Page 33 of Parentmoon

“Darlin’,” Dallas drawls. “Come here.” He pushes back his chair and pats his thigh.

I don’t want to go to him. I’m hurt when I shouldn’t be. He’s right. We aren’t discussing marriage. My son and his daughter are the ones who should be married.

Despite the pang in my chest, I stand, then move toward him. He tugs me down to his lap and I melt as his arms wrap around me.

“I don’t want to fight with you, Jo.”

“We aren’t fighting.” We’re having . . . a difference of opinion. Dallas isn’t the marrying type. No big deal. Yet for all my bravado I believe in happily ever afters and weddings. What was I even thinking, though? That Dallas would change his opinion after only a few days together? That he would consider such a huge commitment with me? The idea is preposterous. It’s simply that marriage never entered my mind until Dallas so blatantly cast out his declaration against it.

Or maybe it’s that there are many sides to Dallas I hadn’t considered and he’s contradicting his statement with romantic behavior.

It's only a fling. Enjoy him, Jo.

Dallas kisses my temple and I lift my arms to wrap them around his neck, tightening my hold on him. We sit like this for a solid minute before Dallas murmurs into my shoulder.

“Michael told me you give the best hugs.”

I pull back, sliding my hands over his shoulders and resting my palms on his chest. Michael sure has discussed me a lot with Dallas. “I do?”

“I’d say yes, but I need a second one before forming a firm conclusion.”

Shaking my head, I return my arms around his neck, smiling into the pulse at his throat and inhaling his masculinity. I cup the back of his head, holding him to me as best I can while sitting on his lap.

His arms tighten around my back. “Michael was correct,” Dallas mutters by my ear. He kisses me there and then pulls back. “I deem your hugs the best I’ve ever had. How about we finish dinner?”

Dallas is a switch, flipping between on and off with ease. Only, I have to agree with him here. I don’t want any more serious talk.

“Perfect.”

+ + +

The remainder of the meal is casual, but constantly flowing with chatter. There is no tense or awkward small talk. We share tales of my growing up in Chicago and him living near Houston. He explains how involved he’d been with raising Keli despite her living with her mother. I mention how active Michael had been as a child, keeping me constantly busy.

Eventually, Marietta arrives with dessert in hand, and Miguel clears the table of our dinner plates. Dallas realizes our bottle of wine is empty and excuses himself before disappearing into the house. He quickly returns with a second container.

Dessert is a sliver of cheesecake and I devour mine. Falling back in my seat once finished, I rub my belly. “I’m so full.”

Darkness has descended and the moon is bright once more over a settling ocean. Music still plays overhead from hidden speakers in the roof above us. Dallas stands.

“Dance with me.” He holds out a hand and helps me out of my seat. With his arms around me, our hips sway. Suddenly, our position is too much. This is romance. Dancing in the dark, bare foot and holding a man. A man who doesn’t believe in marriage. I didn’t need marriage, but I longed for devotion, loyalty even, something I’d never had with Craig. I want someone dedicated to me.

I was getting ahead of myself, though. One reckless morning in bed bleeding into a confusingly romantic evening does not lead to I-love-yous and forever. Dallas couldn’t be the man of my dreams. I’m simply feeling overwhelmed in the moment about all the things I long for and all the things I don’t think I’ll ever have mingled with this seductive setting.

Dallas spins me around and pulls me back to him, encircling me again and holding me tight to his chest.

“Was it a good day, darlin’?”

“It was.” The day was amazing, and I hate the thought of endings. Soon enough Dallas and I will part ways, each going back to our corners of the world. My shoulders fall a bit.

Uncannily reading my body language, Dallas kisses my shoulder. “Don’t flip the calendar too fast, darlin’. We have days to go yet.”

“I know.” Still, this should be Michael and Keli’s trip. They should be dancing under a moon-bright sky with the ocean as a lullaby. “Michael and Keli should be here, though.”

“But they aren’t,” Dallas says softly.

“They aren’t,” I repeat sadly.

We dance out the song which mentions islands and sunshine and love. Despite myself, I yawn, covering my mouth with the back of my hand.