“They do unless they don’t want them,” Zoey said. “Aunt Jillian said.”
Thanks a lot, Jillian.I forced myself to unclench my teeth and made a mental note to tell Jillian that my kids could do without her version of birth control information.
“Sometimes it just doesn’t happen,” Hope said.
“Did you want to be a mommy?” Zoey asked.
“I would love to have children,” she said.
“Maybe you could be our mommy,” Sophie said.
My mouth went dry. Hope’s eyes met mine.
“Don’t be a nimwit,” Zoey said. “Daddy wouldn’t marry someone who divorces husbands, ’cause then she might divorce him.”
“Zoey, don’t call your sister names,” I said, grabbing onto the part of the conversation I could form a coherent thought around.
The waiter appeared at our table just then, juggling plates of salad. Sophie launched into a tale about snails eating the lettuce in her grandmother’s garden, and the conversation, thank God, veered onto more manageable topics.
•••
But Hope seemed subdued the rest of the evening, and after we’d left the restaurant, gone home, and tucked the girls into bed, we walked downstairs in silence.
“I’m not sure this evening was the best idea,” she said on the landing.
“Because of what Zoey said? Don’t put any stock in that.”
“It’s not that. I’m worried we’re confusing them. They don’t understand casual dating.”
I didn’t understand it, either. “The person who’s confusing them is Jillian. She’s been overly informative on topics she has no business discussing.”
“We don’t know the context of that conversation.”
“True. But I can imagine.”
We’d reached the living room. We both stood at the back of the sofa.
“What did you mean by ‘casual dating’?” I asked.
“Short-term. Nonphysical.”
“Does it have to be both?” I stepped closer, close enough that I could feel the heat of her skin. “I don’t want to be nonphysical.”
Her breath caught. Our gazes locked, and her face tipped up. I leaned down and kissed her. Her arms wound around me as the kiss sweetened and deepened.
Oh, dear God—she tasted like honey and salt, delicious and intoxicating. Her breasts were warm and soft against my chest. I sifted her hair through my fingers and held her head, and she gave a little moan against my mouth.
“I need to go,” she whispered at length.
“Not just yet.” I kissed her neck, then reclaimed her mouth.
Many long, languid, torturously sweet moments later, she pulled away. “Matt, we’re playing with fire. The girls could come downstairs at any moment.”
She was right, but I felt drugged with lust.
“We need to get up early and begin the search again tomorrow.” She moved out of my reach, toward the door.
“What if we strike out again?” I asked. “I have to return the metal detector on Monday.”
