Before Him

“When she hangs out with Jenner and Annie, she laughs all the time.”

“Jenner makes her laugh?” Seems to me, he mostly pisses her off. “Are you pulling my leg, little fella?”

He glances down as though to check. Best to be on the safe side, I suppose. “Jenner does make her laugh.”

“I bet you’re only saying that because when he’s around, she has to top up your swear jar.”

“I do like it when Jenner comes around,” he says with a cheeky giggle. “Moose likes Jenner, too.”

“She obviously has good taste.” Suck it, Drew.

“Dad?”

I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to hearing him call me that. I think it’ll always hit me right in the feels.

“Yeah, son?”

My son. My pride and joy for evermore.

“You want to know something else?”

“I want to know all the things you want to tell me. All of ’em to infinity.”

He smiles, and my heart turns to pure goo. “Mom doesn’t look at Drew the way she does Auntie Holly. That’s because she loves her so, so much.”

“There are lots of different ways to love a person.”

“I know that. Because I see the way she looks at you.”

My heart. It feels like I can’t possibly feel any more as I pull Wilder into my arms.

26

Kennedy

PRESENT

BEDTIME IS A-CALLING

That was a night . . . a night and a half.

My bangles jingle as I toss my purse to the sofa and switch off the living room lights, my jaw aching from the effort of smiling, and I am all out of conversation for the night. So why does my heart sink when I realise Roman isn’t sprawled across the sofa? I was sure he would be. I’d imagined it, even. Mostly while Drew was talking.

Because, when it comes to Roman, it isn’t talking you’re interested in but a whole other kind of oral workout.

I push the thoughts back into the vault labelled never to be examined. But at least there was one silver lining because it meant Drew had to walk Miss Ursula home. He’d invited himself in for a coffee, and I felt I couldn’t say no. It’s not that he expected anything. Or maybe he did because, unlike me, he didn’t imagine Roman on the sofa. Naked.

No, not naked! That wasn’t how I imagined him. At least, not all the time.

Urgh! Be quiet, overthinking brain.

When Roman had turned up earlier this evening, I didn’t know whether to laugh with delight or cry. Maybe both at the same time? But at least he makes it easy for me to be mean to him. I think he secretly kind of likes it. He is so infuriating. So cocky and full of himself, the man would probably lick himself if he could. Which is kind of what he makes me want to do.

Brain, this is your final warning!

I’d gone upstairs to dress and completely changed my outfit plans, swapping out pants and a blouse for something that I tried to tell myself meant nothing but a change of choice. I stopped kidding myself on the walk to Drew’s car when I’d turned at the sound of Roman’s voice. One shoulder propped against the doorframe, his eyes seemed so dark. He’d had his hands deep into his pockets, like a pick pocketer trying to break himself of the habit. Or a lover trying to restrain himself.

Telling myself those fluttery feelings are indigestion thanks to the fancy French food, I head to the kitchen and make myself a caffeine-free tea before making my way to the staircase, switching lights off as I go. In Wilder’s room, Moose lifts her head, her skinny tail thumps the mattress once in a motion that looks more like annoyance. I kiss my boy and straighten his sheets, leaving the door ajar as I leave. Muted light spills from my bedroom door, which means either I forgot the light or that Wilder has been in here. Hopefully not with Roman. It’s not like our little home warrants a grand tour. With a jaw-cracking yawn, I push the door open as I consider another possibility, dismissing the thought before it’s fully formed.

“What the hell are you doing in here?” If I hadn’t been mid yawn, I think my jaw would’ve hit the floor because there, in the middle of my bed, lies Roman. Fully dressed, but you can’t have everything, I guess. One hand hooked under his head, the other holds a book in front of his face.

“I would’ve thought that was obvious, little love,” he says, oh-so reasonably as he slowly lowers the book. But his words are a con. They’re subterfuge. Because the way his gaze runs over me is anything but unaffected.

“And I thought you’d gone home,” I squeak, my words at odds with the multitude of reactions inside—nuclear levels of reactions. Heat, pleasure, and anticipation. A splash of hot tea to my foot brings me back to my senses. “And don’t call me that. And again, what are you doing here?”