I stepped to turn the kitchen lights back on and wiggled between his friends to cut the cake, Liam’s favorite that I lovingly made for him. But before I could start cutting, Liam put his hand on my shoulder.
I smiled up into my boy’s eyes—his dad’s green eyes—and kissed his cheek before hugging him tight. “Happy birthday, baby. I love you so much.”
Liam squeezed me back. “Love you, Mom. Thanks for this.”
Like he always had since his big growth spurt, he patted the top of my head and I reached up to muss his hair. “You punk.”
His little half sister reached between us to swipe a finger through the cake’s chocolate icing and I was reminded of my more urgent task. “Did you want cake, missy?”
“Eloise,” Jeff chided, swooping in to pick her up. “That’s your brother’s cake.”
“Yeah, that means I get to eat the whole thing,” Liam said, tickling Eloise’s belly where their dad held her up.
My house was hot, crowded, and loud, full of hockey boys and the people who loved Liam most. I wouldn’t have had it any other way. Jeff, Michelle, and their kids took off at their girls’ bedtime, and I was left with a bunch of hockey chuckleheads.
Around nine o’clock, I’d grown tired of the bustle and my back was starting to crab at me, still not recovered from the busaccident. I was turning into the party mom, cleaning up to try to give our guests the hint that it was time to go. When the boys were undeterred, I made it more obvious.
“Alright, it’s a school night, and you all have morning practice. Time to skedaddle.”
Liam started seeing his friends to the door, and I went upstairs to get ready for bed. I brushed my teeth, but before I washed my face, I eyed my swimsuit hanging on a hook in the bathroom.
A soak in the hot tub sounded enticing after an overstimulating night of celebration. Plus, it would help my back.
I ordered the bikini after Royce sent the hot tub, and I got daring with my style choice. More cheek and more cleavage than I’d ever wear to the beach or out somewhere with family. Instead of full coverage at my hips, it had little ties. The bra cups framed the sides of my boobs, which lifted me up just so without any risk of a nip slip.
I’d been gifted a hot tub by a not-unattractive professional athlete. A not-unattractive professional athlete who loved to irritate me and maybe kind of almost kissed me a couple of times. Forgive me for wanting to feel a little desirable while using the hot tub he gave me.
And it’s not like it would be anyone other than just me and Li. His friends were gone, and he wasn’t going to be looking at his mom like that.
Surely I’d drilled enough body neutrality into him over the years that it wouldn’t matter.
I pulled the dark blue bikini off the hook and slipped out of my clothes. Once dressed, I looked myself over in the bathroom mirror. Liam’s friends always joked about me being hot, but I figured it was a mixture of me being younger than their moms and a ploy to get under Liam’s skin.
But here, I had to agree with Liam’s friends. I looked pretty damn good.
SIXTEEN
HARLAN
MARCH
Isthis how nervous Chef felt when she was on my porch?
I stood there with her knife roll in one hand and the piece of tape she’d left in my locker stuck on the back of the other. I smoothed a hand through my hair and knocked on her door. I sniffed her knife roll like it was a bouquet of flowers, then was horrified with myself. This wasn’t a date, and I wasn’t holding flowers. When was the last time I brought a date flowers? Did people even do that anymore?
Emma’s house was in a neighborhood decently off the university’s campus and pretty far up High Street. The houses in this neighborhood were cute: probably a hundred years old, lots of craftsman style. She had those trendy patio lights strung up on her porch. A flat of pansies sat on the ground behind a planter, likely waiting for a day off for her to plant them. It looked like a house well-loved.
I almost jumped out of my skin when the lock swished and the door opened. A young-looking guy stood there with a towel wrapped around his waist and a seltzer can in his hand.
“Uh, hi,” I said, clearing my throat. “Is, uh, Emma home?”
The guy looked me up and down with a curl to his upper lip. “Who’s asking?”
Shit, was this her boyfriend?
“Liam, who is it?” a voice called.
Liam. The guy whose name she said when she was scared on the bike. God, Emma had a boyfriend and I was entertaining some distant and horrific fantasy that she and I?—
