“Yeah. He is.” The love in her eyes was genuine, but shadowed by something Shane couldn’t read.
“Let me help with the dishes. Then I’ll give you an update on Vegas after he’s in bed.”
April shook her head lightly as if clearing it and turned to him. “Thank you again.”
He shrugged. “It’s just a couple of dishes.” He started toward the sink but she laid her hand on his arm. Her gentle touch stopped him as effectively as a tank.
“You know it’s more than that.” She took the dish out of his hand and brushed past him to the sink. He watched her walk, drawn to the sway of her hips and had to clench his jaw as heat coursed through him. If he wasn’t careful, he’d end up bending her over the counter, his hand fisted in her hair, kissing the side of her neck, which used to drive her insane. Now he needed to know if it was still true. He stepped around the table as she turned on the sink until he was standing directly behind her.
“At least let me dry,” he said as he craned his neck around to the side of her head, his lips inches from her ear. The smell of her lilac soap filled his senses. April grinned and…was that a shiver?
Shane reached past her, brushing her arm, and picked up a dishtowel. She rinsed the first dish and he took it out of her hand, then wiped it dry and set it on the counter. They worked together in silence, the crickets outside serenading them.
They fell into an easy rhythm—April washing, Shane drying, their bodies close enough that every movement felt deliberate. The back of her hand brushed his forearm as she passed him a plate. His shoulder grazed hers when he reached for the dish rack. Each touch sent little sparks racing under Shane's skin.
"You know," April said quietly, not looking at him, "I used to imagine this sometimes. In Vegas, when things got bad. I'd picture doing something normal, like washing dishes,” she laughed, the sound brittle at the edges, "only it was with someone who gave a damn."
Shane set down the plate he'd been drying. "April?—"
"I’m done brushing my teeth!" Kevin's voice rang out from down the hall, followed by the thunder of running feet.
They stepped apart like teenagers caught necking. Shane clutched the dish towel like it was a tactical shield. April turned off the water, cheeks flushed pink. They looked at each other and grinned.
Kevin skidded into the kitchen in his Incredible Hulk pajamas. Pete trotted behind him, looking amused.
"That’s great, sweetie,” April said, her voice slightly breathless. “Do you need me to tuck you in?”
“No.” Kevin looked at Shane. “When I was a little kid, I used to get tucked in. I just came out here to say good night.”
April nodded, amused. “At least tell me you aren’t too old now for a goodnight hug?”
Kevin tilted his head side to side and rolled his eyes. He hugged his mom, and then surprised Shane with a fierce hug. “Good night, bud. See you in the morning.”
"Yeah, see ya. Mom, can I read for a little bit before lights out?"
April glanced at the clock. "Twenty minutes. Then it's lights out for real, mister."
"Yes, ma'am!" Kevin saluted—surprisingly sharp for an eight-year-old—and took off down the hall again. Pete followed at a more dignified pace, pausing at the hallway entrance to look back at Shane as if to say,I've got first watch.
TWELVE
With Kevin off to bed,the kitchen fell quiet again. April turned back to the sink, but there were no more dishes. She dried her hands on a towel, movements careful and deliberate. “Funny, he was a little kid just last night when I tucked him in.”
“Time flies,” Shane joked.
"That it does.” She set the towel out to dry on the counter. “Also, that was sweet of you," she said. “The hug.”
"Kid's easy to love."
April’s eyes widened for a moment, then she nodded and moved to the coffee maker. "Want some? Or I have tea. Or—God, I sound like I'm stalling, don't I?"
Shane smiled. "Little bit. But I'll take coffee if you're making some."
"I'malwaysmaking some." She opened a cupboard and took down one of Riversong’s roasts. “You’re in the hands of a professional.” She shook the bag at him before pouring coffee beans into a grinder. Shane fought the impulse to ask about the state of the espresso machine. He didn’t want to stress her out when she was already nervous.
Coffee brewed and poured into handmade mugs, they migrated to the living room. April curled into one corner of thecouch, tucking her feet under her. Shane sat on the other end, angled toward her, one arm draped across the back. They sat close enough to talk quietly, far enough to be respectable.
For now.
