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“You don’t,” she said, sounding disappointed, “but I have to pick up Katie by ten.”
I glanced at the clock. “It’s only nine.”
“I will need to be wearing clothes and not smell like sex.”
“Hmph. Do you want to smell like breakfast?”
“I mean...depending on what’s on offer.” Many inappropriate offers flew through my mind, but I settled on actual breakfast options.
“You hop in the shower. I’ll make pancakes.”
“Coffee?” she said hopefully.
“Yup. And strawberries and whipped cream.” As I said it I wished I’d thought to offer that last night. There were a lot of uses for whipped cream.
“Okay,” she said, sitting up. But then she glanced around and frowned. “I should really go home, though.”
“Why? You don’t think my shower will live up to high standard established by the thread count? There are three shower heads in there, sweetheart.”
She giggled. “It’s more about clean underwear.”
“I have some shorts and a T-shirt you can throw on until you get home.”
She looked up into my eyes, considering. “Walk of shame in your clothes.”
“The only people who might see you are my parents.” Which would result in far more questions for me than for her.
“Makes it so much better.”
I kissed her then, and I felt her resistance melt away. “Pancakes,” I whispered in her ear, forcefully pushing myself to let her get up. Trapping her here wouldn’t help either of us, no matter how much I wanted to.
“You really know how to get a girl worked up.” She poked me in the chest and scooted off the bed, and I had to fight down the urge to tackle her naked body back into the sheets. She was so damned hot, all muscles and sinew paired with luscious curves in exactly the right places.
I handed her a pair of workout shorts and a Wombats T-shirt, and sent her off to the shower. Then I got to work.
When Clara headed down the stairs after pancakes, refusing my offers to walk her home, I didn’t want to let her go. I wanted to stay curled up together in the little cocoon we’d created. I had a crazy thought that as long as we stayed up there together, we could keep things exactly the way they were—perfect. As long as I was holding her close and looking into those gorgeous eyes, as long as I was listening to her breathy moans and making her laugh, this was our whole world.
But our world was bigger than just us two.
And it involved children, and teammates, MBAs, and parents.
And a fence that wasn’t going to build itself.
I pulled on shorts and a ball cap, slathered on some sunscreen—because sunscreen is important—and headed down to the backyard to work. Now that the posts were sunk, the rest of the fence was simple enough to construct. Dad had helped put up the crossbeams, but screwing the planks on seemed to be up to me. I could hear the television blaring inside. Today it sounded like bowling.
Go figure.
As I picked up the first plank from the pile and readied the electric screwdriver, Mom called out to me from the back porch.
“Sylvester, honey.”
I turned to face her, not sure if she needed to chat. She sat in one of the oversized patio chairs, a cup of coffee in her hand and the paper on the table in front of her. I put the plank down and headed over to say good morning.
“Hey Mom.”
“Sit down for a minute and talk.”
“You doing okay?” I asked, taking in the half-finished crossword and her slightly drawn expression.
