“Yeah.” I nod my agreement. “My mom’s great, and my brothers’ wives are awesome, though. They all try to make up for the loss.”
“That’s good. I’m glad you have that. That she has that.” She looks over her shoulder when soft music starts up. “That’s my cell. I left it by my bed. I’ll be right back.” She gets up, and when she comes back she has the phone to her ear. She stops a foot from me and the table.
“I’m really okay. No, I’ll be in tomorrow . . .” A pause. “Yes, I’m sure . . .” Another pause. “Really, I’m fine. Lucas is here.” Her eyes widen right after she says my name. “Uhh . . . the guy who did the plans for my house.” She pauses. “I can’t talk about that—he’s here. Yes.” Her cheeks darken, and her eyes skitter past my shoulder. “Abby, seriously. You are not coming over.” Her head falls back to her shoulders. “Seriously. Do not show up. Oh god.” She pulls the phone from her ear and drops her eyes to her feet.
“Everything okay?”
“I . . .” She lifts her head to look at me. “Right now, yes. But in about ten minutes probably not—because Abby is coming over to check you out.”
“She’s worried about you?”
“Yeah.” She lifts one delicate shoulder. “She represented me during my divorce and knows what I went through with my ex, so she’s a little protective.”
“How long ago did you get divorced?”
“We finalized about eight months ago, but we had been separated for a few months before that.”
“Why?”
“Why?” she repeats.
It’s like she didn’t hear my question, but I know she did. She’s stalling.
“Yeah. Why’d you get divorced?”
Her jaw gets tight, so I expect her not to answer. But she does.
“He cheated and got another woman pregnant.”
“Motherfucker.”
“Yep.” She nods in agreement. “So Abby knows all of that and is also a little bit of a man hater because of what she’s seen in her job. She’s sweet, but she’ll probably be inappropriate and ask a million personal questions. She’s assuming that since you’re here, there is something going on between us.”
“There is something going on between us,” I state.
I watch as her whole body jerks and her eyes widen.
“What?”
“Don’t get me wrong, I would have still checked on you last night when I found out you were sick if I wasn’t interested . . . but I wouldn’t have sat with you through a movie, watched you sleep through another, carried you to bed, and fought myself to keep from kissing you.”
“I . . . You . . . I . . . We . . .” She finally snaps her mouth closed, and her eyes focus on my growing smile.
“Yep, that about sums it up,” I agree.
She rolls her lips together; then they lift at the corners.
Sitting back, I watch her smile slowly slide away. Her eyes leave mine, and she speaks. “I don’t know if I’m ready for anything serious, Lucas.”
“I’m not asking you to marry me,” I say. Her eyes meet mine once more. “I’m just asking to spend some time getting to know you. And to have you get to know me—and my daughter, if it comes to that. We don’t have to rush into anything, but you can’t stand there and tell me you aren’t interested in me. Or not at least a little bit curious about where this could go.”
“You’re really straightforward.”
“Not normally, but I can tell that’s what you need from me.”
“What does that mean?”
“I knew before you told me what a dick your ex was that you had been hurt. I can tell that you need me to be up-front with you about what I want, or what I’m asking of you.”
I watch her swallow. “Why?”
“Why?”
“Yes. Why are you interested in me?”
“Because you’re beautiful, sweet, and make me laugh. Because you stepped up to help me out without question. Because I like you. I like spending time with you, and I want to do that more.”
“I come with a lot of baggage.”
“Babe, my own bags are heavy as fuck. You aren’t the only one with shit to carry,” I tell her.
Her expression softens in understanding.
“I like you, too,” she says.
I reach out and pull her closer, to stand between my thighs.
“That’s a good place to start. So what do you say? Are you willing to get to know me?”
“Yes.” Her eyes stay locked on mine.
“Good.” My eyes drop to her mouth when she sways toward me.
I start to slide my hand around her hip to pull her even closer, but end up laughing when there’s a simultaneous knock at the door.
Her head falls back in frustration.
I point out the obvious. “I think your friend’s here.”
She rolls her eyes at me before she lets me go and moves to the front door. She opens it without looking through the peephole. Again. “You know . . .”