Georgie wanted to pull him over the breakfast bar and nose at his cheeks. When Neal smiled, he had dimples like parentheses-stubbly parentheses. He crushed a handful of cashews in his fist and sprinkled them on top, then set the plate in front of her. She always ended up stealing Neal’s sweaters. Don’t forget that’s it’s cold there-you always forget that it’s cold.” “I wasn’t sure what you wanted to pack,” he said. If Georgie touched the back of his head now, it’d feel like velvet one way and needles the other.
He was wearing pajama pants and a white T-shirt, and he looked like he’d just gotten a haircut-probably for their trip.
Neal walked to the stove and turned on a burner. She sat at the breakfast bar, clearing a space for her elbows among the bills and library books and second-grade worksheets. Usually when Georgie got home this late … Well, usually when Georgie got home this late, he wasn’t. It was this whole negotiation over eating her kale and not using the word ‘literally’ anymore because it’s literally driving me crazy.” He looked back at Georgie on his way to the kitchen. Neal reached out and took the underwear, then picked up the bowl. “It’s okay, I wasn’t paying attention.” Georgie stood up, wadding the wet underwear in her fist. “Alice wanted to put milk out for Noomi.” When Neal stepped into the archway between the living room and the dining room, Georgie was crouched on the floor, sopping up milk with a pair of her own underwear. There was a stack of laundry folded on the coffee table-she grabbed whatever was on the top to wipe it up. Georgie went to turn it off and stumbled over a bowl of milk sitting on the floor. Alice had fallen asleep on the couch watching Pink Panther cartoons. The lights were off in the living room, but the TV was still on. She hauled the bike up onto the porch and opened the (unlocked) door. Neal didn’t even lock the front door most nights until after Georgie came home, though she’d told him that was like putting a sign in the yard that said PLEASE ROB US AT GUNPOINT. Georgie pulled into the driveway, swerving to miss a bike.Īpparently bicycles never got stolen back in Nebraska-and people never tried to break in to your house.
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