Not Looking For Love: Episode 5 Read Free Page A

that leads to Scott's apartment.
    "I wish you'd told me you weren't spending the night at home, Scott," Andrew says, his breath misting between us. "You really scared me."
    Scott is looking past him, rubbing his eyes with his right hand. His left arm is hanging across his stomach in the sling I fashioned out of an old scarf, and I hope it doesn't hurt anymore. "Well, I didn't know you'd come here at dawn."
    "I didn't think you'd fix the door on your own," Andrew says and his eyes flick to me, the only sign that I'm really standing there, that I didn't actually stay behind in my bedroom. "Did you tell her?"
    Scott nods, and I take a step closer to him, wrapping my arm around his like a pantomime answer to the question Andrew's really asking. I did stay and I am here now, not going anywhere.
    A short, stocky guy carrying a toolbox comes out and hands Andrew a set of keys. "All done."
    Andrew reaches into his pocket and hands him some cash.  
    "You could've called me last night, Scott," the man says, pocketing the money, his eyes stopping on my breasts just a little too long. "I would've come."
    "Alright, Tom, thanks. Maybe next time," Scott says, his eyes piercing the man's back as he climbs in his truck so hard I'm surprised he isn't keeling over.
    Andrew hands the keys to Scott, and adjusts his hat, sending snowflakes tumbling to the ground. "How about some coffee?"
    "I think I should go see Dad," Scott mutters.
    Andrew sighs and shakes his head slightly, but only I see it, because Scott is still looking off down the street.  
    "Is Mike there?" Scott asks.
    "No, but Marjorie is," Andrew mutters.
    "And later I thought I'd go see Derek. Can I do that today?"
    Scott's eyes finally fix on Andrew's and I know he wants to be told he doesn't have to do any of it. And judging by the expression on Andrew's face I almost believe that's what he'll hear.  
    "Alright," Andrew finally says. "But maybe she should wait here."
    I grip Scott's arm harder. "No, I'm coming."
    Scott shrugs, his shoulder bumping into my neck. "She's kind of used to getting what she wants."
    "Stop talking about me like I'm not here," I say, my voice echoing in the silent street, like maybe I'm really not.  
    Scott smiles down at me, but mostly with his eyes. "See what I mean?"
    "It's just that it won't be an easy visit," Andrew tells me, and I was so wrong. His eyes are nothing like Scott's, nowhere as mysterious and deep.
    "I'll be alright," I mutter, and then we're walking along, tiny snowflakes landing on the pavement in front of me, all perfect and unique, soft as dreams, and just as fragile.  

    Andrew holds the door open for us once we reach the house, and the stuffy heat inside hits me like I've just walked into a furnace. The TV is blaring with some children's shows, and kids' laughter echoes from the living room. I feel more than see Scott cringe, as I help his take off his jacket.  
    When I look back down the hallway, a tiny girl is standing in the doorway to the living room, with a long strand of blonde hair wrapped around her finger. She can't be much older than five or six.  
    "Uncle Scott!" she shrieks, and then the hallway is filled with her thumping footsteps as she runs toward him.
    I step out of the way as he crouches, pulling his cast from the sling moments before she crashes into his chest, her thin arms wrapped tightly around his neck.  
    He lifts her up. "How are you, Amanda?"
    "I knew you'd come, Uncle Scott," she shrieks and I'm swallowing hard, blinking, because all I'm seeing is me and Sarah playing in the sands, seconds before the storm took her from me forever.
    A boy pokes his head through the door, a baby bottle hanging from his mouth. It falls to the floor with a clank and he runs forward too, wrapping his arms around Scott's leg.  
    "I told Luke you'd come," the girl is saying. "And Mommy. I told her too."
    It all only takes a few seconds, but I feel like I've been standing in this hall for hours, maybe days.  
    "Come here,