Worrying about my late-night encounter with Aiden proves to be all for naught, given that after that night, I hardly see him for a week. He takes Sophie to school every morning in the days that follow, spending all his remaining free time at the gym when Sophie isn’t home and sneaking in and out of the shower before he disappears off to work. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he was avoiding me, which makes me even more anxious about the whole thing. I worry about the possibility of having made things awkward between us, fearing that I may have ruined the easy rhythm we’d begun to fall into. By the following Saturday, I can count on one hand the glimpses I’ve had of Aiden Reid, even living in the same house.
I mosey into the kitchen that morning earlier than usual, hoping to spend some alone time with the coffeepot before Sophie wakes up. I think I’ve got some time before Aiden wakes up and busies himself with something or another that will allow him to avoid talking to me. I’ve decided at this point that I will not be letting this bother me, that if things are weird between Aiden and me, it will be his fault, not mine.
I mean for God’s sake. The guy has seen nipples before. And it isn’t like I didn’t use to show mine to half the internet on a regular basis. I don’t even know why I’m so unsettled by it. It’s not the end of the world.
I stretch while the coffee brews, my robe slipping from my shoulders a bit to drape around them loosely when I settle back against the counter. I roll them as a well-known tightness prickles at my back, reaching to rub at the raised skin there and sighing like I always do when I’m reminded of my scar.
When the coffee is done, I add more sugar to my cup than is socially acceptable—but whatever. I close my eyes when the first sip of hot heaven hits my tongue, humming contentedly as I let it finish the job of waking me up. I’m still standing there in the misguided sense of safety that comes from thinking I’ve got a decent amount of alone time ahead of me, still leaning casually against the countertop with my robe askew and my hands preoccupied with my cup when I finally pick up on a large body stepping off the stairs that lead to the third floor.
Aiden yawns, his hair in sleep-mussed disarray and his arms high in a stretch that makes his gray T-shirt creep up enough to flash the toned lines of his abdomen above his low-slung flannel pajama bottoms. My eyes are drawn to the well-honed muscle that must be his reward from all the escapist workouts, struck dumbfounded at the counter. I shouldn’t be ogling him, I know that, but looking the way he does . . . I can’t exactly help it.
And that’s when he notices me.
“Cassie?”
I realize I’m just standing there gawking. “Oh, hey. You’re up early.”
“Yeah.” He runs his fingers through his hair absently, still blinking sleepily. “I have a staff meeting this morning.”
He still hasn’t moved away from the foot of the stairs, almost like he’s afraid to approach me. It only feeds my suspicions that things are weird between us.
“I made coffee,” I offer. “If you want some.”
“That would be great,” he says.
His eyes flick from my face to my pink baby doll T-shirt, reminding me it’s the same one I’d been wearing during our last disastrous encounter. Is it my fault that I’m so partial to it? At least I’m wearing a bra this time; I definitely learned my lesson about going sans bra outside of the safety of my bedroom.
But I can still tell that he recognizes it.
I hastily readjust my robe after I set my coffee cup on the counter—righting it and belting it across my front to hide my shirt. The last thing I need is for Aiden to be thinking about my nipples while he’s trying to talk to me.
I clear my throat, trying not to think about how obvious I’m being. “So, coffee? How do you take it?”
“Black is fine.”
I purse my lips. “Really?”
“I don’t like all of that extra stuff,” he admits.
I can’t help it. It makes me smile. “You know, I’ve always said that people who drink black coffee don’t love themselves.”
“I don’t know if that logic is sound,” Aiden counters, his mouth quirking.
I don’t answer, turning to make him a cup instead. I can hear him finally crossing the living room to join me in the kitchen, the scrape of a barstool behind me alerting me to his nearness. It’s the closest he’s been to me since last weekend, and I have to admit it puts me on edge. I can almost feel his eyes on me as I work, and I can’t help but wonder if he’s remembering the last time we were this close. Is he still thinking about what he saw, or am I the only one fretting over it?
