3. Cale #3
There’s a flutter in my chest, like my heart is stuttering on a beat.
I blink, wondering if I should’ve skipped that second coffee.
Not letting myself dwell on it, I beckon Oakley closer, getting to work on showing him how the mower works and where he shouldn’t touch when it’s going.
He watches avidly, not saying a single word, his expression intent as his eyes move between my face and what I’m showing him.
When I’m confident he’s not going to do anything to hurt himself, we work together to get the grass down to a more reasonable length.
Oakley’s solemn eyes light up whenever I let him take a turn on his own, his skinny arms shaking under the vibrations of the motor.
The lines in the grass wind up a little crooked by the time we’re done, but the proud smile on his face is worth it.
When we’ve worked up a light sweat, I grab each of us a glass of orange juice. We sit on the steps of the wooden deck, slurping them down in companionable silence. Looking at Oakley out of the corner of my eye, I realize that while I might not know much about kids…this one isn’t so bad.
The height of the deck gives me the perfect view over the fence, and I clock the long grass of Oakley’s yard.
“Hey, Killer.” His head swings toward mine, orange juice coating his upper lip. “You said your mom has been doing the mowing?”
He follows my stare, mouth twitching into a frown. “Yeah.”
I give him a sly grin. “How about we do it?”
The shadows leave his eyes as fast they come. He shoots me a wide smile—big enough that a dimple winks at me from his cheek—showing off the large gap he’s sporting in his teeth. There’s that weird tightening in my chest again, and I frown down at my juice before shaking it off.
“I’ll take that as a yes. Come on, then, Killer.”
He throws back the rest of his drink, slapping the glass down on the deck and bounding off the steps in one smooth movement. I don’t even get a chance to blink before he’s up and over the fence, shouting back at me, “Come on, Cale!”
Fifteen minutes later, Oakley’s pushing the mower along his own lawn, his mouth set in a grim line of determination and perspiration dotting his red face. Movement catches my eye, and I look over as the back door opens and Melanie steps out.
She’s wearing these cotton pink shorts that make her legs look tanned and long. She’s got an oversized white shirt over the top, with her dark brown hair piled into a messy topknot. I go still as a vision of me delving my fingers into the thick strands and tugging them loose hits me.
I blink rapidly as blood surges south, a slow exhale leaving me. What the fuck?
Melanie hasn’t seen me yet, her wide eyes fixed on her son. “Oakley?” she asks, but there’s no way he can hear her over the rumble of the mower.
I shake my hands out, walking to the house and stopping at the bottom of the steps, looking up as blue eyes snap to mine with a gasp.
“Morning,” I greet, giving her an easy grin. “Hope you don’t mind. Kil—Oakley wanted to help me out this morning, and he mentioned your grass hadn’t been done.”
Pink fills her cheeks, her eyes turning dark and stormy. I brace for her to lash out, strip the skin from my bones with her words, but she seems to knuckle it all down, just telling me stiffly, “Thank you.”
I shrug, confused by the riot of emotions flashing across her face. “No big deal.”
Melanie’s throat moves, checking on Oakley before her attention comes back to me. “It is to me. I’d prefer if you checked with me first next time.” Her tone is pleasant enough, but there’s an undercurrent of irritated steel that I hear loud and clear.
I shove my hands into the pockets of my grass-stained jeans, refusing to let my smile slip.
“Sure, Mama. Whatever you say.” The color in her cheeks darkens, and going off the way her eyes skitter away from mine, I don’t know if anger is the source now.
Undeterred, I take a step closer, my boots brushing against the bottom step.
“I don’t mind the kid keeping me company, you know.
I’ve actually got my niece coming over later today.
We’re gonna play some Mario Kart. You think Oakley would enjoy that? ”
She drags her eyes back to mine. “I don’t know…”
I pull my hand out, running it through my hair, aiming for something nonthreatening as sweat slides down my spine. I need her to say yes, even if I don’t know why.
I think Lanie will enjoy the kid’s company.
That must be it. Nothing else to it.
“Lanie—that’s my niece—is thirteen, and she just moved back to Sterling Creek with my sister. She doesn’t know too many people yet.”
Melanie’s brows draw together. “And you think she’d want to hang out with an eight-year-old boy?” Doubt drips from her. “Maybe—”
The mower cuts off suddenly, Oakley bounding toward us a second later. His grin is proud as he stops at my side, peering up at Melanie. “Whatcha’ think, Mom? Did I do a good job?”
I don’t take my eyes off her, which means the moment her face softens is front and center. She comes down the steps, reaching out to brush some loose grass off Oakley’s shirt.
“I’ve never seen the grass look so good, bug.” His grin gets impossibly wider. “But you know you’re supposed to tell me when you go outside,” she chides.
His shoulders drop. “I know. I wanted to help. Cale taught me how, and I’m being really safe, so now I can do it all the time for you.”
She squeezes her eyes shut, her mouth pursed like she just sucked on a lemon. A beat passes, and then another, before her lashes flutter open, and she eyes him. “Do you know what Mario Kart is?”
Oakley’s nose scrunches up. “Yeah. I went to Jacob’s birthday party a while ago, and he had it. It’s fun. Why?” He’s all excited suspicion, and there’s a gleam in his eye that has me ducking my head, hiding a smile.
She must see it, too, because a brow wings up as she holds eye contact with him. “Cale,” she stresses, “was wondering if you wanted to go over to play it at his place. His niece, Lanie, is coming.”
Oakley blinks and then says, “Niece means girl.”
“Yes.”
“How old is she? Is she eight too?”
“Nah, Killer,” I cut in. “Lanie is thirteen.” Melanie’s glare is dark as she mouths, “Killer?” but I just smirk back.
“She’s loads of fun, and she always kicks my as—” I bite off the word when the look in her eyes turns downright murderous.
“Butt,” I finish lamely. “She always kicks my butt. I need some help, my man.”
His mouth works as if he’s literally chewing on the idea, but then he bobs his head. “Only if it’s okay with you, Mom. We were s’pose to hang today.”
She reaches out to pull his sweaty, grass-stained body into a tight hug. “We can hang later, bug. We’ve got all the time in the world.”
I run a hand over my chest as I watch the two of them. I really need to cut back on the coffee intake. That shit is having a weird effect on me lately.