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I thought back to those long evenings at his kitchen table, the books between us. “It’s possible your tutor wasn’t as focused as she could have been.”
He frowned. “My lack of brainpower is definitely not on you.”
I wondered, though. I was so busy wishing for things that could never happen back then that I might have let him down. I didn’t want to go there. “You mentioned homework earlier. What did you mean?”
Sly dropped my eyes, his big hand toying with the knife at his place setting. He pressed his lips together and gave me a quick look. “Can I tell you a secret?”
“Sure.”
“Seriously. No one knows.”
“Okay.” What was he going to say? I braced myself.
“I’m working on my MBA.”
Surprise rippled through me, but I tried not to let it show. “That’s amazing.”
“It’ll be amazing if I actually get it.”
“That’s not what I meant at all. Of course you’ll get it, if you want it. What will you do with it?”
He leaned back in the chair, sighed. “Not sure yet. But I know I can’t skate forever. I need a backup plan.”
“That’s really smart.” I had assumed he’d play as long as he could and then live off the money. I admired that he wanted to do something else.
“We’ll see. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention it to my family. I’d rather not have anyone else be let down if I fail.”
He looked defeated, something I hadn’t seen since those evenings at the kitchen table. “You won’t fail,” I told him, dropping a hand on his forearm and almost immediately wishing I hadn’t. His arm was warm and so very solid and alive. Masculine. Heat rushed through me at the contact.
“That’s nice of you, Clara. School, historically, is not my strength, though.” His words were soft, and he delivered them staring directly into my eyes, reconnecting the thread I’d felt pulling us closer since I’d run into him again on Violet’s doorstep that day. As I stared into those dark eyes, my hand on his thick forearm, something clicked inside me, some inevitability. I could already see us together. And just beyond that vision, I could see another. Me. Heartbroken and alone.
Because Sly Remington was not made for me. I’d learned that a long time ago.
“Mom!” Katie appeared at my other side, breaking the tension I’d fallen victim to. I pulled my hand back and turned away from Sly, relief washing through me. Why did I want something so badly when I already knew how much it would hurt?
“Hey Katie bear. Are you having fun?” My daughter’s cheeks were flushed pink and the ribbon in her hair had disappeared.
“So much fun,” she gushed. “But I’m so thirsty. And they said it’s time for the dinner.” She reached for the goblet of water in front of her and gulped it enthusiastically.
Soon, I traded the searing tension of the conversation with Sly for the careful oversight of helping a five-year old doing her best to negotiate her way out of vegetables by trading single bites for privileges like some kind of hostage rescue advisor.
“If I eat another bite of broccoli, I get two pieces of cake.”
“I don’t think so,” I told her.
“Silllllvessssster?”
I stiffened, looking between them. “Why are you asking him? He’s not in charge here.”
Sly chuckled at this and leaned forward. “Your mom’s in charge, Katie. Definitely.” His eyes found mine for a beat and something hot and needy slid through me.
Heat pooled between my legs and I swallowed down the sudden desire I felt.
“Eat your vegetables and maybe your mom will say yes to the other thing we talked about.”
Sly and Katie had been negotiating behind my back? I found my words. “What other thing?”
“Sillllveeessssster is going to teach me to skate,” Katie practically yelled around a mouthful of broccoli.