I turn to hand him his cup when I’m done pouring his coffee, and when he reaches to take it from me, his fingers brush against mine. I feel little sparks where they touch, and he doesn’t immediately withdraw his hand. A second passes, maybe more, before he takes the cup from me, and I raise mine in a mock toast, keeping my place against the counter on the other side and trying not to hyperfixate on how broad his shoulders look in his T-shirt or how warm his touch was.
“So,” he starts, taking a careful sip from his mug. “Damn, that’s hot.” He frowns as he continues. “Did I miss anything interesting this week?”
“Well, I’ve been introducing Sophie to my underground gambling ring, but she hasn’t impressed me yet.”
His mouth twitches. “Have you?”
“Yep.” I sigh dramatically. “The kid has no poker face. I don’t think she’s cut out for it.”
“I’m not sure if I should be grateful or disappointed.”
“Definitely disappointed. If she can’t handle blackjack, how are we ever going to get to Texas Hold’em?”
He nods seriously. “Well, this does sound much more educational than multiplication tables.”
“Oh, she’s definitely not ready for that. She blows past twenty-one nearly every hand.”
Aiden is laughing now, and I’m grateful to see something other than furtive glances and his retreating figure as he ducks out of a room to avoid me. I could easily just keep up this “let’s pretend it didn’t happen” game and hope that carried us back to normal, but unfortunately, I am a glutton for punishment at heart.
I avert my eyes as I bring my cup to my mouth. “So, you weren’t kidding when you said things were going to get busy, huh?”
Aiden sighs, blowing softly on his coffee. “It’s been a nightmare. One of our suppliers had problems delivering this week. That’s why I have a meeting today; I have to meet with another supplier to try and get things back on track.”
I can tell by the sound of his voice that his frequent absences are more likely to get worse before they get better. It makes me think of all the times this week Sophie has mentioned her dad, knowing that Aiden can’t help that his job is hectic but still feeling sympathy for the little girl who had to have hoped she’d at least get to see him on the weekends.
I know I should mind my own business, but it’s hard. “Sophie will miss hanging out with you this weekend.”
“She’ll have a better time with you than she ever would with me,” he says with an airy sort of laugh.
I wish I knew why Aiden insists on putting himself down all the time when it comes to his parenting. I wonder if he actually thinks his daughter wouldn’t prefer to spend her time with her dad rather than some random lady he hired.
“She misses you when you’re not here,” I counter, trying to keep my tone casual. “I can tell.”
Aiden’s brow furrows as he stares down into his cup, thinking. “I miss her too. I’m hoping things will slow down soon.”
I wrestle with telling him that Sophie isn’t the only one who’s noticed his absence, wondering if it will only make things weirder. I mean, there’s no doubt in my mind that he’s been purposefully avoiding me lately, and I can’t decide if addressing it would be worse than pretending it isn’t happening.
“I know how busy you’ve been,” I point out carefully before taking a sip from my own cup. “Feels like I haven’t seen you this week.”
There. I said it. I’m probably going to regret it, but I said it.
“Oh.” I notice the way his jaw tenses, just as much as I notice he doesn’t look up at me. “Yeah. We’ve had a lot of early prep work to do.”
“Oh.” Maybe it’s the truth. Maybe I’m reading too much into it. Still. “I thought . . . well.” I shift nervously from one foot to the other. “I guess I was worried you might be . . .”
He does look at me then, those pretty eyes of his meeting mine and throwing my train of thought off course. “Worried that I might be what?”
“I . . .” I swallow thickly, unsure how to bring up what I’ve been referring to in my head as the nipple incident in a way that won’t be incredibly embarrassing for us both. “I guess I thought maybe you were avoiding me. After . . . you know . . .”
I can’t read his expression at all, his stony countenance only made worse by the tight line of his plush mouth and the hard set of his eyes. I’d give anything to know what he was thinking right now, to have some way to prepare myself for a scolding or an incredibly awkward conversation, and by the time he opens his mouth to speak, I might actually be sweating.
“Cassie, actually I—”
“G’morning,” a sleepy voice mumbles from behind him, startling us both.
