Every day, I listen to the delighted sounds of my children playing in the backyard, squealing and laughing as they buzz around Tori. Her laugh carries too, a note or two below theirs, but just as dazzling.
But the moment I’m cleaned up after work and head into the kitchen, Tori quiets and scurries off to her room, leaving me with a piping-hot dinner on the stove and the table set for three.
And my kids? All they do is talk about Tori. How fun she is. How she colors with them and plays pretend. How she gives them little tasks while she’s cooking so they stay busy. Snap the peas. Wash the carrots. Organize the Tupperware. And they love it. They love feeling useful. Mila tells me that Cody attaches himself to Tori’s leg half the time while she’s in the kitchen, and she lets him. Talks to him. Explains what she’s doing, and the kid listens—or tries to. It’s like she’s a goddamn baby whisperer.
Don’t get me started about her meals. They’re delicious.
I feel guilty as hell for enjoying them without her.
It’s maddening. It shouldn’t be. I shouldn’t care what she does with her evenings. In fact, I told her she was free to do as she pleased when I was done working each day, but it bothers me that she seems to be going out of her way to avoid me.
We haven’t had lunch together again either. Just that first day. Now she packs the food and sends Mila in with the picnic basket to drop it off while she waits at the entrance of the barn with Cody. Or the kids come to eat with me while she starts dinner.
All week. She avoids me all week.
By Friday, I’ve had enough. After I get the kids to bed, I knock on her bedroom door.
“Come in.”
She’s sprawled across the bed with her arm over her face. Her hair is wet and she’s wearing those tiny sleep shorts and another tank top. She does one of those cat-like stretches, and I ignore the throb in my groin when the fabric of her shirt pulls up to display the taut skin on her smooth stomach.
You’re not here to ogle her, douchebag. I make a point to focus on her face.
“Hey. Wanted to thank you for dinner. Best brisket I’ve had in ages, but don’t tell my mom your food is better than hers.”
Tori sits up slowly and gives me a hesitant smile. “No prob.”
Those bright eyes study me. At least she’s not looking away.
Say something.
“It’s Friday night. No big plans?”
She hums. “I’m not really in the mood to beg any of my friends to drive this far to pick me up for a night of cheap beer and loud music.”
“You can borrow my truck anytime.”
A shadow passes over her, but in a flash, it’s gone. “I’d feel weird asking.”
“I don’t mind.”
Her slender shoulders shrug. “Still.”
Leaning against her doorframe, I cross my arms. “You always this stubborn?”
That smile returns, and it hits me in the sternum. “Yeah. Get used to it.”
There it is. There’s the fire she hosed me down with the first time we met.
I chuckle and slip my hands into my pockets. “Since you’re too good to drive my truck and too cool to eat dinner with us, how about keeping me company while I watch the end of the Rangers game? You like baseball? I have two pints of Ben & Jerry’s, and I’m willing to share in exchange for conversation with someone who isn’t my sibling or child.”
Her eyes lower. “I shouldn’t, but thanks for the offer.”
Here we go again. “Can I ask you something? Did I offend you?” Those golden eyes, wide and surprised, meet mine. “Because you’ve been doing your damnedest to avoid me since lunch earlier this week.”
After a long pause, she sighs. “I’m doing you a favor.”
“How do you figure?”
She doesn’t answer right away, until I give her an exasperated look, and she sighs again. “I’m staying out of your way. This is your house, and I know you’re not used to having a stranger around.”
I frown. “You’re not a stranger. Well, not anymore. And I feel like a giant ass enjoying your cooking without you joining us. I mean, it’s fine if you’re sick of me and my kids and need some space—”
“I’m not sick of your kids. Not at all.”
It pains me to think of what she’s not saying. “Okay, so then… just sick of me?” I dig deep for the next words. “Do you still think I’m a dick? I know I’m not always the nicest guy or the most patient, but—”
“Shut up. I’m not sick of you either. And you’re not a dick, okay?” Rolling her eyes, she gets up in a huff and stomps over. Without shoes, she’s tiny, barely coming up to my shoulders. I’m thinking Tinkerbell’s gonna shove me out of her room and slam the door in my face when she grabs my arms and turns me. “I’ll watch anything with you but the Rangers, okay?”
I smile as she manhandles me out of her room. “How about the Cubs? They’re playing the Dodgers.” This close, I can smell the coconut fragrance of her shampoo.
“Fine.”
After I find the game on TV, I collect the ice cream and two spoons, drop down next to Tori on the couch, and hand her a spoon. “Chocolate Cherry Garcia or Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough?”
“Chocolate Cherry, please.”
“Here ya go, m’lady.”
I adjust the volume on my flatscreen and settle in. I’m about to pat myself on the back for getting her to relax when she moans, and my dick sits up and takes notice.
