Chapter 39 Matt
matt
We were seated on the wooden deck of a restaurant overlooking the Tchefuncte River in Madisonville.
The sun had just set, the fireflies were out, and a boat slowly drifted by.
Across the table from me, Hope smiled. She was wearing a white sundress, and it made her skin look like apricots. It was a setting ripe for romance.
Except for one thing. Two things, actually.
“Can I have another dinner roll?” Sophie asked, squirming in her chair.
“No. You won’t have room for your dinner,” Zoey said authoritatively.
The girls had happily dug in Miss Addie’s backyard the rest of the day, then Hope had suggested we invite them to join us for dinner.
“Saturday is one of the few days you and the girls get to be together,” she’d said.
“But I want to spend time with you.”
“I’ll be there.”
“I meant alone.”
“I don’t want the girls to think I’m taking you away from them.”
“This isn’t at all what I’d planned,” I grumbled.
She’d grinned. “Maybe you need to work on becoming more flexible.”
Flexible. Huh. I’d been plenty flexible all day, trying not to peer down Hope’s shirt or stare at her shapely tush as she bent over to dig. I felt like a perv, lusting after her in full view of two kids, a dog, and an elderly lady.
The fact was, I’d expected things to move in a new direction tonight—a direction involving lots of skin-on-skin contact, although the logistics were vague.
In the back of my mind, I thought that if things got hot and heavy, we might head to the Hampton Inn in Covington for a few hours.
Instead, here we were, chastely separated by two sharp-eyed chaperones.
“You have very nice manners, girls,” Hope said. “I’m impressed with the way you’re sitting up straight and remembering to keep your arms off the table.”
I was impressed, too—at the way Hope had managed to find what was probably the first moment all evening that both girls had their arms off the table. I liked the way she caught them behaving well and encouraged it.
Both small spines immediately straightened. “My mother always said good manners were important,” Zoey announced.
My heart gave a little wrench. Zoey hadn’t been old enough to remember anything Christine had said—had she? She’d probably gotten that information from Peggy or Jillian.
“You’d make a nice mommy,” Sophie told Hope.
“Thank you, sweetheart,” Hope said with a smile.
“So why aren’t you one?” Zoey asked.
“Well, for starters, I’m not married.”
“But you were. Aunt Jillian said you were married, and then you got divorced.” She said the word in almost a whisper, as if it were naughty.
Hope took a sip of water. “Yes. Yes, I was.”
“Divorce is bad,” Zoey said.
“Well—it’s nothing anyone ever wants to happen,” Hope said, before I could even frame a response. “And it’s certainly sad.”
“What’s divorce?” Sophie asked.
“It’s when people break their wedding promise,” Zoey told her.
“It’s more complicated than that,” I said irritably.
“Jillian said people divorce when they quit loving each other,” Zoey said.
Sophie’s blue eyes grew round and wet. “Can daddies divorce their children?”
My heart felt tight and hard as a basketball. “No. Never.”
“But if grown-ups divorce . . .”
“Honey.” I scooted back my chair and pulled Sophie onto my lap. “I could never, ever stop loving you or Zoey.”
“So why aren’t you a mommy?” Sophie said to Hope. “You were married, and married people are supposed to have kids.”
“Not all married people are fortunate enough to have kids,” I said.
“They do unless they don’t want them,” Zoey said. “Aunt Jillian said.”
Thanks a lot, Jillian. I forced myself to unclench my teeth and made a mental note to tell Jillian that my kids could do without her version of birth control information.
“Sometimes it just doesn’t happen,” Hope said.
“Did you want to be a mommy?” Zoey asked.
“I would love to have children,” she said.
“Maybe you could be our mommy,” Sophie said.
My mouth went dry. Hope’s eyes met mine.
“Don’t be a nimwit,” Zoey said. “Daddy wouldn’t marry someone who divorces husbands, ’cause then she might divorce him.”
“Zoey, don’t call your sister names,” I said, grabbing onto the part of the conversation I could form a coherent thought around.
The waiter appeared at our table just then, juggling plates of salad. Sophie launched into a tale about snails eating the lettuce in her grandmother’s garden, and the conversation, thank God, veered onto more manageable topics.
· · ·
But Hope seemed subdued the rest of the evening, and after we’d left the restaurant, gone home, and tucked the girls into bed, we walked downstairs in silence.
“I’m not sure this evening was the best idea,” she said on the landing.
“Because of what Zoey said? Don’t put any stock in that.”
“It’s not that. I’m worried we’re confusing them. They don’t understand casual dating.”
I didn’t understand it, either. “The person who’s confusing them is Jillian. She’s been overly informative on topics she has no business discussing.”
“We don’t know the context of that conversation.”
“True. But I can imagine.”
We’d reached the living room. We both stood at the back of the sofa.
“What did you mean by ‘casual dating’?” I asked.
“Short-term. Nonphysical.”
“Does it have to be both?” I stepped closer, close enough that I could feel the heat of her skin. “I don’t want to be nonphysical.”
Her breath caught. Our gazes locked, and her face tipped up. I leaned down and kissed her. Her arms wound around me as the kiss sweetened and deepened.
Oh, dear God—she tasted like honey and salt, delicious and intoxicating. Her breasts were warm and soft against my chest. I sifted her hair through my fingers and held her head, and she gave a little moan against my mouth.
“I need to go,” she whispered at length.
“Not just yet.” I kissed her neck, then reclaimed her mouth.
Many long, languid, torturously sweet moments later, she pulled away. “Matt, we’re playing with fire. The girls could come downstairs at any moment.”
She was right, but I felt drugged with lust.
“We need to get up early and begin the search again tomorrow.” She moved out of my reach, toward the door.
“What if we strike out again?” I asked. “I have to return the metal detector on Monday.”
“I asked Gran that, and she said her mother told her we would.”
“Her mother?”
Hope sheepishly lifted her shoulders. “Apparently they still have conversations.”
“What if her mother’s wrong?”
Hope smiled. “Gran said if we do our best, she’ll be satisfied.”
“And you?” I asked, drawing a finger along her cheek. “Will you be satisfied?”
The way her eyes darkened sent a shot of heat right to my groin. “That’s an unfair question.”
“I was hoping it would be.” I stepped closer. “What would satisfy you, Hope?”
She drew a shaky breath. Her eyes held an answer that made my blood race. She put a hand on my chest—then gently pushed me away. “You could let me leave.”
“No satisfaction in that at all.”
“Yes, there is.” She put her hand on the doorknob. “You’ll have the satisfaction of knowing you’re a wonderful father.”
“Not the kind of satisfaction I had in mind.”
She smiled. “It’s true, though.”
“You think?” I regretted the question the moment I asked it. What kind of loser blatantly fished for a compliment that way? But it was the most important role of my life, and her opinion mattered.
“Absolutely. You’re a wonderful dad. They’re two very lucky little girls.” Her hand drifted to my jaw, warm and soft. I took it, turned it, and kissed her palm.
And with that, she slipped out of my arms and out the door.