I don’t know at this point what I hope for more—that she is behind the break-in at Poppy’s or that she had nothing to do with it at all.
11
POPPY
I wakeup the next morning and stretch my arms over my head. Sunlight floods the room, but it’s muted, thanks to a privacy tinting that covers the window glass. I roll over in the twin bed, expecting to see Jax across the room from me, but the bed is empty. The blankets are tossed back, and the pillow is all scrunched up into a C-shape—a sure sign that Jax slept here not long ago. But waking up in a strange place and not seeing my son sends my heart into an immediate panic.
I leap out of bed, not caring that I’m braless and wearing Phantom’s boxer shorts. I tear down the stairs, only stopping when I hear the sound of Jax’s laughter, with Daisy and Holly talking over him.
“They’re called mock-mosas,” Daisy is saying in a very grown-up voice. “No alcohol, just orange juice and sparkling grape juice. Kid-friendly. Dad approved.”
“That’s a lotta sugar, Dais.” When I hear Phantom’s booming voice, I freeze on the stairs. It’s hard to explainthe feeling that floods my body at the idea of my son hanging out with Phantom and his daughters.
Once I know that Jax is here and he sounds more than okay, I turn around, pad back upstairs, and take care of business in the bathroom. I open the toothbrush the girls left out for me, brush my teeth, and run my fingers through my hair.
After I clean up a little, I head back to the guest room and see a long-sleeved button-down and a pair of sweats outside the door. I throw the loose sweats on over the boxers I’m wearing and tie the button-down around the T-shirt. The outfit will do, considering I still don’t have a bra.
As I head back downstairs in Phantom’s clothes and my bare feet, an even more uncomfortable feeling overcomes me.
I stand outside the kitchen for a few minutes, listening to laughter and chatter. My son’s voice mixes in with Holly’s and Daisy’s. I don’t know what they are doing, but it sounds like fun. The kind of fun I don’t think Jax and I have had in a long time.
The ache of longing in my chest is so intense, I lose my breath for a second. I hardly know Phantom, but this feels real, and I want to be a part of it. Not on the outside looking in.
“Mom—” Jax gives me a grin and holds up a glass “—want a mock-mosa?”
“Sounds delicious,” I say. The rush of emotions or maybe the drinks I had last night have made the beginning of a headache form behind my eyes. “Water would be good too,” I add.
Phantom turns from the counter and meets my eyes. He’s holding a cup of coffee and a bottle of Advil. A sexy grin curls one corner of his mouth, and in a flash, I’m back to last night. My kiss on the corner of those perfect lips. The bristles of his dark beard. God, this man…
He crosses the kitchen, his feet bare, well-broken-in jeans low on his hips, and a soft gray T-shirt clinging to his sculpted chest. “Mornin’,” he whispers, offering me the coffee and the painkillers. “A little something for the morning after.”
I groan and accept them both gratefully. “How long have you all been up?”
Phantom shakes his head. “Doesn’t matter. It’s Sunday. A day off. We sleep when we want, we eat what we want…”
“And we drink mock-mosas.” Daisy hands me a glass filled to the brim. “Sparkling grape juice and orange juice,” she says. “So delicious.”
I smile at her enthusiasm, even if my stomach rolls over at the thought of anything even remotely resembling alcohol at this hour. The drinks from last night are hitting me like a ton of bricks. My throat feels dry and my head is pounding.
“Sit.” I feel Phantom’s hand on my back. He pulls out a kitchen chair for me, his eyes raking over the button-down I’ve tied in a knot at my waist. I can see his Adam’s apple bob, and his eyes grow dark as he rakes them over my face.
I want to kiss him good morning, want to get close to that soft shirt that covers his hard, thick body, andwrap myself in his scent, his heat. Typical morning after a first date feelings for an anything but typical morning after a first date situation.
Our kids are setting the table, and if my nose isn’t deceiving me, Daisy has made pancakes, bacon, and eggs.
“I can’t remember the last time anyone cooked for me,” I say, washing down two Advil with a large swallow of coffee. “Everything smells amazing. Can I help?”
Holly sets a plate loaded with pancakes in the middle of the table. “We got this,” she says. Then she gives me a toothy grin. “If we cook, we get to make whatever we want.” She points to the brown splotches in the pancakes. “Chocolate chips.”
One look at Jax proves he’s as excited about the meal as the girls, and a mixture of joy and sadness sweeps over me.
I work every Saturday and clean on Sunday, so I never see my son play with kids his age or have sleepovers. He’s always over at Tera’s with his best friend Ryan or at the shop with me while I clean. How many moments like this has my son shared with other families?
This feeling. It’s nothing I’ve had since Clara and I were little. The realization hits me hard. I do okay by my son, but how much better or happier could his life be?
The food is all laid out, so the girls take their seats at the table. Phantom carries a chair from the dining room and sits at the head of the table, directly across from me.
We’re both quiet as we eat, letting the kids’ chatter fill the room.
