She hoped her pet would hear that she was relaxed. Not threatened. She shook the box of biscuits. Hazel sat down immediately, tail thumping.
Thank goodness. Bailey ditched the blanket that she’d had draped around her, tossing it on a padded wicker chair near the door.
“Sorry about that. I didn’t know who it was.” She edged out the door again, waving Dawson closer as she gave Hazel a treat. “What are you doing out there?”
Now that the fear had faded, her heart beat faster for other reasons all together.
He wore a gray hoodie and cargo shorts and he pushed a bright green bicycle through the damp grass as he came toward her.
“I didn’t get your number, and I wanted to talk to you.” He rested the bike against the back of the outdoor fireplace. “Is it okay if I leave this here?”
“Sure.” She stuffed her hands in the pockets of her pink sweats, wishing she didn’t look like she’d just rolled out of bed. Her long-sleeved T actually was a thermal pajama top, now that she thought about it. “My dad will be home any second, though. Is it okay if I introduce you when he gets here?”
“Of course.” He held his hand out for Hazel to inspect. “Why wouldn’t it be okay?”
“I don’t know. You rode through the woods. I thought maybe you were trying not to be noticed or something.”
“No.” After Hazel showed her approval, Dawson scratched her neck. “The woods are the shortest path between our houses.”
“Right.” Puzzled about his trip, she waited for him to offer some explanation for what he wanted to talk to her about. “You were so quiet when you dropped me off before, I’m surprised you still want to talk to me.”
“Sorry for that. I wasn’t sure what to say to you then.” Straightening from petting the dog, he gave her his full attention.
Her mouth went dry. “Am I that hard to speak to?”
Her voice sounded high and strange. But then, she was nervous.
“I wasn’t sure you’d want to talk about what was bothering you, and I wasn’t sure how to bring it up.” He seemed serious. Not flirting with her. But like he had something on his mind.
She tried not to be disappointed about that.
“No?” She didn’t know what to say. Because, obviously, the last thing she wanted to talk about was the crap storm of problems she’d run from this morning at school.
“But I thought about it more after I got home.” He scraped a hand through his dark hair, and she noticed a scar on his forehead that shone white in the moonlight. “Thought about you. And I just had to come back and talk to you.”
“I don’t understand.” Her heart slugged hard in her chest. Curiosity mingled with worry as her father’sheadlights turned into the driveway out front. Hazel barked, and the dog sped off to greet her dad.
Dawson lowered his head along with his voice to speak closer to her ear. “How many people know your last boyfriend hit you?”
HE TRIED NOT to think about her secrets.
Sam didn’t want the pending Covington trial to come between him and Amy yet, so he forced the thoughts out of his head with an effort while they finished their impromptu picnic on a blanket spread over the living room floor.
“I was going to cook for you tonight,” he told her between rounds of peekaboo with his son.
Today the peek game involved lifting Aiden up over his head, then slowly lowering him into his field of vision. This elicited drooly smiles and cooing from the baby while he gummed at three fingers. The kid was too dang cute.
“Good parenting doesn’t always leave time for good cooking.” She poured him a glass of wine from a forgotten stash of Chianti he hadn’t known was in the pantry. “Nice job making the more important choice.”
With her shoes off and her sweater sleeves rolled up, she looked at home and comfortable here in his house. In his life. Her clothes—layers of dark garments that ensured no hint of skin showed from her neck down except for her hands—still seemed at odds with the vibrant woman he remembered. Her auburn hair hadn’t changed, though. He’d liked running his fingers through it when he kissed her.
“It is cool to spend some time with the little guy.” He’d given Aiden a bath and put him in sleeper pj’s while Amyhad prepped dinner. He’d thought that would mean opening a pizza box, but she’d gone to a lot more trouble than that.
She’d dragged out some mismatched wineglasses—one of which had been on his mantel since it had been part of a golf tournament trophy from a long time ago—and made them suitable for use. She’d used some kind of magic to find salad ingredients in the fridge, and the resulting spinach, curled carrot strips and walnut salad had been damned good.
“Thanks for doing this.” He laid Aiden on a baby blanket near the bright quilt with the remnants of their dinner, tucking him under a play gym of red-and-black toys. “I know you already gave up a lot of the day to be with me.”
She topped off her own wine, too, a lock of red hair skimming her cheek as she moved. “I was intrigued to see if this evening could possibly be as much fun as the afternoon.”
