Page 37 of A Simple Regret

“Are you kidding? I love it. Do you have marshmallows?”

Theo nods dramatically. “The wittle ones. Thems the bestest.”

“Agreed,” Camden replies, walking with him to the back door. He pulls open the storm door and takes a step back, glancing down at Theo and saying, “Ladies first. We always let the women enter first and hold the door for them.”

My heart pounds in my chest as I watch my son hang on Camden’s every word. Theo nods, following Camden’s lead and says, “Wadies first.”

“Thank you,” I murmur softly, turning the knob and stepping inside my house.

The warmth burns my cheeks, as I stomp my feet on the rug and step farther into the space to ensure there’s plenty of room for the other two. I quickly rip the hat off my head and then turn my attention to Theo. I help him remove his winter snow gear, and the moment he’s free of the layer that kept him warm and dry outside, he grabs Camden’s hand. “Cocoa.”

“Let me get my gear off, little dude,” Camden replies, taking off his boots and placing them on the rug.

I do the same, placing my boots on the rug as well before moving into the kitchen to give him space. I take off my coat and snow pants, and just as I go prepare to gather up my stuff to lay them out on the washer and dryer with Theo’s, I catch sight of Camden once more. He’s wearing sweats.

Gray sweats.

My eyes scan, drinking in the sight of the man in front of me wearing something as casual as sweatpants and a sweatshirt but making them look so good he could be working a runway. The material hugs his ass and hangs low on his narrow hips, and even though the sweatshirt is loose, I still spy a bit of definition in his arms.

And then he turns around.

If I thought those sweats did his back end wonders, what it does for his crotch is, well, a work of fucking art.

“You good?”

My shocked eyes fly up and meet his humor-filled ones. “Yep.” My voice sounds scratchy and not like my own. “All good.”

“Cocoa,” Theo announces, pulling our attention toward him. He comes over and grabs Camden’s hand, encouraging him to follow. He immediately goes over to his booster seat and grabs the crayons and coloring book sitting there.

“What can I help you do?” Camden asks when I move to the cabinet to retrieve mugs.

“Nothing. I got it,” I reply, flashing a quick smile before giving all my focus to the task at hand. I know I don’t have to worry about Theo, not with Camden right beside him, and to be honest, I’m afraid if I don’t concentrate entirely on making the cocoa, I’m liable to let my mind—and my gaze—return to those damn sweatpants.

It’s weird because I’m wearing black joggers and an oversized hoodie and don’t look anything like that. My mom-ass is big and my hips are wide. I’m a solid twenty pounds heavier than I was when we dated back in high school. My shape has changed, a combination of childbearing, birth, and age, and while I don’t regret any of those reasons for altering my body, it has affected the way I view myself in the mirror every day.

I move to the cabinet and grab a saucepan, placing it on the stovetop. Then, I retrieve the new gallon of milk I purchased this morning and the container of cocoa mix from the pantry cabinet.

Suddenly, a fresh wave of guilt washes over me. I glance back to where Camden is standing by the table, our blue eyes colliding. “Umm, it’s just the powder mix.”

“Why would that matter?” he asks, watching me intently.

I clear my throat. “I know your mom used to make the good stuff with real chocolate,” I confess.

He shrugs. “Cocoa is cocoa, Shortcake. I’m not picky, and I’m certain Theo isn’t.”

Shaking my head briefly, I reply, “No, he isn’t.”

“Then it doesn’t matter to me if it’s made with real chocolate or powder mix, as long as the little dude is happy.”

I flash a small, grateful smile and return to the task at hand. I pour milk into the saucepan and turn the heat on low. “I don’t usually make it super-hot, since Theo can’t have that.”

“Make it for your son, Maren. I’ll drink whatever, however. Don’t worry about me.”

I nod, completely understanding. Everything I do is for him, and that means altering meals, drinks, time after work, weekend activities, everything to accommodate my son.

“Marshmallows,” Theo reminds me as I’m stirring the milk in the pan to keep it from burning.

“I’ll grab them,” Camden offers, moving toward the pantry.