“It’s been a long time since you and I knew each other, Mona, but I assure you, I didn’t grow up to be a homewrecker.”
“I know,” she says, her eyes wide. “But he has a wife—”
“They’re not married.” I have no idea what prompted me to say that, but I instantly know I shouldn’t have.
Mona’s expression hardens, her glace sharpens. “They may as well be. They’ve been together nearly a decade. Noah’s the center of Ezra’s world. You shouldn’t jeopardize that and you for damn sure should not be holding his hand.”
She’s right. You rarely see a car wreck coming. It happens suddenly, unexpectedly, before you can avoid it.
She’s telling me if I continue down this road, I’ll crash. She’s telling me to slow down. To pull off to the shoulder and let the storm pass.
I could lie to myself and pretend it’s just me, that I’m the only one wrestling with this temptation, but that’s a lie. Ezra has been watching me all night. I feel his eyes on me every time he’s near, and I just want to look back. If I’m not careful, I’ll set us on a collision course that could ruin everything.
I’m here for a few weeks and then onto the next mayor, governor, congressman. I could destroy his relationship, damage his family and be back on the campaign trail, leaving him to deal with the fallout.
“Kimba!” Noah bounds into the kitchen. There’s a small stain on his T-shirt that looks suspiciously like banana pudding. “You’re still here. I thought you’d already left.”
Ezra enters behind him. He leans against the counter and pulls out his phone, fixing his attention there instead of on what’s happening in here. Instead of on me.
“I’m still here,” I say, unable to stop the smile that plays on my lips when this kid is around.
“Good,” Noah says. “I wanted to invite you to my birthday party on Sunday.”
Ezra’s head swings around and I feel his eyes on my profile. I also sense Mona holding her breath, willing me not to accept.
“Oh, Noah. Happy birthday,” I say. “Thank you for inviting me. That’s so sweet.”
“Will you come?” Noah presses his palms together, pleading dramatically. “I’ll be nine. You’re only nine once.”
Mona and I laugh. The unyielding line of Ezra’s full lips pulls into a smile. His eyes soften on his son.
“I don’t know, Noah.” I lick my lips and push my hair back. “I—”
“My mom’s not here,” he says, lowering his head, his smile disappearing. “She’s on safari, but at least I could have all my friends around. That might make up for it some.”
This kid’s good.
I glance at Mona’s neutral expression, which somehow still manages to appear disapproving. I look over at Ezra, and his eyes are that near-violet color that deepens with his most intense emotions. I feel him willing me to accept.
“Please.” Noah looks up at me, his eyes identical to his father’s.
“Okay. I’ll come.”
Noah breaks out into some dance that causes him to wobble his legs and point his fingers in the air. I’m sure I’ve seen it when football players make touchdowns. I can’t help but laugh, as do Mona and Ezra.
“You know you just got played, right?” Ezra asks, but his smile is pleased.
“I’m aware, yeah.”
Our eyes hold despite Mona’s watchful stare. Did I get played, or did I get exactly what I wanted?
Chapter Twenty-One
Kimba
In the Allen house, Saturday mornings are for cleaning.
At least, they used to be. Mama would be up by seven cooking breakfast. Pancakes and sausages. As soon as the meal was done, she’d assign Kayla, Keith and me chores, and we couldn’t go out and play or do anything until the house sparkled. We griped, but once the music was blasting and we were singing and dancing, we had that house clean in no time. My rendition of Whitney Houston’s “Dance With Somebody” into a dust mop microphone? Classic.