Reality comes crashing back all at once, and I tearaway, jumping to my feet, my chest heaving like I’ve just surfaced from deep water.
I stare at Rowan’s swollen lips for several protracted moments, horrified at myself. At how easy it was to forget. At how badly I wanted to stay suspended in that brief, reckless moment where the world didn’t hurt so much.
“I shouldn’t have done that.”
I avert my gaze. If I don’t — if I keep staring at the softness of her mouth, the faint flush in her cheeks, the proof that she felt it too — I fear I won’t be strong enough to walk away.
“It’s okay.” She stands, stepping toward me. “I?—”
“You’re my nanny.” My words come out sharp.
Toosharp.
But I need them to be. Need them to help re-build a wall between us before I do something I’ll regret.
I don’t look back as I climb the stairs, each step heavier than the last.
And when I pass a photo of Cora and the kids, the guilt and regret returns full force, reminding me why I don’t deserve anything good.
Why I don’t deserve Rowan.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
ROWAN
I wakeup earlier than usual, the sky still dark beyond the window, the mountains nothing more than soft shadows against a midnight blue horizon.
Normally, I’d be outside by now, sitting on Hayden’s front porch with a mug of coffee warming my hands, watching the sun creep up over the peaks. It’s become one of my favorite rituals.
But this morning, I stay put.
I’m not ready to face Hayden. Not after last night.
Not after that kiss.
God. That kiss.
I squeeze my eyes shut, but it doesn’t help. It’s still there, the feel of his mouth against mine, warm and firm and desperate, like he’d been holding his breath for a year and finally let himself inhale. The way he held me. The way my entire body responded to him.
I’ve kissed plenty of men.
But I’ve never been kissed like that.
There was grief in it. And guilt. And longing so sharp it felt like it might slice us both open if we weren’t careful.
But for one suspended, beautiful moment, I didn’t care. I kissed him back without thinking about consequences or boundaries or dead wives whose hearts beat in my chest.
Instead, I let myself feel.
And it was everything I didn’t realize I’ve been missing since I drove away in my van.
I roll onto my back and stare at the ceiling, exhaling slowly in an attempt to push down the unease about the situation.
Tomorrow will be easier.
Tomorrow, there will be kids. Schedules. Distractions.
Today, I need some dog therapy.
