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“It’s embroidered on a pair of boxers Tucker gave me.”
I’m too groggy to decide if he’s teasing. It does sound like something Tucker would do. I lean around the door, toothbrush in hand. “Tell me you’re lying.” He just laughs.
We share coffee and cinnamon rolls. Mark doesn’t mention last night, but I can tell he’s relieved I’m okay this morning, and he hugs me before going to bed.
I spend my morning alternating between streaming TV shows and doing quiet chores – laundry, dusting, scrubbing bathrooms, watering plants. I’ll vacuum and clean Mark’s bathroom after he wakes up. I’m elbow deep in the refrigerator when my phone rings.
It’s Blake. A frisson of nervous anticipation runs through me. I’m seeing him later.
Or maybe not. Maybe he’s reconsidered.
“Hey,” I answer, slightly breathless from dashing across the kitchen.
“Hi, Beautiful. Did I catch you at a bad time?”
“You caught me at the perfect time. I was cleaning out my fridge, playing ‘Name That Leftover’.”
“That does sound thrilling.” His teasing tone is encouraging. Maybe he’s not calling to cancel.
“Listen, the girls want to go play mini-golf. I thought I’d see if you were interested in a cutthroat competition before Chinese food. Of course, if you’re having too much fun with your leftovers, I understand.” Humor oozes through his mellow voice.
I’m still surprised he wants to see me again after my panic attack in the parking lot. Test the waters. It’s mini-golf with his nieces. It’s safe. “I think I can tear myself away from this.”
“Pick you up in an hour?”
I smile. “I’ll be ready.”
I take a quick shower, throw on my robe and quickly style my hair. I apply makeup carefully, spending extra time on my eyes since they’re my best feature. I flip through my closet, finally deciding on dark wash jeans and a loose mauve top that’s fitted across my hips, along with a cream and beige scarf. I add cascading gold earrings and beige suede flats just as he pulls in.
He’s early.
I scribble a note for Mark and meet Blake on the porch as he bounds up my stairs. “Sorry I’m early. The girls were rushing me.” His eyes travel down my body and back to my face. “So beautiful,” he murmurs. His tone makes me shiver.
“I can’t take the credit. Lila gave me this top. I’ve been looking for a reason to wear it.”
“Forget the clothes. It’s you that’s beautiful,” he says in a low voice, and my shiver turns into a sizzle of excitement.
Excitement is definitely new.
My face heats. “Thank you.” I let my eyes boldly rove over him the same way his traveled over me. He’s in jeans and a soft blue-gray shirt that hugs his defined chest and arms. I realize he's watching me admire his physique, but I don’t look away from his warm gaze. “You look good, too. Really good.”
He chuckles. “Jeans and a tee shirt?”
I echo his own words back at him. “Forget the clothes. It’s you that looks good.”
Blake’s eyes darken as he takes one step closer. He looks like he wants to kiss me. My throat tightens reflexively. My body freezes.
Dammit.
But he doesn’t kiss me; he stops in his tracks, leaving me both relieved and… disappointed?
The relief makes perfect sense, given my plethora of issues. But disappointed? I panicked the other night when I thought he might kiss me. Now I’m disappointed he didn’t try? What the hell?
Blake offers his hand palm up, giving me the option of taking it. “Ready?”
You’ll be with eight-year-old girls.
You can do this.
