Chapter 5
Missy
Iwas too stunned to answer. I couldn’t get a read on this guy.
What was his angle? Everyone had a motive of some kind.
I couldn’t figure out his. Maybe he wanted sex.
That seemed like the easiest explanation, but why go for a single mom?
With a face like his and a body like that?
He could have every girl in town turning her head.
Besides, I was a mess—my life and my appearance.
Any man in his right mind would run a hundred miles in the opposite direction.
I forced a laugh and hoped he would change the subject.
His attention had my stomach doing all kinds of fluttery things that it hadn’t done since high school, but as my mother reminded me all through my teen years, “All those hormones get good girls into trouble.”
She would also tell me, “Baby, you’ve got a pretty face, and rich men love to take care of pretty girls.
” Her advice hadn’t quite worked out. I’d found a well-off older man.
I’d been wined and dined and wooed and wowed.
Having stability and predictability, and not having to worry about how to pay the bills, was a nice change from growing up with a single mom who thought working was beneath her and that a man to take care of us was always right around the corner.
When he put a ring on my finger, my answer was an enthusiastic yes.
When I’d found out I was pregnant, I was over the moon.
It turned out I wasn’t cut out to be a trophy wife, and I don’t know if my mother will ever forgive me.
“Alright, fine. I’ll order the damn salad, but I’m getting extra pizza in case you change your mind. Anything I can order for Sophia?”
I shook my head no.
A half hour later, I was sitting across the table from Blair, with Sophia in a highchair that Sam and AJ had, a chunk of avocado in one hand and scrambled eggs pretty much everywhere else.
Blair was telling me a story about a big orange cat named Chuck that lives in the mechanic shop where he works.
His eyes lit up as he talked about how all these big gruff men spoil Chuck like a princess, and he catches mice in return.
He seemed to glow every time I laughed, and his eyes rarely left my face.
His attention was a little addictive. My chest became warm under the sole focus of a man like him.
For a while, I pushed my worries about Sophia and our future to the side.
I forgot about how my mother would tisk at my appearance and turn up her nose at a man who makes a living with his hands.
She wouldn’t approve of the fact that he doesn’t wear a suit and drive a quarter-of-a-million-dollar car.
I would never confess to her how seriously I was thinking about what it would feel like to kiss him.
To have my hands on those distracting biceps. To feel his chest pressed against mine.
Despite my insistence on salad, I had a slice or two of pizza, and Blair, a smart man, didn’t comment on the choice.
My mother’s voice adding up calories in my head was drowned out by the enthusiastic voice of Blair’s stories.
He gestured widely with his hands as he spoke, and my eyes caught over and over again on his muscled forearms and strong hands.
The sound of a chunk of avocado hitting the floor was my sign that Sophia was full.
I sighed and bent down to start picking chunks of food off the floor.
When I had found out I was having a girl, I had been worried about what kind of a mom I would be.
I wasn’t sure I wanted to raise her the way my mother had raised me.
I didn’t want her nitpicking her own appearance and looking at men as transactions or ATMs. Besides, I’d have to teach her about periods, not walking alone at night, heart break, and all those things that go into growing up as a woman.
What I hadn’t realized was, at this age, ninety percent of parenting was just cleaning up messes and wiping away tears.
I pushed myself back up to standing only to find Blair with a damp cloth in one hand and Sophia’s diapered butt resting on his well-developed forearm.
She was wiggling in his grasp as he tried to wipe green avocado mush from around her mouth. Her face wasn’t getting any cleaner, but hell, he was trying. And that was more than I had experienced from Sophia’s father.
He caught me staring and gave me a sheepish grin. “I think I am losing a battle to a baby.”
I laughed and moved to grab the cloth from his hand. “You hold her, and I will clean.”
Rather than holding her out like a germy little football, he tucked her against his side. I moved to stand closer to him as I cleaned Sophia’s face, hands, neck, and chest. Once she was clean, Blair put her back on her blanket on the floor and turned his attention to clearing the table.
“Oh, Sophia got something on your shirt,” I said, moving in front of him and swiping the cloth over where the fabric rested against a hard pec muscle.
I pulled the fabric away from his skin and swiped the cloth over it again, the back of my knuckles feeling the warmth of his body.
We were standing close enough that my toes touched his, and I could feel his gaze on my face.
I took a deep breath to try to steady my rapidly beating heart, only succeeding in breathing in his scent—a faint touch of engine grease, but mostly an addictive citrus-soap smell that had me wanting to bury my nose in his chest. He was a good head taller than I was, and so solid under my hands that I wanted to scream.
I was a single mom, with responsibilities and no one to have my back.
The last thing I needed was the thing I wanted most, which was to move my eyes up to his, push up onto my tiptoes, and kiss him.
I had long since gotten the mess off of his shirt, but I kept wiping, unable or unwilling to move away. Finally, his hands came to rest over my own, and I stilled. They were warm and rough where they rested over mine.
“Missy.”
“Hmm?”
Our gazes locked.
“Thanks for having dinner with me.” The big boyish grin he often used was gone, replaced by a look of intensity and heat.
I swallowed. “Any time.” Did I really say that? Better question: Did I really mean it? God, he was so freaking sweet. Helpful. Sexy as sin. Would one little kiss really be such a bad thing?
An agitated squawk broke the silence, and I took a comically large step back.
“I guess I should get Sophia to bed. Thanks for dinner.” My voice had a squeaky quality to it, and I cursed myself for being a coward as I scooped my daughter off the floor and took her to the bedroom.
We did our bedtime routine, and I watched her until her eyes drifted shut.
I double-checked that the baby monitor was switched on before gently shutting the door and tiptoeing into the living room.
I startled to a stop when I rounded the corner and found Blair waiting for me on the couch.