Chapter Thirteen
Owen
Something about that dress lit a fuse in my brain. Especially when she wore it while wandering around my home, warming up every room she was in, looking a little too much like she belonged there.
As I sliced the mini potatoes in the kitchen, my mind couldn’t help but imagine her coming back down from putting the baby down for a nap, leaning on the counter beside me as I prepped food.
Then maybe I’d wipe my hands on the towel sitting on the countertop and reach for her, hop her up on the island, pull up her skirt and down her panties, and have myself a little appetizer before dinner.
Alone in the kitchen, I sighed and forced those thoughts away.
Maybe inviting her had been a mistake. Getting all domestic with her when I was already dealing with some complicated feelings toward her.
Those had only been amplified by the library dinner with the touches, the dancing, the intimacy we were supposed to be faking, but felt a little too real for me.
Having her here, cooking for her, sharing a meal for her, that was only going to increase an intimacy that shouldn’t be there.
It was inappropriate to get involved with a client.
Factor in that Willa was an exhausted new, single mom juggling everything on her own and didn’t need me chasing after her.
Especially after what had to be a bad breakup, if Adelaide’s father wasn’t even in the picture to be there for her.
I tossed the potatoes in oil and spices and set them in the oven before prepping the asparagus.
When she still hadn’t come back down for her coffee, I decided to bring a cup up to her in case the baby was fighting going to sleep.
When I made it upstairs, I found Adelaide fast asleep in the crib with Tuna stretched out in front of it, protecting her.
But no Willa.
I checked the other guest room before making my way into the primary bedroom.
That’s where I found her.
Sitting on the side of the bed, staring out the windows.
She didn’t turn or start at the sound of my footsteps. I moved further in, and she still didn’t move.
“You okay?” I asked, pressing a hand to her shoulder.
She started at that, her head whipping over to look at me, her gaze a little distant for a second.
“Sorry. I was spaced out there, I guess.”
“You sure? If you need to lie down, the bed’s right here.” Even if the last thing I needed was for the bed to smell like her when I climbed in it later.
“No, no. I’m not tired. Well, not any more tired than I always am nowadays. I was just lost in my head, I guess.”
“Anything you want to talk about?” I asked, passing her her mug of coffee, then sitting down beside her with my own cup.
“It was less one single thing and more like a cyclone of thoughts.”
“Been there.”
“Really?” she asked, looking over.
“That’s a surprise?”
“You don’t strike me as someone who gets worked up over things.”
“Maybe not worked up, but my mind runs away with me sometimes.”
“About what?”
“Anything. Used to be a lot more about work, but that is stable enough for me to need to start thinking about hiring more help.”
“That’s a good problem to have, I guess. But if you’re not worrying about that, what are you worrying about? You know what, no. Sorry. That’s invasive.”
“It’s not invasive. Been thinking a lot about the future lately.”
“Just in general, or specifics?”
“Both. Really want to start taking family more seriously.”
“Your existing family, or making your own?”
“My own.”
“Kids?”
“Yeah, for sure.”
I was going to go ahead and leave off the part where seeing her with Adelaide had switched something on inside me, made it feel imperative that I start working on a family sooner rather than later.
And I damn sure couldn’t tell her that sometimes—most of the time—when I pictured that family, it was her and Adelaide I was imagining.
“They’re worth it. I mean, absolutely soul-suckingly exhausting, but so worth it.”
“Yeah, seems that way.”
“I think you’d be a great dad.”
“What makes you say that?”
“I have a big family. Lots of men. And they’re almost always really awkward with the small babies.
They’re great with the older, less fragile ones, but the babies freak them out.
You’ve been a natural with Adelaide when you’ve needed to pick her up.
” She paused, sipping her coffee. “And you’re just very…
stable, reliable. Those things are so important. ”
Those were qualities I imagined Adelaide’s father didn’t possess. It was no wonder she appreciated them in me.
“And this house would be just perfect for kids,” she added, looking around. “Does it look as amazing covered in Christmas lights as I’m imagining?”
