Chapter 4
Chapter
Four
Serena
I don’t know why I just agreed to this—I can’t afford to buy the ingredients to make a good osso bucco.
I’ve got over a hundred dollars in daycare fees that are going to eat into my grocery budget next week.
But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t more than a little intrigued by a man who plays professional hockey and can cook.
Except for the little fact that I don’t date hockey players.
Joey’s father was my one and only experience with them and it wasn’t a good one.
I know it’s not fair to lump them all together, but I made it my mantra as a way to protect myself emotionally. Now I get the feeling all bets are off, which is equal parts exciting and terrifying. I know not everyone is like Tony, but I’d be stupid not to be wary.
“My place,” West says with a playful grin, unaware of the dark direction my thoughts have gone. “Next week sometime, when the weather settles down.”
“Next week might be a little busy for me,” I hedge. “Especially if we miss a few days of school, but sure, I’m game.”
“I’ll buy the groceries.” His eyes meet mine as if he can read my mind. “We won’t tell my friends who made what and let them decide.”
I chuckle. “I’m strangely intrigued by this concept of a cook off between someone who went to culinary school and a pro athlete.”
He laughs. “I’ve been single most of my adult life, beyond a few relationships here and there, so it was either learn to cook or pay someone else to do it.
Then I found that it was relaxing, something I do when I’m not playing that’s a complete departure from sports.
It’s good for my mental health and obviously, it allows me to fulfill my dietary needs. ”
“I never thought about that,” I admit. “But I guess you have to be careful what you eat.”
“You have no idea. Don’t get me wrong, I still love beer and burgers and pizza, but I can’t eat like that regularly.”
“Of course.”
“Mommy, I done!” Joey jumps down and grins at me.
“Wipe your mouth,” I say gently.
He grabs the napkin and uses it to wipe his entire face, including his eyes and ears, making West and me chuckle.
“Go play for a few minutes,” I tell him. “When I’m done in the kitchen, we’ll get in the bath.”
“Okay.” He bounds off and I watch him for a moment before turning back to West. “I know, he’s a handful.”
“He’s fine.” West pushes his bowl away. “And that was incredible. Really delicious. All kidding aside, that might be the best stew I’ve ever tasted.”
For some reason, his praise fills me with warmth. I can’t remember the last time someone complimented my cooking outside of work.
But this is different.
And for some reason, I’m enjoying this stranger’s company a lot more than I thought I would.
“Let me clean up,” he offers, endearing himself to me even more.
“No, it’s fine. I’ve got a dishwasher.” I stand up and carry the bowls to the sink, but West is right behind me with the water glasses we’d been using. I turn to take them from him and we bump into each other.
Again.
His touch as he steadies me is warm and gentle, matching the look in his blue eyes.
And I’m rooted to the spot, unable—or maybe unwilling—to break the contact between us. It’s been a long time since anyone touched me and even longer since I craved that kind of contact.
Jesus, I don’t know what he’s thinking but he’s so damn hot. The best part is that he’s not in a hurry to move either. Under almost any other circumstances, I’d lean up, part my lips, let him kiss me and—
I quickly avert my gaze because that’s not a direction this can go. He’s leaving in a few minutes and I’ll probably never see him again.
I take the cups and put them in the sink, turning on the water to start rinsing them just as there’s a knock on the door.
“It’s probably Rudy,” I say, drying my hands. “My landlord.”
I walk to the door and open it, smiling at my middle-aged landlord. “Hey, Rudy.”
“Hey, Serena.” He doesn’t look happy, which isn’t the norm for him. “I saw that you have company and wanted to let you know that there’s a tree down in the road—they’re not getting out of here before tomorrow. It’s dark now so there’s no way for me to get to it. I’m real sorry about this.”
“Oh.” I turn and find West standing behind me.
“Is there any way around?” West asks him. “I have four-wheel drive.”
Rudy shakes his head. “No, I’m sorry. I don’t know how much you saw on the way in but it’s heavily wooded.”
West gazes out into the darkness but doesn’t say anything.
“It’s all right,” he says finally. “I’m fine sleeping on the floor. And I can help you clear it in the morning.”
Rudy nods. “Appreciate that. Anyway, I brought some wood over, on the porch here, since they’re calling for ice in a few hours. Didn’t want you having to walk across the yard for it, Serena.”
“Thanks, Rudy.” I nod.
“Stay warm.” He leaves, and I close the door.
“I’m so sorry,” I say to West. “I’m sure you have better things to do than hang here with me.”
He looks down, a faint smile on his lips. “I can think of worse ways to spend an evening.”
“Mommy, is it bath time?” Joey asks, coming over and tugging on my shirt.
“In a minute, baby. Let me finish cleaning the kitchen.” I head back that way, wondering what I’m going to do now. West can’t possibly spend the night here. I mean, it’s ludicrous. Inviting him in for dinner is one thing but having him sleep over—I’ve never had a man here.