Sophie shuffles into the kitchen to join us with barely opened eyes and wild hair, having gone unnoticed by us both until this very second. Aiden looks back at me for only a moment, like whatever he was about to say is still hanging on his tongue, but he quickly pastes on a smile and ruffles his daughter’s hair when she sidles up beside him.
“Morning. Someone slept wild last night.”
Sophie frowns. “What do you mean?”
“Look at that hair,” he laughs.
Sophie reaches to pat at wayward tufts that stick up this way and that. “Yours looks weird too.”
“Does it?” Aiden reaches to do something similar, frowning when he notices he’s in no better shape. “I guess you get it from me.”
Sophie places a hand over her stomach. “What’s for breakfast?”
“I have pancake mix,” I chime in. “We could have another go at those that won’t end in a disaster this time, hopefully.”
Sophie grins. “As long as dad doesn’t help.”
“You’re both hilarious,” Aiden remarks dryly. He checks the time on the oven display. “Unfortunately, I can’t stay for breakfast, but at least you know I won’t be able to muck up the pancakes.”
Sophie looks disappointed. “You’re going back to work?”
“I’m sorry,” Aiden tells her, sounding like he actually is. “I have to.”
“Oh.” Sophie looks down at her feet, shrugging. “I thought you were gonna go to the beach with us today.”
Her demeanor and tone touches something inside me, sparking memories of eating alone and wishing for anyone’s company other than my own. I know Aiden is a far cry from my parents, but seeing Sophie make the face that she is in this moment, triggers emotions I thought I’d long packed away.
“I wish I could,” he says, sounding sincere. “You two are going to have a much more fun day than I will.”
Suddenly I’m struck with the image of Aiden in nothing but swim trunks, and that imagining might actually be bad for my health.
He glances over at me. “Which beach are you going to?”
“Coronado. I figure we can get lunch at the Del.”
“ENO’s has great pizza,” he says. “I’ll leave you some cash.”
I try to wave him off. “Oh, no, it’s okay, I can—”
“You’re going to be wrestling a nine-year-old at the beach all day,” he says bluntly. “I’m buying your lunch.”
“Fine,” I concede, rolling my eyes.
It feels weird accepting money from him for something that’s most likely going to end up being fun for me, too, but I reason with myself that it is still technically an on-the-clock activity, and that makes me feel better about it.
I’m distracted by this line of thought when Aiden’s eyes find mine again, something in them making me feel as if he had more to say from before Sophie interrupted, like he still wants to say it. It makes me even more curious about what it might have been.
“I should get a shower,” he tells us, giving us a smile that doesn’t quite meet his eyes. “Don’t want to be late.”
“Okay,” Sophie mumbles, still looking dejected.
“Thanks for the coffee,” Aiden tells me, his expression still hinting at what remains unspoken.
“It’s black coffee,” I answer, making a face. “I don’t know if you should be thanking me.”
“Right.” His smile is warm, and it makes me feel similarly. “You girls have fun today,” he says, bending to kiss the top of Sophie’s head. “Stay out of trouble.”
I don’t say anything more as I watch him leave the kitchen, and I might be embarrassed by the way I’m watching him, if not for the fact that I catch him peeking back at me one last time before starting to climb the stairs.
I down the rest of my coffee in one go, letting it linger in my mouth as thoughts bounce around my skull. One question stands out more than anything else, though, one I suspect I’ll be wondering about for the rest of the day, if not longer.
Just what had Aiden been about to say?
It was a great idea to bring Sophie here. She looks happier than I’ve ever seen her, and I think that maybe Aiden was right when he said she would like to get out of the house. She’s cheered a little since we left, but not entirely, currently busying herself with an elaborate sand castle she’s making with the variety pack of beach toys she had stashed away at the house.
