“You saw me yesterday,” I murmur, catching my lower lip between my teeth as I hold his gaze.
“Not enough.” He brushes his thumb against my chin, gently tugging my lip free—one of my favorite things. “I tried to make it earlier, but I got busy with work.” He doesn’t wait for an answer before leaning down to bridge the space between us, his lips on mine.
Short, sweet, perfect, as it always is.
“Mm, you taste so sweet,” he whispers against my lips.
“I just had some coffee. Want some before I clean it up?”
“Sure.” He settles in his usual spot.
“Oh, hey, actually, perfect timing today. Could you take me home? My van is at the shop.”
“Of course. Why didn’t you call me this morning? I would have brought you in.”
“Gee, I don’t know, because you live an hour away?”
Ah, the hard-to-talk-about topic. We haven’t discussed anything beyond the fact that we like each other and spend time together. We haven’t talked about the fact that he lives in a different city, or that I’m a mom of two and he has none. We haven’t talked about much, and it makes me nervous, but the girls are right. I don’t have to want to marry him. I can enjoy his company and learn how to do this again. Just because I married the one man I ever dated doesn’t mean I have to marry Holden—even though the thought of spending all my life with him definitely sounds appealing.
Premature, sure, but appealing, nonetheless.
“Not a big deal, really. Next time, call, yeah?”
“I don’t need your help, Mr. Clay.” I slide his coffee in front of him.
“I know you don’t.”
“I can take care of myself.”
He takes a sip, closing his eyes and smiling. “I know. But I can do it too. It doesn’t make you any less of a badass to accept help.”
I swallow hard, letting his words settle in my heart, and change the topic. Something about being the center of attention, even if for a split second, makes me uncomfortable every time. “Work was busy?”
“Mm-hm. Making sure everything is set for the gala.”
“Ohh, a gala?”
“Yes. Our biggest fundraiser of the year.”
“Fun!” I don’t even know if a gala would actually be fun. The closest thing I’ve ever been to a gala is the banquets for the football team I went to with Nick for years. That’s about it.
“I don’t know if I would usefunto describe them, but it’s a decent time at least, and for a good cause. We’re able to sponsor many kids from the money we raise, and there’s dancing if that’s your thing.”
Do I like dancing? Yes. Do I know how to dance? No.
“Which brings me to…this.” He slides the box he’s been holding forward.
“What is that?”
“It’s for you.”
“For me?” What the heck? “Why did you get me a present?” I ask, inspecting the box. It’s wrapped so delicately, I don’t even want to open it in fear of messing it up. Wow.
“Open it. It won’t bite.”
Smartass, I want to say, but I don’t, because unlike my daughter, I have self-control.
I pull the ribbon, untangling the precious bow, which unravels instantly. I take the top off, revealing something carefully wrapped in tissue paper. When I peel it open, I gasp.
