“Stop.”
“Stop what?”
“Trying to insist you don’t need a celebration.”
“I don’t.”
Warner rolls his eyes toward the ceiling. “I swear, woman, you are so damn hardheaded.”
Laughter bursts from me, almost spilling my coffee as I shake. “That’s the most cowboy thing I’ve ever heard you say.”
Warner’s eyes narrow. “Cowboy thing?”
“Yeah, you know. Western, or whatever.” My palm slices through the air as I gesture, but really, I’m only digging myself deeper into a hole.
A smirk plays at the corner of his mouth. “No, I don’t know. Why don’t you enlighten me?”
I make a sound of playful disgust. “Quit playing dumb, Warner. Cowboy stuff like ‘yeehaw.’” For emphasis, I twirl my hand in the air like I’m wielding a lasso.
Warner’s smirk turns into a full smile. “To be fair, I haven’t heard you say anything too ‘actressy’.”
I snort a laugh. “And what would be considered ‘actressy’?”
Warner shrugs. “I’m not sure.”
We look at each other for a long moment, the humor of our conversation disappearing like the sun ducking behind the clouds. The air between us thickens. How is it that two people who are still recovering from the pains of the past could possibly be tasked with the handling of a new opportunity? It seems too much. An embarrassment of riches.
But wouldn’t it be crazy to let it pass us by? This kind of chemistry is rare. I know this, as surely as I know anything.
I reach for Warner’s hand, my fingers sliding into his. “Warner, I—”
Charlie bursts in, panting. “You should have seen how fast Libby chased a stick I found.”
I release Warner’s hand and take a step back. His eyes search mine, but only for a second. Charlie is still talking, as oblivious to the climate of the room as any ten-year-old boy would be.
“…you should get Libby a ball, Tenley.” Charlie marches into the kitchen, directly between Warner and I, and sets his empty mug in the sink. He turns to face us, an imperfect line of hot chocolate half dried above his upper lip. “Ready, Dad? I don’t want to be late for school.”
“Yeah, bud.” Warner’s voice is thicker than usual. “Let’s go see if Peyton is ready yet.”
Charlie fist-bumps me on his way out. Warner leans in, his lips near my ear, and says in a low voice, “I’ll pick you up this evening.”
I nod, a shiver of excitement making its way down my spine.
18
Warner
When I was young,I thought this was all going to be easy. My life was a road, paved in smooth sandstone, and I was just stepping onto it. If I turn around now and look back, I see what I couldn’t then. Rocks jutting up from below, forced through the sandstone by seismic interruptions.
I’d consider Tenley a seismic interruption of gargantuan proportion. Nothing else explains these jittery nerves in my stomach. Or the bouquet of pink roses lying on the passenger seat.
I’m wearing a collared shirt. Cologne. I’m a thirty-five-year-old single father of two and I’m taking a woman on a date.
Sort of.
We haven’t called it a date, but the preparation feels like one. We call ourselves friends, but it’s a farce. We both know it. Friends can feel attracted to one another, but I’m not sure they can feelthisattracted.
Tenley is waiting out front for me. She’s leaning against the pillar beside the top step. She wears a reddish-orange dress the color of a summer sunset, and a jean jacket. Her hair is loose, curled, swinging around her shoulders. My heart sinks down low, taking a seat next to my navel.