I’m distracted while I watch her, the memory of Aiden’s expression and the soft way he’d said my name weighing on my mind. I might be making what happened earlier seem like more than it is, but the way Aiden has been keeping his distance from me has left me in a constant state of unease, and I’m not even sure why. I’d like to say it’s because I’m worrying about my job . . . but I’m not sure that’s the whole truth. Deep down, I think I just miss talking to him. It’s probably silly of me to be so preoccupied by it; it’s more likely that he was just going to tell me that we should pretend it never happened, which would most likely be the best course of action.
Even if it is easier said than done.
Sophie’s earlier zeal has died down a bit since we had lunch, but not enough that she’s made any indication that she’s ready to head back yet. She’d probably stay out here all day if I let her.
“Hey, kid,” I call finally, brushing the thoughts of Aiden far away. “I need to put some more sunscreen on you.”
She makes a face. “I’m not burning.”
“You think that, until I get you home later and you look like a lobster.”
“Fine,” she huffs, pushing up from the sand and dusting off her hands before she comes to sit with me on the blanket.
She gives me her back, wrapping her arms around her knees and tucking her chin against them. I grab the bottle of sunscreen from my bag nearby, squirting some into my hands before starting on her shoulders that have already started to turn a shade pinker than they should be.
She winces, and I cluck my tongue. “See? We caught it just in time.”
“Yeah, yeah,” she grumbles.
“Are you having fun?”
She shrugs. “Yeah.”
“Wow, way to rain on my parade,” I tease. “You sound like I have you out here pulling weeds.”
“I don’t know . . .” She sighs. “I wish Dad could have come.”
I pause in what I’m doing, sympathy panging in my chest. There is part of me that still thinks it isn’t my place to pry into their relationship. That I should do my job and earn my paycheck and not worry about anything else—but it’s hard. Especially with the way I’ve grown to care for this spunky kid who might be smarter than I am.
Not to mention the way I’m still thinking about how her feelings might align with mine from another time; a time when I, too, had wanted nothing more than to spend more time with the people whose attention should be a given. I finish applying the sunscreen thoroughly before I wipe the remainder on my towel, alerting her that she’s good to go. She doesn’t immediately move, still staring out at the slow roll of the waves against the shore like she’s lost in thought.
“You can talk to me you know,” I offer tentatively.
She shrugs again. “It’s nothing.”
“Secrets don’t make friends,” I say seriously. “And we’re friends now, right?”
She nods, and I resist the urge to do a victory fist pump. “I guess so.”
“So, tell me what you’re thinking about so seriously.”
“I just thought Dad might not be so busy today.”
Something constricts in my chest. “I’m sure he’d rather be here with you.”
“I guess so,” she mumbles. “I hate it when he’s busy.”
“Does it happen a lot?”
She shrugs again pitifully. “Sometimes. His job is stupid.”
“Ah, come on, it’s not stupid. He’s gotta work so he can buy you more video games, right?”
“I guess.”
I scoot up to sit beside her, and she glances at me from the side.
“It just . . .” she starts. I can tell she’s wrestling with her words, her voice softer now, like she’s embarrassed. “It makes me miss my mom when he’s gone a lot.”
“Oh, honey.” I extend my arm to press my hand on her back, rubbing a slow circle. “Of course it would.”
Her soft sniffle breaks my heart, the first sign of vulnerability she’s shown since I met her. “She was awesome.”
“I bet. I mean, she’d have to be, since she made a cool kid like you.”
“She was so funny,” Sophie tells me. “She told the best jokes. And she used to read me stories every night.” A single tear rolls over her lower lashes, trickling down her cheek. “Dad works late a lot, so.”
“You know, I’m a pretty good reader.”
Sophie reaches to wipe her nose, still trying her best to look stoic. “I’m too old for bedtime stories.”
“Says who?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, I’m super old, and I still like bedtime stories.”
She perks up minutely. “You do?”
“Yep. I was just thinking the other day how much I wish I could read a good story. Maybe you could help me out with that?”
Sophie bites her bottom lip to keep from grinning, averting her eyes as she tucks her chin against her knees again. “I guess I could. Since you want to.”
“You’d definitely be doing me a favor.”
