But there is no one out there. At least, no one I can see.
“What is it?” I whisper as my gaze darts around the dark and hopefully empty garden.
Ned stiffens and then goes utterly still.
Oh crap. I’m looming over him. My hands are on either side of his on the windowsill. My head is above his. Mygroin is scant inches from his ass. His hair is nearly tickling my nose. I can smell him and he smells amazing.
I need to move. I need to back away. If putting my hand on his knee freaked him out, then this is a disaster. But I’m frozen. Immobile. Rooted to the spot.
I can sense a frisson of fear from Ned. But that’s not all. There is tension. Sexual tension. Heavy in the air between us. I can feel it, I swear I can. It is real and I’m not imagining it.
He is not breathing and I don’t think I am either. We are close, so very close. A fraction of an inch closer and our bodies would be touching. Pressed together. I would have thought I’d be able to feel his body heat from here. But I can’t. Perhaps he is cold, or we are not as close as I thought.
“Is dinner ready yet?”
I leap away from Ned as if he has suddenly burst into flames. Though if he had, I’d like to think I’d be more noble and try to put them out, instead of running away.
I whirl and look down at Noah. There is no horror, alarm, or confusion in his eyes. Whatever he saw, his innocent mind thought nothing of it. He is simply hungry.
“Ten minutes,” says Ned calmly.
Noah nods and runs back to the playroom.
I suck in a deep breath, and like the coward that I am, I don’t look at Ned as I go and retrieve my water. I don’t think I can acknowledge what just happened. Hell, I’m not even sure I understand what happened. Or if anything just did. For all I know, we could have just looked out of the window together and everything else was purely my imagination.
“Are you eating with the kids?” Ned says softly.
I blink. He is by the hob, stirring the spaghetti. I didn’t hear him move from the window.
“And you?” I ask, and it feels like a bigger question than a proposal. I swear I was less nervous when I dropped to one knee for Jennifer.
Ned bites his bottom lip. Then he nods. My heart does cartwheels. Ned is staying for dinner. Usually, he dishes up for the kids and then busies himself with cleaning and tidying while the kids are eating.
And I usually eat later. Sitting down all together is going to be wonderful. All my favorite people in the world around one table.
The one and only good thing to come from Jennifer’s death, is my ability to savor, relish and truly appreciate such small moments of joy. I took them for granted before. I didn’t understand what treasures they were, and I’ll never make that mistake again. For as long as I live.
I set two more places at the table, and Ned dishes up. It is beautiful domesticity. And precisely why I can never trust my feelings for Ned. I might not love him for who he is, but merely because of how well he fits into my life. Which is wonderful for me, but awful for Ned.
Despite being fully aware of this, I bask in soppy feelings as he rounds the kids up and herds them to the downstairs bathroom to wash their hands. The very same bathroom that has suffered no leaks at all since Ned yelled at the plumber. Listening to him now, it is hard to believe it is the same man. I’ve never once heard him raise his voice to the children.
I watch with a smile on my face as everyone troops back to the kitchen and takes a seat at the table. I sit downtoo and when Ned joins us, I’m practically glowing with contentment.
A whisper of guilt coils through me. The same old belief that I should not be happy while Jennifer is dead. But for once, I am able to ignore it.
Oscar unleashes his current obsession with knock-knock jokes and soon everyone is giggling. Myself included. But while Ned is smiling, he looks on edge and I catch him glancing at the window, more than a few times. He doesn’t eat much either. He picks at his food and moves it around his plate.
I hope he is okay. I’m going to assume that it’s not my near groping of him that has put him in such a strange mood, because he was uneasy and looking out of the window before that ever happened.
Dinner finishes, and the kids rush off to play some more before bath time. I linger and help Ned with the dishwasher. We work in silence for a few minutes. But then I have to ask. Concern is flowing through me and I need to know.
“Is everything alright?”
Ned’s beautiful eyes glance at me briefly before turning sharply away.
“Yeah.”
I stand motionless, staring at him while he turns the dishwasher on. He is ignoring me, but I know he can feel my gaze on him.
