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“Oh.”
“So can we come over?”
“I have to ask my d—”
I realize what he was about to say and my heart expands like a balloon going up to space.
Cheeks staining red, Rowan glances away. “I mean…”
“I don’t have a problem,” Adam says, making it easier on his son. “Your friends can come over anytime. As long as they have their parents’ permission.”
“Yes.” Rowan pumps his fist.
Beth gives Adam a pretty smile. Her enchanting hazel eyes sparkle with approval. There are hints of her mom’s dainty beauty in her face, but it goes deeper than that. She carries herself like a little princess—intelligent, composed and straight-laced. It’s no wonder Bailey’s got a crush on her.
“Thanks, Mr. Harrison.”
“No problem, Beth.”
“Can I…” Rowan gestures to where the other kids are gathered amongst the farmhouse ladies.
Adam nods. “Don’t go too far.”
When Rowan runs off, it’s just me and Adam left. I dig my fingers into my purse strap and shuffle nervously to keep from getting awkward.
Adam doesn’t say anything.
Should I say something first?
I point my gaze toward his shoulders. Were they always so broad? Is it the jacket?
Don’t think about that. You’re at his wife’s funeral. Whether it was a real marriage or not, you should still have respect.
Adam runs his fingers through his hair and it breaks the mousse or gel or whatever he’d used to keep it away from his face. Immediately, chocolate brown locks unfurl in all their unruly glory. One of them falls against his forehead.
Stop looking, Nova.
His eyes are deep and penetrating. I get lost in them before I’ve given myself permission to do so.
Ugh.Since when did I lose my cool around Adam? I’ve spent seven years containing myself, drawing lines and keeping a healthy, professional distance.
Now is the absoluteworsttime to falter in my self-restraint.
Adam shifts toward me, the muscles under his shirt bunching and rippling like it knows I’m watching and wants to put on a show.
Mentally, I throw my hands up.
Outwardly, I cringe.
That’s it. I’m going home and I’m taking a long, cold shower. Then I’m going to light a few candles at church because lusting after a man at his wife’s funeral is the definition of being a heathen.
But if I need a candle, then Adam needs three.
Because he’s looking at me like a starving man looking at food.
“I should go.” I swallow hard. “But if you need anything—”
“Was it you?”