“I know this is inconvenient.” West stuffs his hands in his pockets and comes to stand next to me. “If you’d rather I sleep in my truck, the tank is full so I can turn on the heat.”
Oh.
Damn.
I can’t do that to him.
It’s freezing outside.
“That would be…terrible,” I say quietly, finally looking up at him. “And to be honest, as weird as it is, I think I trust you.”
His face is serious as he studies mine. “Are you sure? I don’t want to make you uncomfortable and I’m literally a stranger.”
“You play for the Thunder. Rudy knows you’re here.”
“And your boss has my license plate,” he adds somberly.
I’d almost forgotten about that.
“Yes, she does.” I manage a smile. “And the couch is old but pretty comfortable. I mean, you’re very tall, but it’s better than your SUV.”
“As long as you’re sure.”
“I am.” I turn back to the sink. I put everything except the crockpot in the dishwasher and then put the leftover stew in a container that I can take to work, assuming this stupid storm ever ends.
“How about I wash the pot and you go take care of Joey?” he suggests after a moment. “That way I’ll feel like I’m earning my keep.”
“You don’t have to do that.” I glance at him in surprise.
“I know. I want to. It’s polite. Besides, I’m not used to just standing around.”
Well, who am I to turn down help? It’s not like I have it very often.
“Deal,” I say. I hand him the sponge and then dry my hands before calling to Joey. “Come on, kiddo. It’s bathtime!”
“Yay!”
Joey loves baths. It’s one of his favorite times of the day. Even as an infant, it was one of the only things that soothed him. It’s a great way to get him ready for bed, and it’s become a relaxing part of our routine.
Tonight, however, I’m completely distracted.
There’s a big, burly hockey player in my kitchen finishing the dishes. I don’t know why I agreed to let him finish cleaning up, but there’s something about his presence that’s commanding. He’s quiet and seems laid back but I’m finding it hard to say no to him.
And he’s spending the night, which makes me both happy and nervous.
It’s confusing but I’m not stupid. There’s no doubt I’m lonely and for the first time in nearly four years, I’ve met an interesting man who’s going to stay with me for at least one night.
The road is blocked, ice is falling from the sky, and I’m going to hunker down with this gorgeous stranger.
I’m not even going to pretend it’s not the most exciting thing to happen to me in…a long time.
“Mommy, ow!” Joey swipes at a line of soap bubbles that have migrated to his eyes and I quickly grab a towel to wipe them.
“Sorry,” I murmur. “Mommy’s tired.”
“Me too.” He gives me a loud, exaggerated yawn.
“Well, let me rinse your hair and then we’ll get in your jammies.”
“Twelve stories?” he asks with an impish smile.
“How about two?” I counter.
“Eleventy-seven?” he asks, giggling.
“Three. That’s my final offer.”
“O-kay.”
This is a nightly game we play and I’m still smiling as I wrap him in a towel and carry him into the area we refer to as his room, laying him on his bed.
I grab his warmest pajamas, the ones with feet, and a long-sleeve T-shirt to put underneath.
Once he’s dressed, I comb his dark hair that’s in need of a cut and put a little balm on his lips since they get dry in the winter.
“Ready?” I ask him.
“Is West gonna read to me?”
That startles me.
“Um, no, he’s taking care of the fire.”
Joey scowls. “But he has to read too.”
This has never happened before. While I’ve never had male guests here, I’ve had friends over in the past and Joey is usually fairly distant, preferring me to anyone else.
“Honey, he’s our guest. We want him to relax.”
He juts out his lower lip. “Please, Mommy? He could read about the pigeon who likes hot dogs!”
“Joey, it’s not—”
“It’s okay.” West’s deep voice startles me. “I don’t mind reading to him. In fact, ‘The Pigeon Finds a Hot Dog’ is one of my favorite children’s books.”
“It is?” I whirl and stare at him. “Are you sure?” Other than my uncle, there’s never been a man involved in Joey’s life.
“Am I sure it’s my favorite or am I sure I want to read to him?” He gives me a quirky smile.
“Are you sure you don’t mind reading to him?” I repeat quietly.
“Not at all.” He holds out a hand. “Where’s the book?”
“Mommy, it’s right there!” Joey points.
I don’t know why West is so comfortable here, but Joey seems to like him, and if I’m honest, I do too. So, I pluck it from the small bookshelf and hand it to him, my heart pounding a little. This makes me nervous.
Because Joey doesn’t have a father or grandfather.
Because I’ve always had to fill the roles of both mommy and daddy in his life.
Because West eases his large body down onto the floor without hesitation and glances up at me with a smile.
“Don’t worry, I’ve got this.” West winks. “Go do whatever you need to do.”
“Yay!” Joey claps his hands and his excitement is infectious.
“Okay,” I say finally. “You two have at it. I’m going to go clean up the bathroom—but don’t blame me when he suckers you into reading him eleventy-million stories.”
West’s laughter follows me as I leave the room.
I wish I could figure out what’s happening but for now, I’m just going to enjoy it.