When The Rain Falls

34. Domestic

34 DOMESTIC

FINN

One. Two. Three.

Why do people tell you to count when you’re angry?

All that does is make me count all the reasons why I’m angry.

Barry Bartholomew. Bar complaint. My attorney. Fuck it all.

I lean against the deck railing as I try to come to terms with the news I just received. The disciplinary board didn't dismiss the bar complaint like I had hoped they would. But they offered me a stipulation. If I concede I acted unprofessionally, my sanction will only be two months of leave and anger management. Yeah, well, fuck them. I don't need fucking anger fucking management.

Then I sigh. And think about the woman in my kitchen right now. She deserves someone better than me. And maybe I can be that. Maybe I can be better than myself. Than who I am now. I’d need to start by controlling my anger.

I take in the deck stairs. The railing that now needs repairs. Because I kicked the living shit out of it. Maybe I do need a little bit of anger management.

I pocket my phone so that it can't give me any more bad news and look through the kitchen window. Aimee and the girls are walking around busily. I can't hear what they're saying, but I hear their chatter. Their laughter. And despite my anger, that forces a half smile from me.

Since Aimee’s bust her way into my life like a tornado, things have been different. The house has a heartbeat again. It feels alive. It feels the way it felt when Laurel was here. When we were a family. A whole family. Pressure builds up in my eyes. I shake my head and blink it away.

Goddamn. I'm such an asshole. Just storming around like a tyrant. I step up to the slider door and give it a quick rap with a knuckle. Aimee appears, wooden spoon in hand, arms folded across her chest. I want to wrestle that spoon out of her greedy clutches and swat her bare ass with it. Maybe that’s something we try tonight.

"Unlock the door," I order.

She doesn't move. She takes me in with those mischievous, brown eyes. She has all the power. And she goddamn loves it.

"Please?" I rest my forehead helplessly against the glass door.

"Hmmmmm," Aimee says loudly, as if she's considering her options. Her lips press together thoughtfully. They’re pouty, and full, and I want to claim them right now. “Say the magic word,” she commands as she pops a sinful hip. She's a fucking menace in her thin cotton t-shirt and those skin-tight jeans. Suddenly, all I can think about is how she tastes when she’s on her back with one leg hiked up to her chest.

"God, you're a pain in the ass," I mutter. But what I’m thinking is whether or not I should grow a beard so I can mark her thighs with my face.

"That was a lot of words," she says. "But none of them were the magic words."

"Open sesame?" I offer.

"Too generic,” she scolds. "Try again, bear." I groan and bump my head against the door in frustration.

“Open this door,” I yell. Then I bring my voice to a whisper, “And let me fuck you with my mouth.”

“Ohh. It hurts.” Aimee winces as she clutches at an imaginary arrow to her chest. “It hurts so much to say no to that one. But,” she pauses, “no.”

"Sorry?" I try.

"Oh, now you're getting close." Her ears perk up. "So. So. Close. But you can do better." Goddamn. This is so ridiculous.

"Sorry that I was an asshole."

"And?"

"And fuck. I don't know what else that you want from me." I throw up my hands in frustration.

"To show the proper level of remorse." Remorse, my ass. I'll teach her remorse. As soon as I can get her alone again. She lifts the corner of her mouth and waits.

"I'm sorry I was an asshole and I feel deep, deep remorse for my actions," I say as dramatically as possible.

"And what did you say? You like my singing?"

"Goddammit." I jiggle the door handle. Aimee just looks at me with utter and complete patience. Like she has all fucking day.

"And I love your singing."

"Perfect," she says.

"Good God," I mutter under my breath.

"What was that?" Aimee asks.

"Nothing."

"I thought so," she says with a laugh. She flicks the lock back down. I throw it open forcefully and step inside before she can change her mind. I stride right past her, brushing her shoulder. I don't stop until I'm standing in the middle of the kitchen. I don't miss how Vivian and Ruby flinch slightly as I survey the room. It's just as disastrous now as it was when I waltzed in fifteen minutes ago.

I feel the eyes of the room on me. Ruby, Vivian, Aimee. They're watching me with nervous anticipation. Like they're waiting for one of those baking soda and vinegar volcanoes to erupt.

"What's all this?" I ask, waving my hand around the disaster on my counter. Ruby and Vivian exchange uneasy glances.

"We made cookies," Ruby says.

Vivian hoists a plate with a tower of cookies towards me. "Try one." I study the plate. Goddammit. They think they can just distract me with cookies . I grab the top cookie off the stack and bite into it. It's gooey, and warm, and melts into my mouth.

Goddammit, they can just distract me with cookies.

"That's good," I say.

"Why do you look so surprised?" Aimee asks. Based on how Aimee approaches everything else in her life, haphazard and carefree, I had low expectations for her baking skills.

Vivian sets down the plate and takes one for herself. "Hey, Aimee. How old are you?" Vivian asks. I should probably know the answer to this question.

Aimee's standing in front of the open oven. She bends down to inspect the contents of a baking tray. Which gives me an excellent view of her backside. I think about taking that backside between my hands as I take another bite of the cookie.

