Page 10

“Have a great day.” I waved as the triplets scrambled out of the car. Wren blew me a kiss, and Ivy yelled, “Bye, River” as she walked backward and bumped into another student. Poppy gave me her very Poppy-like stare before returning my wave.

Right, getting the girls to school was crossed off my list, and I headed into town with the radio on. I was determined to add more variety to the girls’ diet, and when I arrived in the grocery store, I headed to the produce section.

But as I passed the sauces and condiments aisle, I stopped and leaned back to catch a glimpse of the man holding two jars of pasta sauce. Out of the house, he looked different. There were the same wide shoulders and dark hair with silver at the sides, but without the stone dust and three energetic daughters circling him, he appeared unguarded. At home, I sensed he put up barriers, maybe because he didn’t want to get drawn into a near-stranger’s life and hear how the manny hated his siblings or needed a loan.

He didn’t look up, and I could have continued without speaking to him. But as I got close, he spun around as if he’d sensed I was there. His eyes were different. Not the color but they were warm and inviting, but he blinked and his gaze returned to normal.

We’d never been this close, not without a kid between us or a counter or a job to hide behind. We were just two grown men, each with a basket, who shared a home.

“River.”

“Sinclair.”

I was glad we’d gotten our names out of the way. “I can make a better pasta sauce than anything in a jar.”

“Okay.” He took a step back.

I wanted to say I didn’t bite, but he was my employer. Another shopper with a shopping cart that wouldn’t do as it was told clipped my heel, and I yelped, and the woman apologized and cursed the cart.

My boss put the jars back on the shelf and muttered that he had work to do. I stood with an empty basket, imagining walking out of the house and saying goodbye not only to the girls but also to their father. My heart twinged, though it was probably indigestion, and I suspected it might be a little harder to move on from this job than in the past.

With two bags of fruit and vegetables, I drove home and got to work putting things away. I changed into an old T-shirt and shorts before making fresh pasta sauce, and I had my ear buds in and was singing when my skin prickled. Someone was here.

I swung around holding the spoon to find Sinclair at the entrance to the pantry. He must have come home before me and changed because he was wearing a crisp white button-down and suit pants with a tie and fresh, red pasta sauce splattered over his shirt front. His expression might have mirrored mine with wide eyes and gaping mouth, but mine had a helping of “Oh shit, is this going to get me fired?”

But it was just a shirt. He had to have plenty more, and I didn’t do it on purpose.

I found my voice and apologized. Grabbing a dish rag, I dabbed at his shirt but made it worse by spreading the red stain further. Sauce slid down and stained the front before disappearing, and though I couldn’t see myself, I knew my cheeks were bright red.

“It’s fine, River.” He tried to wrench the cloth out of my hand but tangled his fingers in mine. I straightened and my head bumped his chin. Damn, I wasn’t doing myself any favors.

For a second neither of us moved. I had a fistful of his fingers and a rag dripping more sauce everywhere. My chin was almost on his chest and the heat coming off him could have warmed my morning coffee. He was always warm, like the girls and the house, but being this close was like being close to an open oven door.

I picked up the smell of the fabric softener on his shirt, the cologne he wore, even first thing in the morning, and cut stone that I’d learned to recognize since the day in the workshop. He wasn’t moving and his fingers were interlaced with my own.

I looked up, and the moment I did it, I knew it was a mistake. Up close, his eyes did the same thing they did in the grocery store, like they were molten or something. For a moment, I forgot that I was leaving in less than three months and forgot every rule I insisted I follow about not wanting anything that didn’t fit in a duffle bag.

He leaned closer as if he was going to kiss me, and gods, I wanted it. I needed his mouth on mine and his hands in my hair.

But he pulled away as if he’d been burned, like I’d hurt him somehow.

“I have a client meeting, so I need to change.” He tore up the stairs three at a time while I was left holding a soggy rag.

My heart was battering my chest wall as though it was trying to get out. Breathe, I told myself as I forced my legs to return to the stove. I went back to stirring. Round and round that spoon went, making a whirlpool in the sauce.

I was good at this job, but I didn’t quite belong here. I stood stirring that sauce until it stuck to the bottom of the saucepan, while I listened to a man on the floor above slamming doors.

I thought about Wren warming my coffee and Ivy writing my name on the flagstone. The girls said they had a secret, and I’d brushed it off, but maybe I shouldn’t have. And then there was their father who looked at me like I was a treat he wanted to devour. The end date of a job used to be my favorite part, but standing here stirring the sauce, leaving didn’t feel like freedom.

SIX

SINCLAIR

My beast was encouraging me to get up the stairs and get changed.

Forget about the meeting. You must spend time with River.

But I couldn’t move and stood at the window with pasta sauce trickling over my belly. The warm sauce sliding over my skin was a reminder of what had happened in the kitchen, not that I could forget.