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“How far?”

I do not mean to put my hands on him again. But it happens anyway. I grasp his shoulders and turn him around. Angle myself so he can see me and point in the direction of my house. “Five minutes and I am home.”

Poet nods and I step back as though it’s easy. As though it makes sense, when my very bones seem to protest.

“Goodbye, then.”

Another nod, and for a moment he reminds me of the quietest man I know more than his brother, and Rubi’s description of Poet rings true. But again, my heart knows he’s not like anyone else any more than Saint Malone is. And I like it—I like it very much.

A natural cue for us to part arrives. I move to my car and fold myself behind the wheel as Poet grasps the door before I can and tips me another dazzling smile before he shuts me in.

The sound is loud to me. I wonder how it felt to him, but an alert on my phone lets me know I need to get home and complete another round of never-ending arithmetic before I go to bed, and I don’t want to fall at Poet’s feet again.

Not literally.

I start my car and put it in gear.

Edge out of the lay-by aware of him behind me. Shadowing me as I roll towards the road.

I expect him to stop there.

He doesn’t.

Poet hops the low wall onto the narrow pavement and I realise he’s going to follow me home, on foot, and…I don’t hate the idea of it beyond the thought of him tramping uphill all the way back to his farm.

The drive should only take five minutes, but with Poet tracking me, I keep my foot off the gas and crawl down the steady incline into town. Watching him more than the road. Tasting him on my lips. Feeling him in every cell of my body and trying not to think too hard about it. I can do that in the morning, while I’m earning a living to put food on the table and give Aras the life all children deserve.

Aras.

He’s not with me and it’s a moment I should feel able to do whatever I want. But even with Poet’s mouth imprinted on mine, the self-imposed binds around me feel tighter than ever and I don’t know what to do with myself as I ease the car to a stop.

Poet has slowed too. He’s a little way up the road, still tracking my every move.

I shut the engine off and get out of the car.

My front door is six feet away.

I point at it.

Poet nods and cups his hands around his mouth. “Still straight if you want to be.”

I take a breath to respond, but I hesitate, unsure if he can read my lips at this distance, and it costs me everything. Poet’s smile lingers, knowing and sexy as all hell. Then he’s gone, melting into the night, and short of chasing him, there isn’t much I can do about it.

Whatever this was tonight, it’s over.

Over.

The word is laughable.

I don’t see hide nor hair of Poet Whitlock for the next three days. Funnily enough, he’s nowhere to be found at sea, at Aras’s school, or in the pub car park where Sol and I sell grilled fish sandwiches the entire weekend that follows.

But I think of him constantly.

Every moment I’m not locked into making sure my son doesn’t slip on slick rocks or get burned by the sun, or persuading him bedtime is still bedtime, regardless of how light it is outside.

By the time I take Aras to school on Monday I’m frayed enough that my thoughts switch to Poet the second I get back in my car and drive into town. I find myself looking for him on the road behind me, never mind that it was pitch dark the night he walked me home. I look for him in the bus tailgating me, seeing shades of gold and blue instead of grimy red, and wonder if the best morning I’ve had with my Dexcom in a while is about to turn on its head.

As it happens, I get home and I feel good. Awake. Alive. Restless as I move through the house picking up stray clothes and toys, packing away my life with Aras until he’s with me again.