I turn to see a life-size three-tiered snowman in someone’s front yard.
Amelia claps. “He’s got a carrot for a nose.”
“He sure does, baby.”
“Mister, do you have a Frosty at your house?”
“You can call me Carter, Amelia. And no, not at the moment.” His eyes close briefly and air puffs out of his nose. He’s clearly reliving a memory. “Actually, I can’t remember the last time Christian and I built one.” He glances at me. “There’s plenty of snow on the ground. Maybe we could all make one if you end up someplace… close.”
“Can we, Mommy? Please?”
“We’ll see.” I glare at Carter. “That’s not playing fair.”
He acts all innocent, like he has no idea what he just did, shrugging off the accusation as we come to a stop behind a line of cars waiting to enter the school parking lot.
“The line usually moves pretty fast,” Carter says. “Want to listen to some music?” He turns to me and winks. “Or is that not allowed?”
I roll my eyes at him and reach for the radio at the same time he does. Our fingers bump right in front of the knob, and my eyes are drawn to his hands. They’re a working man’s hands, slightly rough and calloused but with soft palms. And strong. Definitely strong. What is it about them that makes them so attractive?
My mind goes back to our handshake at the restaurant. I can’t remember my hand feeling so safe and secure—not since my mother held it. But her hands were small and feminine, like mine. My mind cycles through all the hands I’ve held over the years. My father’s. My Ex’s. Amelia’s dad’s. A few boys I dated in college. All their hands were soft, never sturdy, rugged, and substantial like Carter’s. Never did I feel as invulnerable holding theirs as I did in the brief moment Carter held mine.
“Sorry.” He pulls his hand away after playfully bumping my knuckles. “You choose.”
I flip through the stations until I hear a familiar song. Amelia starts singing in the back. She loves to sing. But what amazes me beyond belief, is when Carter joins in on the chorus. I’m stunned listening to the sweet harmony created by my daughter and the man sitting next to me as they both belt out Taylor Swift lyrics.
If Amelia weren’t completely smitten with him before, she sure as heck is now.
When the song ends, I simply stare at him and raise a brow.
“So sue me,” he says, inching the car forward. “I have a teenager with a best friend who is obsessed with her music.”
“Teenage boys like Taylor Swift?”
“His best friend is a girl, and you’re about to meet her. She goes by the name Bug.”
“Bug? As in an insect?”
He laughs. “Her real name is Darla, but Christian tells me the nickname goes way back to when she was little and loved to play with bugs. I guess to this day, she’s not scared of them like most girls are.”
“Yeah, I hate bugs. Especially spiders and roaches.” My entire body shivers as if one is crawling on me right this second.
“So you thoughtFloridawas the best place for you? Kenna, I’m not sure you’ve thought this through. Do you realize how many bugs there are down there?”
“You’ve been?”
“A few times. Once with my family when I was young. And I took Christian when he turned eight. He’d been asking for a while if we could go, so I scrimped and saved every penny for well over a year.” He smiles, clearly enjoying the memory. “After four days of tromping around every Disney park, he actually told me he was glad he had CP because it got us to the front of every line.” He points. “There they are.”
Even though there is a crowd of students, I spot them right away—there’s only one kid using crutches. The girl next to him has blue hair. And it’s evident that they’re both oblivious to what’s going on around them. The pair only have eyes for each other. Best friends my ass.
Carter rolls down my window as we pull up to the curb. A woman smiles warmly at him, then eyes me like I’m a threat.
“Hi, Carolyn,” he says to her. “How are you doing?”
She doesn’t answer right away. She’s too busy checking me out and then craning her neck to see who’s in the back.
She smooths down her hair after a gust of wind dishevels it. “Fine. A little cold.” She nods to me. “Family?”
“Oh, sorry. Carolyn, this is Kenna and her daughter Amelia. I towed their car earlier and am giving them a ride.”