"Twenty-seven," she says. Her answer sends air whooshing into my throat, pulling a large chunk of cookie down with it. I choke and pound my chest, lodging the cookie chunk free and gulping down a full breath of air. Aimee turns to inspect me. Did she say twenty-seven? Twenty-fucking-seven? As in I'm fifteen years older than she is? Holy fucking God.

"You ok?" Aimee asks, pulling off an oven mitt. I nod my head and clear my throat. I've recovered. Well, physically anyway.

Vivian grabs another cookie.

"No more of those," I choke out. "It's almost dinner time." I’m trying to change the subject more than I’m trying to scold Vivian. Twenty-fucking-seven.

"But I'm starving," she whines.

"When was the last time you ate a vegetable?"

"I can't remember," Aimee chimes in. "I might have had a salad last week?"

"For one," I turn to Aimee, "I wasn't talking to you. And two, are you kidding me?" I huff at her. "How can you not remember the last time you ate a vegetable?"

"Oh," her face lights up, "I had some bell peppers last Friday."

"Not a vegetable," I scold.

"What?

"Bell peppers aren't vegetables. They're fruit."

"What?" She looks at me completely shocked. Like I just told her that I've been abducted by aliens. "No way. You're lying."

"Why would I lie about this?" I throw my hands in the air in front of us. "Bell peppers have seeds. So they're fruit."

"A cucumber has seeds and it's a vegetable," she says stubbornly. I raise my eyebrows at her and wait for the realization to sink in.

"No," she shrieks, legitimately horrified.

"Yep."

"I've been lied to my whole life!"

"Lied to? By who?"

"It's whom , bear."

"For fuck's sake. Don't change the subject. Not when I'm winning," I push back.

Aimee leans back against the counter, her hand falling over her mouth. "I’ve been believing lies my whole life! My whole life is built entirely on lies.”

As I snort at that, movement in the corner of my eye catches my attention. Vivian is using this moment to try to slip more cookies off the tray.

"Hey!" I shout to her. "I see that." She holds her contraband protectively behind her back.

"I live with goddamn animals," I mutter.

"Whatever. Animals are cute," Vivian backtalks.

"Cute? Have you ever seen a raccoon?"

"Yeah, actually," she quips back. "Every time you're digging around the kitchen for a midnight snack." Aimee laughs and reaches across the corner to give Vivian a fist bump.

"Whose side are you on?" I ask her. “And why are you holding a saute pan like a weapon?” I turn to Aimee who’s standing over the oven, one hand wrapped around the handle of a pan that’s pointed straight into the air.

“I’m making you dinner,” she explains. Put the woman who can't identify a single goddam vegetable in charge of dinner?

"Why?"

"You don't think I can cook?"

"Aimee. I can barely cook. And I know what a vegetable is." She laughs and tosses a tablespoon of butter into the pan as she sets the range to medium heat. She begins to hum happily to herself as she slides a plate of diced onions into the pan. A sizzle rises into the air on contact. Fuck. I must have some kind of domestic fetish because I’m half-way to hard at the scene playing out in front of me. Her sexy body in front of my fucking stove. Goddamn.

“Oh, shoot. I forgot to dice the bell peppers!” Aimee turns and begins to frantically search the cluttered counter for, what we’ve now established to be, fruit.

“You mind the onions. I’ll do that,” I say, directing her back towards the hot pan. She gives me a smile of gratitude and resumes her task pushing onion bits across the pan.

I reach down into a drawer and pull out the heart apron. Then I come up behind her, putting the apron over her head. I pull her hair away from her neck. When I see that Vivian and Ruby are studying their phones, I plant a quick kiss on her bare neck before I let her hair fall back down over the apron string. She leans her head back against my shoulder as I grip the ties and cinch it tight around her waist. My legs are brushing up against the back of her thighs and my groin is suddenly on fire. I slide my fingers up to her waist and give her a gentle squeeze.

“You look great in that,” I murmur in her ear.

“Not as great as you,” she teases with a wink. I reluctantly pull away from her to search for the bell peppers. I find them under a box of Oreos. Don’t ask me how the fuck they got there, but that’s where I find them. I pull out a chopping board and get to work. The sound of Aimee’s humming fills my head as we chat about nonsense.

“Look at you, bear,” Aimee says in a lull in the conversation. “All it took was one cookie for the beast to turn into a man,” she teases.

"I can still be a beast," I say, bumping her with my hip. “Or,” I add with a wink, “you can just give me another cookie.”

"Daaaaaad!" Ruby whines from across the room where she's setting the table. "Get a room. Pick one. There's plenty."

"These are all my rooms," I scold as I slice into a pepper. “You get a room.” Aimee rolls her eyes, but smiles at the same time.

“You know, you have some serious Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde issues," she says. “Lucky for you, both of them,” now Aimee brings her voice into a low whisper, “melt my panties.’

“Aimeeeeee!” Ruby scolds, covering her ears and walking angrily out of the kitchen.