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“How bad was it?”
He chews the last mouthful of his egg. “She used to leave me places, all the time. When I was three, she left me on a bench outside of a liquor store after she forgot she took me with her, and then, left through the side door. That was the first time child protective services showed up.”
I put my fork down. “Oh my gosh, that’s awful. I bet you were so scared.”
“I don’t much remember it, but as an adult, I asked to see my file, to see how bad it got. But as I got a little older, I’ve remembered things. I think I was maybe six or seven when she first left me home alone for a week. Spent most of my childhood hungry, because she never held down a job and would spend all the money she got if she did have one on alcohol. And she was angry about every goddamn thing all the goddamn time. Then, there were the men who came and went at all hours.” He shakes his head, as if he hadn’t realized he was still talking, still sharing the most horrific and painful memories of his childhood. “Anyway, it made me resilient. And what’s that thing they say, what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, right?”
I stand from my stool, move right into his space, and hug him, tightly. “I’m sorry she wasn’t capable of making sure your needs were met, Lucas. No child should feel hungry, or neglected, or threatened in the safety of their own home.”
Sunny surprises me by wrapping his hands tightly around my waist and burying his head against my shoulder. I feel the shudder, and the heat of a blown out breath, but I don’t let go, and he doesn’t release me.
I don’t care what I’m late for, because this is the only place I need to be right now.
Finally, Sunny lifts his head. “Thank you.”
I cup his cheeks. “Always. And I promise you, if you and I make this work, and we end up living together, I’ll make sure home always feels like the safest place for you.”
He slips his hand around the back of my neck and pulls my lips to his. “You already are.”
Thirty-five minutes later, with eggs and toast eaten, and the dishwasher loaded, we’re both outside on the driveway. I’m wearing khaki slacks and a T-shirt that says, No wetlands, no wildlife, no thanks. Sunny is dressed top to toe in black.
He reaches out for my hip and tugs me to him, even though my neighbor is right by us, walking their dog.
“Be good, today,” he says. “And you know where I am if you need me. Just call.”
This is where I have to be careful. Because this is where I start to let myself want quiet mornings like this with him. When it’s just me and him, there is no missing data and threat to the ecosystem.
There’s just—his fingers squeeze my hip again—this.
“I will. And you be safe on the ride home.”
“I’m always safe,” he says. “Now, kiss me like you mean it.”
That part is easy. My confidence blooms under that gentle groan of his as our lips and tongues duel.
One thing I’ve learned is that Sunny doesn’t mess around when it comes to kisses. Fast or slow, they all make me feel gooey inside. His arms wrap around me, tugging me bodily to him.
Every single kiss melts me.
“I’ll miss you, Indy,” he says before tugging his helmet on and clipping the strap beneath his chin.
He opens the car door for me and tosses my bags onto the passenger seat before closing my door once I’m seated. Sunny presses the tips of his fingers to his lips and kisses them, then presses them to the window.
It’s so cheesy, I should probably vomit, but I can’t because I quietly think it’s the most romantic thing a man has ever done.
I set off first, but Sunny soon pulls up alongside me. I look over and he flexes his bicep. It shouldn’t make me laugh, but it does.
Right up until the moment he manages to get the front wheel of his Harley off the ground into a wheelie.
I reach for my phone and dial his number, thinking I’ll get his voicemail.
“Indy,” he says. Goddamn in-helmet microphones.
“Put that machine’s wheels back on the ground.”
He laughs. “Most people can’t lift their front wheel off the ground.”
I glance at him again, still one wheel up. “There’s probably a good reason for that.”
