Chapter 14
“H
ow’s the homework going?”
Dylan squirms as I rub his head. “Get off, Mom.”
“Spoilsport.” My body is still all abuzz from Tom as I sit opposite my son at the table for two in our little kitchenette.
“Why are you suddenly so happy?” Dylan asks, putting down his protractor and pencil.
Shit, he’s right. I’m grinning.
I have to get what Tom’s mouth and hands were just doing to me out of my head and flip the switch to being Mom again.
“Look, I’m sorry about the guitar thing.” I ignore his question and take his hand. Thankfully he doesn’t writhe away this time. “I love you. And I worry about you. That’s all.”
“He was only teaching me how to play a C chord. There was no need to freak out.”
“I was just a bit concerned, but let me tell you why.” Dylan’s old enough for me to be honest with him. And it’s best that he understands why I worry and doesn’t just see it as an irrational overreaction. “Tom’s only here for a couple months. He lives in London.”
“I know. That’s why he has a funny accent.”
“Yeah, it is kind of funny now.” And hot. That semi-British thing is incredibly fucking sexy. “Anyway, if you get attached to him, you’ll just be upset when he leaves. And I don’t want you to be upset.”
“If I know he’s leaving, I won’t be upset, will I?” Dylan says, like he wonders how I manage to tie my own shoes if I can’t understand a concept as simple as that one.
And I mean, who am I to talk? It’s the exact basis on which I’ve just made the Bridge Person arrangement with Tom.
“It can be hard not to get attached to someone.” I’m talking to myself as much as my kid. “If you hang out with them a lot and get along with them, it’s hard to see them go.”
“He’s really nice,” Dylan says. “He helped me with this.” He points at his geometry book. “And he’s fun.”
“He is really nice. I agree.”
“Please let him teach me guitar. I promise not to be upset when he goes back to England.”
Oh, the innocence of childhood. If only emotions were that simple.
But how can I deny him this bit of fun? And Tom did say it was focusing on guitar lessons that stopped him from getting into trouble and turned his life around. And it would be good for Dylan to learn an instrument. It would get him away from playing video games as his only hobby, and less screen time has to be a good thing. And I certainly can’t pay for lessons for him. Not yet, anyway.
“Okay. If Tom is happy to teach you guitar, then it’s fine.”
“Yes!” Dylan takes his hand from under mine and pumps his fist.
“But you can’t pester him about it, okay? No taking advantage of his time. It’ll have to be scheduled.”
“Promise.”
“I’ll text him.” I get up from the table and pull my phone from my back pocket. “He’s going away tomorrow for a couple days, but I’m in charge of his calendar, so I’ll see if I can fit you in for a regular slot.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
“You are welcome.” I ruffle his hair again, and he doesn’t wriggle away this time. “I’m going to call Rachel.” I head toward my bedroom. “Finish your homework. But give me a shout if you need anything.”
“I won’t. Tom is way better at geometry than you.”
“I don’t doubt that.” Tom is better at everything than me. Other than organizing—he’s clearly awful at that.
I close the bedroom door with my foot and flop onto the bed.
About to press the call button next to Rachel’s name, I realize Dylan might hear every word. Even if I whisper, it’s too risky. Plus, whispering is suspicious.
Text it is, then.
But first I reach into the nightstand drawer for the bar of my favorite dark chocolate I keep for emergencies. It’s missing only the top row so far—that went when I broke two glasses on my first day here and I was terrified I’d be fired.
I pop the first square into my mouth and let it melt on my tongue as I message Rachel.
ME (11:17 AM)
Kissed Tom.
RACHEL (11:17 AM)
*three applause emojis* *three dancing emojis*
How was it?
ME (11:17 AM)
Amazing.
That’s not a good enough word. But I’m not sure there is a word that sums up his effect on me. I haven’t kissed anyone I feel so connected with, am so attracted to, who I like so much, and whose mind is smart and fun and creative since…well, Tom. It’s an intoxicating combination. And despite having to focus on the serious mother-son talk, I’m still kind of floating.
ME (11:18 AM)
Spectacular. Knee-trembling.
RACHEL (11:18 AM)
So when does *kissy-face emoji* become *eggplant emoji* *fireworks emoji*
ME (11:18 AM)
That’s terrifying.
RACHEL (11:19 AM)
No it isn’t. It’ll be even more amazing, spectacular, knee-trembling.
ME (11:19 AM)
Well, if the mouth action and the ass-grabbing were anything to go by…
RACHEL (11:20 AM)
See, Bridge Man. He’s perfect. *grinning emoji*
ME (11:20AM)
He’s certainly perfect.
Those words just fell from my fingers without me thinking. But they’re the truth. He might actually be perfect. Unless he’s developed some weird, unpleasant traits in the last decade and a half. But in the absence of an as-yet-undiscovered toenail-chewing habit, he does have all the outward appearances of perfection.
Apart from the whole living-in-London thing.
But that makes him the perfect Bridge Man.
And that’s perfect.
RACHEL (11:20 AM)
Wow. You got it bad.
ME (11:21 AM)
Stop it.
RACHEL (11:21 AM)
Maybe he’s more than Bridge Man. Maybe he has Forever Man potential…
Ridiculous.
ME (11:22 AM)
He lives in London.
RACHEL (11:23 AM)
And if that’s the only downside you can think of, then he has Forever Man potential.
ME (11:23 AM)
I’m not moving to London.
And I am not. Dylan has had enough turmoil in his life. The move to California will be big enough, and that’s worth it because it might prevent him from losing his hearing when he’s older. But I’m not putting him through moving to another country.
The last of the smooth, bittersweet chocolate dissolves in my mouth.
RACHEL (11:24 AM)
Then he can move here.
ME (11:24 AM)
His company is based in London.
RACHEL (11:25 AM)
He’s a fucking billionaire, Hannah. He can live wherever the hell he likes.
ME (11:25 AM)
Well that will never be LA. He hates it with even more passion than you hate Brussels sprouts.
RACHEL (11:26 AM)
*gagging emoji* That’s a lot.
ME (11:26 AM)
Anyway, stop it. All we did was kiss. And have a mini grope.
RACHEL (11:27AM)
Best kiss ever?
I don’t even need to think.
ME (11:27AM)
Best kiss ever.
RACHEL (11:28AM)
Shit. You’re in trouble, girl.
ME (11:29AM)
No I’m not. I’m being a grownup and having a self-affirming, confidence-building, temporary fling with a hot ex-boyfriend before heading off to find my perfect man and Dylan’s perfect stepdad.
RACHEL (11:29AM)
Does Dylan like Tom?
ME(11:29AM)
Fucking loves him.
RACHEL (11:29AM)
Shit. You ARE in trouble.
I drop the phone onto the bed next to me, pop another square of chocolate into my mouth, and close my eyes.
All I can see is Tom’s face inches from mine. The desire in his deep brown eyes. The stubble on his chin. The way his hair falls across his face. And the way he peers at me through it.
All I can feel is his mouth on mine. The way our lips slotted right back together, like they remembered exactly where they were going. Except this time, it was even better. This time we knew what we were doing, what we wanted.
And oh, good God, when his hand slid over my ass and he reached up between my legs.
The mere thought of his hands and mouth on me make me wet all over again.
Shit.
Is Rachel right—am I in trouble?
No. We’re both adults now. We know what we’re doing. So of course not.
It’s like my smart son said, if you know someone’s going to leave, then you’re not upset when they go.