“Iwantto. Want to be there for you.” She lifts her gaze to mine, then quickly adds, “and them. I want to be there for them.”
“I’d like that.”
My gaze drifts over her face. Her vivid blue eyes. The curve of her cheek. Her full lips.
Over the past several weeks, I’ve thought about those lips more times than I care to admit. And every time, I’ve berated myself for doing so. For allowing my stare to linger on them too long. To imagine how they’d taste and feel.
And not simply because she’s my kids’ much younger nanny. But because of Cora. There’s a part of me that still feels like I’m married to her and even thinking about another woman is cheating.
But every time I think that, I hear my mother’s words in the back of my mind, reminding me that Cora wouldn’t want me frozen in grief. She’d want me to live my life.
But with the nanny?
It’s insanity. I should date. Distract myself. Do something so I’ll stop thinking about Rowan nearly every second of the day.
But I get the feeling I could go out with every single woman in the area and I still won’t stop thinking about Rowan.
Jemmy’s babbling crackles through the monitor, forcing me back to the present.
“Duty calls.” I stand abruptly.
“What time do we need to leave?”
“Ten. Service then lunch.”
“I’ll be ready.” She pauses. “I don’t have to wear black, do I? I’m not sure I own anything dark.”
I chuckle. Of course she wouldn’t have anything that’s drab and colorless, not when she exudes life and vitality.
“Wear whatever you’d like.”
“Okay. See you at ten.”
“See you then.” I hold her gaze for one more beat, then disappear inside, officially on dad duty.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
ROWAN
My bed lookslike the aftermath of a fabric explosion.
Three sundresses. One denim skirt. A wrinkled maxi that smells faintly of campfire smoke. Nothing that seems appropriate for a memorial service.
Since I quit my job, my wardrobe has skewed aggressively casual. Practical. Easy to throw on and forget about. I haven’t needed anything formal in months. Certainly not something to wear while sitting in a church full of people mourning the dead wife of the boss I can’t stop thinking about.
Wanting to be there for Presley and Jemmy is one thing. Wanting to be there for Hayden, too? That’s a complication I don’t have the emotional bandwidth to unpack right now.
The last thing I should be doing is attending the memorial for the woman who gave me her heart. Especially when I’ve been carrying that secret around for nearly a month now.
And yet, it’s also why I feel like I have to go.
To pay my respects.
To acknowledge the life that ended so mine could continue.
To honor her sacrifice, even if I’m the only one who understands it.
It’s not exactly how I pictured spending my first “rebirth” day.
