mom's jewelry box?" Ben asked, tracing the flying blackbirds carved into the top.
Slider crouched down and looked his son in the eye. "You can have absolutely anything you want."
"Okay, Dad," he whispered, peering back at him with suddenly glassy eyes. Then his little face absolutely crumpled.
"Aw, B, come here," he said, hauling Ben into his chest. The kid burst into tears, tears like he hadn't cried since the long-ago conversation when he'd finally understood that Kim was never coming home again. If Slider thought he was a wreck now, it was nothing compared to how trashed he'd been back then-from the rawness of her death, from the pain of watching her deteriorate, from the bitter poison of having to keep her infidelity secret, from the acidic curiosity of never having learned the name of the man she'd cheated with. In the midst of all that, had he been there enough for his boys in their grief?
Damnit, he wasn't sure he wanted the answer to that question.
But maybe it wasn't too late to be there now.
"Just let it out, Benji. It's okay to be sad that Mom's gone. It's okay to miss her. And it's okay to talk about her and want her things nearby," he managed around the lump in his throat. He peered up at Sam, but his older son was too studiously ignoring them as he picked up Cinderella and wrapped her in paper.
Finally, Ben pulled away, and Slider had to help him dry his face because the cast prevented him from reaching both eyes. "Your whiskers are scratchy," he said.
Slider gave the kid a smile and tugged at his beard. "Not a fan, are you?"
He shook his head. "You look like one of those Duck Dynasty men."
Sam snorted. "Oh, my God, he's right."
Slider peered up at his older son. "Now you're just ganging up on me."
"Deal with it, old man," Sam said with a smirk. And just then, Sam reminded him of Cora. Trying to squirm out of his questions with humor. Except Sam's defense wasn't humor, it was sarcasm and feigned apathy.
Still, Slider barked out a laugh at the comment. And, damn, it felt good. Just joking around with them the way he used to. A million years ago . . . "Why don't we break for lunch. And then we can run to the store and buy a new mattress set for the bed in here."
Sam fingered a scratch on the pale yellow wall near the light switch. "Maybe we should paint, too."
"Yeah!" Ben said, struggling to carry the jewelry box under one arm. "Wonder what Cora's favorite color is? Maybe it's blue. 'Member she thought that was the coolest color for my case?"
Standing in the doorway, Slider peered back into the clean room, now empty of its ghosts. Or, at least, most of them. "I don't know," he said, "but that's a good idea."
Over a lunch of cold-cuts sandwiches, chips, and some of Haven's cookies that Cora had brought over for them, the boys were abuzz with ideas of things they should do for Cora's room. They didn't just want fresh paint, they wanted to raid Target for every pretty, girly thing they could find.
"Maybe we should get throw pillows for her bed, too. Don't girls like that stuff?" Sam asked.
"I think she needs a pink beanbag chair," Ben said.
"You're the one who wants a beanbag chair, doofus," Sam said. "Besides, what if she doesn't like pink?"
"What if she doesn't like throw pillows?" Ben shot back.
"Okay," Slider said, chuckling. "We'll pick up some new stuff at Target. But maybe we should let Cora do the actual decorating. It's her room, after all." That seemed to satisfy them. But there was still the question of what color this theoretical new stuff should be.
Debating, he pulled out his phone and texted Dare. Can you ask Haven what Cora's favorite color is?
He might as well have typed, Hey Dare, I know I barely talk to you anymore, but can you do me a solid and play go-between with your girlfriend to answer a completely ridiculous question for me?
Three little dots appeared, evidence that Dare was replying. And then they disappeared. Reappeared, then disappeared again. His cell rang.
"That complicated, huh?" Slider said by way of answering.
"Slider, it's Haven," she said, amusement plain in her voice. "And, yes, it's a little complicated, which is why I'm calling."
"Tell him I wasn't typing all that shit out," Dare called out in the background loud enough for Slider to hear.
"Sorry, ignore him," she said, chuckling. "Can I ask what it's for? Because if you're talking clothes, she really likes blacks and grays and dark blues, but if you're talking flowers, she adores pink and yellow. Roses, carnations, gerbera daisies, you can't go wrong with those colors. Just not the typical red."
Flowers? Why the hell did Haven think he'd want to know about flowers?
"Uh, what if I wanted to paint a room for her," he said, feeling way too damn exposed.
"Oh!" She laughed. "I'm so excited that she's going to be your nanny, Slider. She's so good at taking care of other people, and she adores your boys."
"Yeah," he said, clearing his throat. "So, what do you think?"
"Man, this is a lot of pressure. I'd say definitely not pink or purple, because that would be too like her old room at home. I think she'd like blue, though. I think she'd like it a lot."