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When I finally leave the bedroom, I’m fully dressed in crisp white shorts and a black-and-white striped shirt that shows off my figure. I brush my hair until it gleamed with a healthy shine. It now cascades loosely around my shoulders. Not knowing of any plans for today, I put on a light coat of mascara to accentuate my eyes but otherwise left my face clean of makeup.
I enter the living room and see Connor sprawled in front of the television, his now empty bowl of cereal in front of him. I lean down and pick up the bowl. “Morning, kiddo,” I say as I pat him on the head. “Where’s your dad?”
Without his eyes leaving the screen, he answers, “He went to get his laptop out of the car.”
“Has he eaten breakfast?” I ask Connor, “Yeah,” he answers between his giggles at the characters dancing across the screen.
I place his bowl and spoon in the sink alongside Carson’s empty bowl. I fix a bagel for myself and grab the cream cheese from the fridge. I put on a kettle to have a hot cup of tea. I’m sitting at the kitchen counter, just about to bite into my bagel, when I heard the front door open. I glance over my shoulder. Carson enters with a briefcase in his hand.
His eyebrow raises as he surveys me, sitting there at the counter. The glimmer in his eyes has a wave of warmth flooding my cheeks. He places his laptop on the table and comes up behind me. He leans down and whispers for my ears only, “I seem to remember you glancing back at me like that last night, too.” Then he slides my hair behind my shoulder and brushes his lips across my cheek.
As he stands, he spies my bagel. “I see you like a little bagel with your cream cheese,” he says in a teasing tone, his amused smile tugging at his lips.
I look down and then give him an answering grin. “Yes, I do.” I then take a bite, relishing the taste of the warm toasted bagel smothered under a thick layer of cream cheese. With a slow sweep of my tongue, I catch any leftover bits of cream cheese. A satisfied sigh escapes my lips. I continue until every crumb has disappeared from the plate.
Carson powers up his laptop and sits down in front of it. When the kettle goes off he looks up with a curious look. “I made tea. Would you like a cup?” I ask as I stand and walk toward the kettle.
He frowns as he shakes his head. “No, but I wouldn’t mind another cup of coffee.”
I pour the steaming water over my tea bag and let it steep. Then I grab the coffee pot and fill his empty cup. As I place it in front of him, his arm goes around my hips, and he gives me a brief side hug.
I get my hot tea, add some honey, and bring the fragrant brew with me as I sit down across the table from him. While I sip my tea, my eyes study Carson as he pulls something up on his computer. His chiseled jaw has a shadow because he hasn’t shaved. His dark hair hangs over his forehead, and I want to brush it back with my fingers. But I don’t disturb him. I’m content with just looking for now. I sigh; I could easily look at him all day.
The silence stretches comfortably between us. Cartoons play in the background while sunlight filters into the dining room through the wide picture window.
Feeling my silent scrutiny, his eyes dart to mine. “I talked to Kat about the best way to introduce Connor as my son. She suggested he attend some of my more public community appearances.”
I nod with a soft smile, “Good.” I finish my sip of tea, “He may need a suit or at least a few more dress pants and shirts.”
Carson smiles, “Yeah, most of these are pretty informal. There’s a ground-breaking ceremony next week and other things like that. But there’s a formal event at the end of the month. He’ll need a suit or tux, and you’ll need a formal gown.”
“Okay,” I murmur, mentally going over my wardrobe. Carson then throws out, “My mother and the girls know a place. I doubt if they would have a tux for Connor, though.”
“That’s fine. Let me know where you got your tux, and I’ll take him shopping.”
Carson continues, “I’m sending you a copy of my schedule. My admin has the events with Connor clearly marked.”
I grin as I suggest, “You’ll need to instruct him on how to behave—and, more importantly—what not to do in front of the cameras.” I offer with a twinkle in my eye.
“Understood. My father was at a similar event at a construction site when I was young,” Carson chuckles as he tells the story. “The photographer was delayed. By the time he arrived, I was covered in dirt from head to toe.”
“Like father like son,” I murmur as I shake my head fondly. Carson nods, “I’ll be sure to explain that if he’s bored, he needs to let me know. I’ll gladly pay someone to keep him looking presentable.”
I frown, slightly confused, “Pay someone? I promise to keep him out of trouble.”
Carson glances at me, an unreadable look in his eyes. “Anna, I thought it would be best if you… avoided being in the public eye, for now.” He gives a casual shrug. “Until this whole thing blows over. Kat said the gossip rags could get ahold of the story and blow it out of proportion.”
A hesitant nod is about all I can manage to his casually spoken words. Each one feels like a slap in the face. No, worse, like a dismissal, a rejection of our relationship. I try to shove down my initial reaction, but my chest aches, a dull pain that spreads through my limbs. What does this mean for us? Does he not view us as a couple? Confusion and hurt swirls in my mind, a tangled mess of mixed emotions.
Twenty-Five
Carson
The Florida sun is turning the ground-breaking ceremony into a personal sauna. Sweat trickles down my back, soaking into my starched white dress shirt. I shift uncomfortably from the growing dampness that clings to my skin.
It’s a ground-breaking ceremony, but the publicity coordinator felt it would be more dramatic for us to cut a ribbon instead of throwing a shovel of dirt. I don’t quite get her logic, but I’m only here as a representative of Knight Security. Our company has contributed money and resources to this particular charity.
Next to me, Connor mirrors my stance. A wide grin plastered on his face. He doesn’t seem to mind the heat, his youthful energy never wilting. While I feel a simmering frustration. This ribbon-cutting charade, while dramatic, feels like a colossal waste of time.