I’ve only known this little girl for two weeks, but I’m starting to think there isn’t much I wouldn’t do to make her smile. Especially since I get the feeling she could use as many smiles as she can get with everything she’s been through.
“Okay.” She nods into her knees. “Sure.”
“Hey, did you know that you can’t hum while holding your nose?”
Sophie’s lips press together. “What?”
I pinch my nose, making a ridiculous face as I give it a go. I feel my eyes bugging out and my cheeks puffing, and Sophie giggles. “See? Impossible.”
“Nuh-uh,” she argues. “I can do it.”
Her face screws up with concentration as she copies me, pinching her nose and tensing her whole body as she tries to force her throat to produce a sound. She does it until her face starts to turn red, and I finally have to tug her hands away so she doesn’t bust a blood vessel. I can’t help but laugh at her irritated expression, looking like she’s angry to have been bested by my Snapple fact.
But I notice she doesn’t look sad anymore, so it’s worth it. “I told you it was impossible.”
“I could figure it out,” she grumbles.
“I’m sure you could,” I chuckle. I nudge her with my elbow again. “Hey. Why don’t we get out of the house again tomorrow? There’s a park nearby. This girls’ day thing has been nice, right?”
Her eyes widen, her interest piqued. “A park?”
“And maybe we can find a bookstore that sells good bedtime stories. You know. To help me out.” Her toothy grin is my reward, and I reach out with my other hand to wipe a stray tear still clinging to her cheek. “No more tears, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Now, let’s get this sandcastle finished before we both end up looking like lobs—”
I make a surprised oomph sound when her little arms wind around me suddenly; her small body pressing to mine as she clings to me in a warm hug. I’m only thrown for a second or two before I smile at the top of her head, circling my arms around her shoulders and pressing my cheek to her hair.
“You’re not so lame,” she mumbles into my shirt. “For a nanny.”
I close my eyes as I breathe in the soft scent of her watermelon shampoo mixed with ocean water. “I will take that as the highest compliment.”
I crawl across the sand to help her with her castle, grabbing a bucket as she starts to boss me around about what should go where. Her earlier melancholy seems to dissipate after our talk, and even though my own anxious thoughts still race through my head, knowing that she’s relatively okay does make me feel better, for the most part.
I tell myself that it’s because of Sophie that I am so worried over what Aiden had tried to say earlier, that it is simply because I’m afraid he will decide against me being the right fit for them, and I will miss out on more time with this little girl I’m growing so attached to. Anything else would be ridiculous. Especially any latent interest in said little girl’s father who is so off-limits he might as well be my own personal Area 51. Even if he continues to avoid me, that is perfectly okay, as long as I can continue working here.
I try to focus more on the sandcastle and less on Aiden and all that comes with him, deciding it would be better that I stop thinking about his unsaid words and his unreadable glances. This isn’t something I should be trying to figure out. I should be spending this energy on Sophie.
Cassie, actually I—
Yeah. Don’t think about it.
We get home that night a little later than expected; Sophie talked me into ice cream and then a visit to the arcade that bled into getting dinner. By the time I’m carrying all seventy-five pounds of her through the front door because she’s worn herself out, it’s nearly nine. She’s out like a light as I struggle to get her through the front door, holding her tight with one arm as I fumble with my keys. I’m just about to resign myself to waking her up so that I can get us inside, but then the door opens on its own, taking me by surprise.
“Aiden? What are you doing home?”
“Just got here,” he says. “Slow night.” He notices me struggling, reaching to take Sophie. “Looks like she had a big day.”
“Oh yeah.” I let him juggle Sophie from my arms to his. “She talked me into a lot of side trips after the beach.”
“Yeah,” he chuckles. “She’s good at that.”
I’m still standing on the porch. It takes Aiden a second to realize this.
“Shit. Let me—” He moves out of the way so I can step in. “I’m sure you’re . . . cold.”
