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“He won’t be coming back here again. I’m gonna get a new lock and key for that gate though, so I’ll get some spares cut for you ASAP.”
She nods and smiles, her eyes unblinking as she looks wondrously up at me. I watch as she slides her palms down into her back pockets, her body arching forwards and releasing a wave of her sweet scent straight from where the little gap in her zipper is, right between her breasts. Hell. I reach an arm up so that I can scrub at the back of my neck but I think I just gave her a hormone-dousing of my own, and her eyes look up and linger on the curve of my lifted bicep.
“Well, thank you,” she says, a little raspier than before. “And I’m sorry for being such a pain. I…” She looks down at the sleeve of her pretty jumper and dusts at the dirty hand-print. Instantly the cords in my neck are twisting a little tighter and I’m thinking about actually paying that guy a late-night visit. “I’ve learnt my lesson. It was kind of you to look out for me like that. I’ve had a hard month is all.”
Suddenly I’m very interested in continuing this conversation. She’s had a hard month? I’m guessing that explains why she’s here. What could have gone wrong in this beautiful woman’s life?
Did someone do something to hurt her?
She wafts a dainty hand in the air, dispersing her words between us.
“Not that that justifies anything. What I’m trying to say is that I’m sorry for being a pest and, after my little scare, I am now ready to actually stay out of your way and let you do your job.”
Her littlescare? She was scared of the guy in the van? Fuck. Now the last thing that I want is for her to stay out of my way. I want herinmy way. I need her close by, so that I can keep on looking out for her.
“Harper–”
“Seriously. I’m really grateful.”
I can tell that she’s trying to now head back inside her bungalow, with her judgemental teddy and dick-thickening lingerie, so I quickly say, “My number, Harper. I promised you that I’d give you my number. Just in case.”
She twists back around, eyebrows arched as if she’d forgotten. Of course she had. She’s probably been thinking about lots of other things, including but not exclusive tomen her own age.
I pull my notepad out of my pocket and quickly jot down my number. I write MITCH above it for good measure. Who knows how many guys are trying to get their digits in her pocket.
My blood boils at my own phrasing.
I rip out the page and she jumps a little. My eyes fly to hers, hoping that I’m not coming across as too much of a brute. To balance out the violent tear I gently fold the paper in half and then extend my hand, passing it to her.
She reaches for it, looks up at me, and then slowly lowers her hand to the paper. Her fingers brush softly over mine and we both stare, unblinking, until she’s fully taken it.
I stand there dumbstruck, wondering how the hell that was one of the hottest moments of my life. I can still feel her cool fingers burning into me, stroking against my palm.
She gives me another smile and then she stuffs the number into the tight front pocket of her jeans.
I watch her walk away until the front door closes behind her.
*
It’s almost the end of the week by the time that I can get a reservation on a room at the motel three miles from Pine Hills. I flip over how illogical it is to not just stay in the bungalow next door to Harper’s – or, better yet, to not simply leave her alone like a normal guy would – but I convince myself that getting a little nearer to the site whilst simultaneously not infringing on her space is the safest option when there are potential hazards in the area. I don’t think that our visitor will be coming back any time soon but I’d prefer to be only a few minutes away, just in case.
Motels are cheap and I’ll be making sure that the heir to Pine Hills is out of harm’s way.
It’s a no brainer.
My son, Tate, stands in the foyer of my house, shrugging on a jacket as he watches me silently from under the dark shadow of his fringe. We just had a father-son dinner together because he’ll be leaving the site a little earlier tomorrow, what with it being Friday and him spending the weekend heading up to his fiancée’s campus during her term time. Her third year just started so I’m sure that he’s more than eager to help her settle back in.
I’m pretty sure that his mom, Pam, never taught him how to cook but for some God blessed reason he’s naturally skilled when it comes to working around a kitchen. Our arrangement when he comes round is simple – he cooks and I clean.
His mom and I were tight in high school, not as a couple but as kids who liked each other’s company. When we got a little older we decided to experiment in the ‘safe zone’ of our friendship and soon Pam was pregnant. She didn’t want to be in a relationship and there was nothing I could do about that but I was immediately dead-set on getting a full-time job so that I could pay for our kid. Despite the circumstances and the fact that I was low-key shitting it, deep in my chest I was stoked to become a dad. Having a family was my sole goal in life. Even though it took me my whole adult life to get to the stability and salary that I’m at now, and even though Pam and I were never meant to be, I wouldn’t change a damn thing.
Regardless of the fact that Tate’s always seen his mom and I as two separate parts of his life, I know that it might be weird for him to consider me having an interest in a woman who isn’t his mom. I mean, my last relationship that he was aware of wasn’t exactly the greatest for him to witness.
Just ask his fiancée. She would know, seeing as I was datingher mother.
I swallow that thought down and then take a deep breath to calm my mind. It was a head-in-my-hands moment when I found out that the first woman I’d decided to get to know in years was the mother of the girl who my son was in love with. It was for the best when we quickly realised that we weren’t going to be the greatest match. Now she’s doing her thing, I’m doing mine, and I want nothing but the best for her.
It’s been – what – two years since my last relationship? So surely it’s okay to start thinking about someone new now.
