He simply sat there studying Pope with complete concentration. It was honestly a little unnerving.
Pope pushed upright against the couch cushions and ran a knuckle beneath his eye to wipe away the sleep. “How long have you been sitting there?”
Ben shrugged. “A while.”
“That’s concerning.”
“You snore a little.”
Pope scrubbed a hand down his face. “Good to know.”
Ben tilted his head and continued to stare at him without pause.
“Have you ever thought about joining the military?” With that unreadable expression and apparent stealth, the kid would be a shoo-in.
His eyes widened, big and blue like Summer’s. “Is that like a ninja?”
A laugh almost escaped before he caught it. Pope offered him an encouraging smile instead. “Pretty much.”
Then, with the kind of abrupt mood swing only kids could manage, Ben announced, “I’m hungry.”
Pope pushed himself off the couch. “Let’s fix that.”
He’d spent years surviving on military chow halls and MREs, but somehow feeding one seven-year-old felt more intimidating than dropping into enemy territory. He stood in Summer’s kitchen staring into the pantry, trying to determine what counted as acceptable breakfast food while Ben sat swinging his legs from a chair nearby.
Still watching him. New location.
Eventually the kid settled on toast and a banana as Pope figured out the coffee machine.
“Why are you sleeping on the couch?” Ben asked casually through bites of banana.
“Because you were right—the truck was cold.”
Ben accepted the explanation like it made perfect sense.
As Summer stepped into the living room, the memory of the morning exchange faded, along with every coherent thought in Pope’s head.
Hell.
She wore leggings, boots and an oversized sweatshirt with her hair pulled into a ponytail that swung every time she moved. No makeup, eyes soft and alluring. Somehow prettier than she’d ever looked walking across the Stockyard floor at midnight.
She took another step toward him, and he fixed his focus on her ponytail, wondering how hair even bounced like that.
Now he was staring at her the way Ben had watched him.
He stood and shuffled toward the door, unsure how to act like a bodyguard when he wanted to act like a boyfriend.
She grabbed Ben’s backpack from a row of hooks by the door. By the time Ben came rushing out of his room—did the kid ever walk?—she had his coat held out for him to slip his arms into, clearly their morning ritual.
She turned her head toward Pope. “I’m taking Ben to school.”
“We’re taking Ben to school.”
Her chest inflated as she drew a full breath but she simply nodded and didn’t fight the amended plan.
She herded her son to her car, reaching back to close and lock the door, but he already had it covered.
“I got it.”
