“Roger that, we’ll call if we need to,” Ledger says with a rare, relaxed smile.
I put my hat back on and salute him. He gives a deadpan look. Fletcher starts laughing, and Uncle Mason pats Ledger’s back.
Chuckling to myself, I head out the door, excited to see Mae but still nervous for the evening to come.
***
I’ve been gone for ten minutes and no phone call or text. I can only hope and pray it’s going well. All I know is this small experience is going to make me a basket case if Naomi wants to go to college. She should. She’s smart enough.
Climbing the stairs to Mae’s house, the door swings open before I have a chance to knock.
“Hi,” she says with a bright smile.
“Hey there, stubborn.” I grin and pull her into my chest.
Her hand draws up and down my back, and I breathe her in. She smells like flowers and sweet like sugar.
“Everything good?” she asks.
I nod against her. “I know it’s a good thing, and I’m a little less nervous now. Which is another good reason I’m here because I’d constantly be checking on them.”
“Wow, so I’m just a distraction,” Mae says, pushing me playfully.
I grab her wrist and tug her back into my chest. “You’re so much more than that, and you know it,” I mumble against her lips.
She tilts her head back, standing on her toes, and kisses me tenderly.
“Yeah, that’s what I’m talking about.”
Mae pulls back on a snort and goes back into the kitchen. I close the door behind me and stare at her shapely legs and tantalizing hips, covered by her cut-off shorts. Her tank top hugs her body, and something about the relaxed outfit helps the rest of my unease drain right out of me.
“What’s cookin’ good lookin’?” I ask her.
Mae snorts and looks at me over her shoulder. “You’ve been holding that one in, haven’t you?”
I shrug and lean against the counter, watching her check a pot and stir something else.
“We’re having bolognese. I thought I’d go all out,” she says.
“For me?”
She turns around and takes a step toward me. “Yes, for you,” she says, her voice drops and her eyes glue themselves to mine.
My heart picks up and suddenly I’m not that hungry.
“Can I help?” I ask her.
“Sure, pour the pasta out when the timer goes off,” she says.
“I can do that,” I tell her.
She leans down to check the stove, and the smell of garlic bread wafts into my nose.
“Do you want a beer?” she asks.
“No thanks. Do you have that lemonade you made before?” I ask her and check my phone.
She smiles and opens the fridge, and I grab two glasses for her.