“Not gonna lie, the lights and garland make it look like a magazine spread.”
“Ugh. I might hate you a little for confirming that,” she said, shooting me a little smile.
“I have a Christmas get-together each year. You and Adelaide should come.”
“I might just take you up on that. I think she’s going to be enamored by the twinkle lights.”
“She’s gonna be a really fun age at Christmas.”
“I know. I caught myself shopping for new lights the other night when she was refusing to sleep. I’ve always been a warm white light person, but I think I need to become a colored lights person for her.”
“I do color. Inside and out.”
“And crazy, chaotic, non-matching wrapping paper?”
“Had to build a wooden storage bin for all the different rolls I have.”
“No way.”
“Santa’s workshop down there. Got organization for boxes, bows, gift tags, extra tape, and the good scissors.”
“The ones that make that satisfying slicing sound?”
“Yep. My grandfather was Santa Claus when we were kids. He lived for it.”
“I love that you are carrying on the tradition for your extended family. Just think how amazing it will feel to do for your own kids.”
“That’s what I’m counting on.”
“Tuna is going to be a great big brother.”
“He was made for it. You should have a dog.”
“Because I live alone?”
“Yeah.”
“I have a security system. I never considered it before because I worked so much. But I’m hoping to scale back my hours when I go back. Or doing some of my hours remotely. It would let me feel less guilty about having a dog. Though I don’t think any dog could be as innately perfect as Tuna.”
“Well, if you ever want the company, he is happy to help you watch Adelaide. Or clean up floor crumbs. He’s great at that too.”
“Hey, anytime you have a long day and want to drop him off to me, I’m happy to have him. I know you have a dog-walker, but if there’s ever an issue with that or anything.”
“I’ll take you up on that.”
She said it so easily.
Like it was nothing to imagine Tuna spending his days at her house. Like it was nothing to imagine me dropping him off and lingering for a few minutes. Like it was nothing to start building little pieces of a routine together.
I had to remind myself that this was how friendships happened. Neighbors helped each other. Clients became friends. People with dogs borrowed things and watched each other’s pets and occasionally shared dinner.
There didn’t have to be anything else underneath it.
Except there was.
I was already picturing it.
Not some grand romantic fantasy. Nothing dramatic. Just small things. Adelaide growing old enough to recognize me. Her and Tuna running around the yard. Willa telling me some story about what they did that day as we shared coffee.
Little things. Yet, somehow, everything.
“I need to go check on the potatoes. Stay up here a while if you want.”
“No, I’m coming down to top off my coffee and watch you cook.”
“It’ll be nice to have the company.”
We both got up and she followed me back down to the kitchen that smelled like garlic and rosemary from the potatoes.
“Oh, that smells amazing,” Willa groaned. “There has to be something I can do. Set the table?”
I was raised never to let a guest lift a finger when I was hosting. That said, if she kept making little moaning sounds, I was going to lose my damn mind.
“Sure. The dishes are up there,” I said, waving toward the cabinet as I transferred the asparagus to a cast iron pan to bring out to the grill.
I made my way out there, fiddling with the grill and pretending not to look in the back door and watch Willa moving around my kitchen and dining room. She looked way too much like she belonged there.
I could see a thousand nights just like this—me prepping dinner while she set the table, a baby upstairs, maybe kids playing in the backyard.
Maybe that was what was getting to me more than anything.
It wasn’t just that Willa looked beautiful in my kitchen.
It was that she looked comfortable. She wasn’t hovering awkwardly, waiting for me to tell her what to do.
She wasn’t acting like a guest who was afraid to touch anything.
She’d found the plates, set the table, checked on the baby, poured herself coffee, and somehow managed to make my house feel different simply by being in it.
Warmer.
More lived in.
I caught myself watching her through the window again.
She was standing at the table, smoothing the edge of the placemats before setting a fork down. Completely ordinary. And somehow it hit me harder than the dress had.
I liked ordinary.
I wanted this woman doing ordinary things in my house.
I wanted to know what she looked like on a Tuesday morning when neither of us had gotten enough sleep.