Reflexively, I turn toward her and immediately wish I hadn’t.
The look on her face is pure ecstasy. Her eyes are closed as she wraps her lips around the spoon and moans. Again.
Throb. Throb. Throb.
Fuck.
Reaching down, I yank my jeans at the knees to make more room and stretch the hem of my t-shirt out before I strategically place the ice cream over my erection.
What the fuck? I glare down at my lap, wondering how the hell I’m sporting spontaneous wood when I’ve barely noticed a woman in the last two years, much less popped a boner around one like a horny teenager.
“This,” she mumbles around a bite, “is sooo good. Thank you.”
“Welcome.” I muster a grunt.
We eat in silence while the Cubs get their asses kicked. C’mon, guys.
The tension in my shoulders finally starts to ease, which is when I remember the phone call this afternoon.
“I heard from the babysitting agency this afternoon.”
“Oh?” She stills next to me.
“They told me I was shit outta luck. That no one wants to come out this far, but they’ll keep me posted if something changes.”
“They did not say you were ‘shit outta luck.’” She makes this little sound in the back of her throat.
Laughing, I shrug. “No, but you get the gist.” I look over at her hesitantly. “So what do you say? Think you could stay on longer? I know we initially said we’d start with two weeks to see how things went, but I honestly don’t know what I’d do without you right now.”
Her eyes soften, and she gazes into her ice cream like it holds all the answers. Please say yes.
“I might have someone interested in subletting my place, so… maybe?”
“Maybe is better than no, so I’ll take maybe. What if I promise unlimited Ben & Jerry’s?”
She gives me a shy smile. “Giving me the hard sell, huh?”
I try not to think about all the hard things I’d love to give her. “Just keep me posted about your apartment situation. I’d hate to lose you.”
See, I can keep things professional.
The room quiets as we return to the baseball game. She keeps making those eager noises as she eats her ice cream. I can’t decide if giving her Ben & Jerry’s is the best idea I’ve ever had or the worst as I try to ignore how much those sounds remind me of sex.
Christ. Maybe I do need to get out more, but I’d rather endure my mother’s henpecking knitting circle than go on a blind date.
A few minutes later, Tori closes up the pint and relaxes back. “I practically ate the whole thing. Guess I didn’t realize I was that hungry.”
“What’d you eat for dinner?” I know she made me brisket, but what did she eat?
She shrugs and doesn’t answer.
“Tori.” I wait until she looks at me. “What did you eat?” I study her again, realizing she looks thinner than she did last week. If she’s on some dumb diet when she’s already a beautiful woman, we’re gonna have words.
“PB and J.”
That’s not the answer I want to hear. “Why didn’t you have a real dinner? Some brisket? You made enough to feed an army.” Roasted corn and summer squash. Fresh-baked rolls. Homemade cookies. It was ridiculous. Ridiculously delicious. But the leftovers barely fit in my fridge.
She shakes her head—at me, at herself, I’m not sure. “I’m going to my sister’s this weekend.”
“Okay.”
Her cheeks redden and her voice drops down to a whisper. “I wanted to make sure you and the kids and Logan had enough to eat while I was gone.”
Well, damn.
I don’t think. I just react, pulling her into a side hug. “That’s about the nicest thing anyone’s done for me in a long time, darlin’. Thank you.”
Her hand looks small on my chest, her body tiny nestled against mine. She’s still for a second and then she hugs me back, and I can feel her smile against me. “You’re welcome.” God, she’s cute. And fuck, she smells good, like summer and sunshine and coconuts.
I lean away and give her a stern look. “No more skipping meals or eating sandwiches on my account. If you want something else to eat, then go for it, but your wellbeing is just as important as my family’s, okay? Don’t skimp at dinner so we can eat the next day. That’s unacceptable. And Logan can get his own damn meals over the weekend. He doesn’t even live here.”
“Yes, sir.”
Chuckling, I let her go, immediately wishing I could hold her again.
“Please don’t exhaust yourself on our account. If you’re too tired to make dinner, we’ll order pizza or the kids can deal with my mac and cheese.”
When she agrees, I nudge her with my elbow, and she nudges me back, and I try not to think about how much I like having her here next to me. The fact that the woman worried enough about me and my kids to cook up a small feast proves how wrong I was about her when we first met. God, I was such a cock. This girl is amazing. Thoughtful. Sweet with my kids.
Sexy as hell.
As we watch the game, I mull over the reason she says she didn’t eat tonight. It doesn’t explain the rest of the week or why she darts off to her room in the evenings, but I think I’ve pushed her enough for now.
When I get up for a beer a little later, I make a couple of brisket sandwiches and place one on the coffee table in front of her.
I park myself on the couch and nudge her again. “This babe I know makes me the best food. You really should try her brisket.”
Tori laughs and shakes her head. To my delight, she eats the sandwich.
