“Want to tell me what that was all about?” I asked, even though I already had a fairly good idea.
“Not really,” she mumbled against my chest.
“Was he talking about your son?” I asked, unable to hide the lilt in my voice. When she nodded against me, I said, “So you have a son.”
“I do.” She pulled away and pointed at a kid with hair and skin the same color as hers who was playing on the monkey bars. “That’s him in the dark blue shirt.”
He happened to be looking at us at the exact same time, and waved to Sofia.
As she waved back, I asked, “What’s his name?”
“Matson.”
I repeated the name in my head a few times, thinking how unique it was, and wondered where it came from. “That’s a cool name.”
A slight smile played at her lips. “Thanks.”
“How old is he?” I wasn’t experienced with kids, so I had no idea how old he was. She could have told me he was five or ten, and I would have believed her.
“He’s eight.”
Eight seemed like a good age. For what exactly, I had no idea.
“So that dickhead was his father?”
Her entire body tensed at my question. I’d never been a violent guy before, but I found myself filled with an overwhelming urge to break every bone in his fucking body if he ever scared her or her son again. And there was no doubt that Sofia was scared.
“Unfortunately.”
A million more thoughts swam in my head as I watched her son run around the swings, kicking up sand behind him.
Whatever attraction I’d had to Sofia grew tenfold in those moments after learning she was a mom. That knowledge transformed her in my mind to someone unlike any other woman who came into my bar, and in the best possible way. Learning this changed everything for me . . . the way I saw her, the way I felt about her. A life with her and her son played so clearly in my mind, I had to remind myself that none of it was real.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” The question came out in almost a whisper as my confusion mixed with a sudden clarity. Her attitude had been so standoffish because she had a kid. It wasn’t that she really hated me; she was only trying to protect herself and her heart because she assumed I’d break it.
“Why does it matter?”
“What do you mean, why does it matter?”
“I saw you with that girl last night, Ryan. You take your shirt off every night because women ask you to. Why do you care what I do?”
My grasp on the conversation faltered. “Wait, what? What girl?” I had absolutely no idea what Sofia was talking about. “There was no girl.”
“So I made up seeing that gorgeous woman wrap her arms around you behind the bar?”
I stared at the sandy concrete, desperately searching my memory to conjure up the moment she was so certain happened. “I honestly don’t know,” I said, then stopped. “Oh. Long brown hair? Tanned skin?”
“Nice of you to actually remember her,” Sofia said with a bit too much snark for my liking.
“That’s my brother’s girlfriend, Claudia.” Satisfaction shot through me as Sofia swallowed and her face reddened slightly. “And for the record, I hate taking my shirt off.”
Sofia rolled her eyes. “Then why do you keep doing it?”
“Because I’ve never had a reason to stop,” I said, although that wasn’t quite true. The fact that I hated it should have been enough reason for me to stop, but so far it hadn’t been.
“Then you must not hate it that much,” she said, holding her ground.
“Trust me, I do. I’ll stop tonight. I’ll never take my shirt off at the bar again. Will that make you happy?”