“Youabso-fuckin’-lutelymoon. Mark texted me last week that you spent twenty minutes staring at the door after she left. Twenty minutes, dude.”
“I wasn’t… I didn’t… Fuck!” I sigh. My friends can read me like a pitiful open book. “Can you fix the car or not?”
That is the only thing I really need to know.
“For the woman who finally got you to make a move? Hell yeah, I can fix the car. I’ll have it done by this afternoon.”
“Thank you.”
“Henry?”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t fuck this up.”
“Why does everyone keep saying that?!” I hang up before he can answer, but a wide smile settles into my jaw and I slip out of the car to the bakery.
Sourdough is calling my name.
And hopefully Willa will be too soon.
Chapter 3
Willa
Henry pickedme up yesterday afternoon and drove me home. My car wasn’t at the bakery but it wasn’t going anywhere from the mechanic’s place anytime soon. He called Henry to explain that the part for a car of my age… well, not exactly standard, on-hand or easy to obtain parts. But then he insisted on picking me up this morning to drive me to work again. I tried to say I’d walk, but when he crossed his arms and tipped his head to the side, I couldn’t help but concede that… I need someone.
And that’s hard for me.
Wally took so much and my trust is high on the list. Trust of men. Trust of myself. Trust of a lot of things. I don’t want to be this way, but sometimes we have to just be until we can be something else. I’m being the best I can.
And when Henry drove off, I felt weird. Like I was missing something or hadn’t done something and that I regretted something but I couldn’t put my finger on what.
So weird.
And my dreams last night… oh my, my dreams! So hot. I woke up writhing, calling out his name, and parts of me that haven’t sizzled in a while were definitely sizzlin’.
There is hope that things are still working down there.
Now this morning, I’m hyperaware of everything in Henry’s truck and so is my body. The way the leather seats creak when I shift my weight. The faint scent of cinnamon and vanilla that clings to him— or maybe it’s his cologne, I really can’t tell. The photos clipped to his sun visor, all of Ben at different ages, grinning that gap-toothed smile and then that smile filling in.
This man loves his son with his whole heart.
I can see it in every picture, in the way Henry’s hand holds firmly onto the steering wheel like he’s navigating with cargo that’s precious to him and he has to protect. Every day, he’s carrying the weight of being both mother and father, and somehow he still has energy left over to be kind to strangers whose cars break down.
To be kind to me.
And I wonder if he has room in his life for anyone else. Sometimes single parents need to focus. I see it in my practice all the time.
But what if there were someone who could take half the weight from him…
“You’re shaking.” His voice is gentle, concerned, and I realize my hands are trembling in my lap.
“I’m fine.” The words taste like bitter coffee. “Just thinking about work. I have a full schedule this morning.”
He glances at me, and I can tell he doesn’t quite believe me. But instead of pushing, he just nods. “We’ll get you there. I promise. You look great today. I love that you take keeping warm seriously and that puffy jacket looks great on you. Blue is definitely your color. Too many ladies out there don’t and I worry they’ll regret it.”
The kindness in his voice makes my chest ache. When was the last time someone made me a promise they actually intended to keep?
