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Aurelio
I had no business kissing her.
She’d been tipsy off the wine, all soft-eyed and flushed, dangling from that tree limb.
It wasn’t that I didn’t want to.
Christ forgive me, I’d hardly been able to think about anything else since she came down the stairs the morning after she sought refuge at my place, wearing the pajamas I’d bought her, her hair all a mess, her cheek still creased from the pillow, bleary-eyed, Judah wide awake and smiling on her hip, and made a beeline for the coffee pot.
I’d been worried at first that the attraction was simply to what she represented. A wife. Kids. The life I’d been hoping for.
Then, as the days went on, as we talked, as I got to know her laugh, and the way she danced around the living room with Judah, singing at the top of her lungs to old Disney movies, as she got lighter as she felt safer, her smile going less tense, as I got to know her, the urge to grab her and seal my lips to hers only intensified.
It wasn’t about the dream.
It was about her.
Still, I should have had the self-control not to put my hands, or lips, on her.
She was a woman on the run from an ex who’d kidnapped and kept her and her son prisoner for years. A man who had abused her before she’d escaped from him the first time.
She didn’t need another man pushing her to be physical when she was literally depending on me for her and her son’s safety.
Those were the things on my mind ever since I put Judah down, pulled the blanket up over Claire, and pressed a kiss to her temple.
I needed to keep myself in line.
Maybe, eventually, if she decided to stay, I could consider having a conversation with her about my interest. Until then, though, I had to keep my hands—and everything else—to myself.
It seemed Claire was on the same page about that, too.
It had been three days since the kiss, and we both were friendly and weren’t avoiding each other, but we didn’t exactly get very close, either. No brushing past each other in a tight space or touching each other when passing something over the dinner table.
Things just went back to how they were before the kiss.
Claire was putting Judah down for a nap that afternoon as I came up the stairs, trying to make my footsteps quiet, since I knew that Judah could be difficult to get to go to sleep when he was overly tired, like he’d been from running around the backyard, chasing bubbles that Claire blew for almost an hour.
I didn’t realize he was already down until I saw Claire creeping out of the room, making a beeline for the hallway linen closet, grabbing a fresh towel, then making her way to the hall bathroom.
But, before she could even put her towel on the hanger, Judah’s whine started to drift out from the bedroom.
In the bathroom, Claire’s head tipped back, staring at the ceiling as she exhaled hard.
Clearly frustrated, likely looking forward to a long shower, and a chance to unwind.
“I got him,” I said, making her head whip over to find me looking at her.
“No, it’s okay…” she said, starting to walk out.
“Angel, I’ve got him,” I said, shaking my head. “Take your shower. He just needs another minute or two,” I said, ducking in the room to grab the monitor, and handing it to her. “Go unwind.”
She looked conflicted for a second, but then nodded.
“Thank you,” she said, the words coming from her soul.
She was a fucking great mom. She never showed Judah anger or frustration, not even when he was being a bit of a pill, pushing boundaries for fun, or throwing a tantrum. She was always patient, correcting him calmly or diverting his focus to something more positive.
But no parent was perfect. Everyone hit their limit at times, and needed a break.