And it’s only then that I realize that I’m wearing nothing but a sheer cover-up over my bikini top and shorts that feel completely too short all of the sudden. Aiden clears his throats as he averts his eyes, and I squeeze past him, conscious of the fact that the see-through black material leaves little to the imagination. It hadn’t felt like a big deal when we’d been out and about today, this is California, after all—but four feet from Aiden Reid with half my tits on display so soon after the nipple incident feels like too much.
Just this morning I had been trying to halfway apologize for it, to try to clear the air between us, and now I’m standing in the foyer in a bikini while he does his best not to look. Which I have to give him credit for. He is currently very interested in the color of paint on the entry wall.
“I’m glad you guys had a good day,” he says tightly.
I cross my arms over my chest. “We really did. She missed you though.”
“She did?” He does glance my way then, an unconscious movement that I don’t think he catches until he’s already looking right at me. He seems to remember shortly after why he wasn’t in the first place, averting his eyes to the floor. “I wish I could have been there.”
“Maybe next time.”
He nods. “Maybe.”
God, do things really have to be so awkward? We have got to figure out a way to handle things like this if we’re going to live together. I have tits. His face is tailor-made to induce butterflies. We’ll deal with it.
“Well, anyway,” he says. “I guess I’d better get Sophie up to—”
“Can I ask you something?”
I shouldn’t, probably. I know that. But it’s been on my mind all day, and watching him try so hard not to look at me doesn’t make it feel any better.
He doesn’t hesitate. “Yes.”
“What—” I have to take a deep breath for courage. “What were you going to say this morning? Before Sophie came in.”
His mouth opens only to close, lips pressing together for a brief moment before he answers quietly, “I was going to tell you that I was. Avoiding you. I’m sorry.”
“Oh.” Definitely not what I expected, I think. “I mean, I get it. It was sort of awkward.”
“No, I mean—” He makes a frustrated sound. “I was afraid you felt uncomfortable. I didn’t want to make it worse.”
“I . . . oh. I mean . . . I didn’t. Stuff happens, right? It wasn’t that big of a deal.”
“Right,” he says. “Okay. Good. I’m glad you don’t . . . feel uncomfortable.”
“I don’t,” I assure him. “I just don’t want things to be weird between us. We’re bound to have some mishaps here and there, in a situation like ours.”
His eyes meet mine, less hesitant than before. “You’re right. I’m sorry if I made things worse.”
“Don’t.” I wave him off. “I’ll, ah, try to be more careful too. There will be no more nipple-related incidents in this house.”
Shit.
I really had meant it as a joke, but the minute it’s out of my mouth, I’m cursing my complete lack of filter when I’m nervous. Aiden’s eyes widen a fraction, and his throat moves subtly with a swallow, and the nod he gives me is wooden, like it’s forced.
“Right,” he answers, his voice lower than a moment ago. “That would be . . . Yeah.”
Cassie, you really are a class A dipshit sometimes.
“Anyway . . . I guess I’d better get to bed.”
“Sure.” Aiden nods again, just as rigid as before. “I’ll get Sophie upstairs too.”
“She’s heavier than she looks,” I tease.
“Mm-hmm.”
Despite what he says, he doesn’t move as I squeeze past him, and I give him an awkward wave before slipping inside my bedroom and closing the door behind me. I don’t know why the universe is intent on making things weird between Aiden and me, but it’s doing a great job of it. Then again . . . it’s just a bathing suit. This is California. It’s something Aiden has surely seen a thousand times. Right. It’s no big deal.
Apparently brushing off awkward incidents with my hot boss is just my nightly routine now.
Great.
—◊—
It’s a complete accident. I’ve done well so far to keep it out of view, and now that one of my top subscribers has seen it—I feel too exposed, embarrassed, even.
“I know it looks awful.”
My hand reaches over my shoulder, my fingers grazing the rough skin of the scar that is seared there. I realize I’m sitting here, post orgasm, waiting for him to log off and stop coming back for these private shows.
“I don’t think it looks awful at all,” he says finally, and his tone leaves no room for a lie. I feel my anxiety lessening, even more so when he speaks again. “I have a scar, too, you know.”
—◊—