I wanted to hear her complain about the air being too cold and stealing food from my plate.
I wanted to know what kind of Christmas traditions she would bring into my house and what she would say about my ridiculous collection of wrapping supplies.
I wanted to know what Adelaide would be like when she was three. Five. Ten. Eighteen.
And, God help me, I wanted to know what our kids would look like.
That thought stopped me cold.
Our kids.
Not mine.
Not some theoretical children I might have with some theoretical woman one day.
Ours.
I dragged a hand over my face and turned back toward the grill.
This was getting out of hand.
Because I couldn’t stop myself from imagining being curled up with Willa on the couch with some coffee, watching a show, reading books, or just talking about our day or our plans. Then heading to bed early, bodies close, lips teasing, hands roaming…
I exhaled hard as desire coursed through me too quickly to try to talk myself out of it.
I turned back to the grill, trying to think of anything but the beautiful woman in my house who’d been on my mind nonstop for weeks.
It took an embarrassingly long time to feel even close to being able to think straight.
Or so I thought.
Until I reached for the skillet to take it off the grill, only to have my skin meet the scalding bare handle of the cast iron skillet.
“Fuck,” I growled, dropping it back down.
I had the presence of mind to shut off the burners before striding back into the house and toward the sink.
“Are you alright?” Willa, sensing something off with my body language, asked as she followed me.
“Reached for the skillet without an oven mitt,” I admitted as I turned the tap on cool and shoved my hand under the spray.
“Oh, no,” she said, wincing.
She was too close.
Her perfume filled the air around me, scrambling my brain each time I breathed in.
As she reached to turn my hand to look at the burn, her breasts were against my arm. My mouth went dry.
“How’s the pain?”
“I’ve had worse.” I’d been burned countless times in my life. This wasn’t even going to blister. It would just feel sensitive for a few days.
“Let me see,” she demanded, making me realize my hand was curled.
I turned off the tap with my free hand and unfurled my fingers, trying not to notice how gently she was holding the back of my hand, or how a shiver coursed down my spine when she ran a fingertip across the pink skin of my palm.
“It doesn’t look too bad.”
“It’s not,” I said as her hair fell from where it was tucked behind her ear and hid her face from view.
She reached past me for a towel, carefully blotting the water off my skin.
“This is the part where a mom might offer to kiss and make it better.”
I needed to pull my damn hand away.
But that’s not what I did.
Instead, I opened my mouth.
“You’re a mom.”
Willa pulled my arm upward as she leaned down. Then I felt the brush of her lips on my skin. The hypersensitivity of the burn only made me more aware of the brush—the shape of her lips, the warmth of her breath, the feel of her hand cradling mine.
She straightened as my other arm seemed to have a mind of its own, lifting, reaching out, then tucking the hair back behind her ear.
View unobstructed, there was no missing the heat in her eyes as her gaze swept up to mine.
My fingers traced the top of her ear, slipped down the side. They should have dropped then. Instead, they traced down to her jaw, the side of her neck.
Willa’s lips parted.
Her breath went short and shallow.
My burnt hand moved, sought the gentle curve of her hip.
Her gaze did a triangle between my eyes and lips. Her head angled back in a silent invitation.
I shifted closer, started to angle down.
The oven beeped, startling us apart, the spell of the moment broken.
Both feeling awkward, I turned to the oven, she reached for drinking glasses. And we both silently agreed not to mention it, to act like that almost-kiss had never happened.
“Do you—” Willa started, noticed the thickness in her voice, cleared her throat, and tried again, “Do you want me to go get Tuna?”
“So he can hide under the table and paw us while we eat?”
“So he does have a flaw,” she said, shooting me a little smile.
“Just the one. I’m going to grab the brisket and asparagus. Ten minutes until we eat.”
“Great. I’ll just check on Adelaide.”
I waited until I heard her most of the way up the stairs before whacking my forehead against the upper cabinet and letting out a sigh.
Well.
That happened.
And I had no damn idea what to think about it.