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The boundary line I needed.
Jamey was on me the moment I walked through the door, nearly knocking the pizzas out of my hands as he ran into my leg. “Pizza!”
He wrapped his little arms around the muscles of my thigh and calf, securing himself to me, and I walked across the entryway with him standing on my foot for support. Sophie stood in the kitchen, her brown hair a mess and freckles shining in the reflection of the setting sun. She looked exhausted.
“Thank god you’re home,” she sighed, leaning forward on the island and burying her face in her hands. “He’s been nonstop talking about pizza for… geez, it’s six? Ten hours.”
I laughed as I set the boxes down in front of her. “I’m sorry,” I said, my lips tipping up on one side in a smirk. “I thought you were capable of handling a four-year-old.”
The smack she levied against my chest surprised me. “I am. But you sabotaged it.”
“Oh, don’t be so dramatic, Sophie. He couldn’t have been that bad.” Jamey unlatched himself from my thigh and ran to his spot at the dining table, practically vibrating in excitement.
“He hasn’t eaten anything since breakfast,” Sophie deadpanned.
“What? Why?”
“He refused to eat until he got pizza.”
I chuckled as I took out a plate for Jamey, loading it up with a couple of slices of cheese pizza and a little dipping pot of ranch. “I’m sorry,” I admitted, actually meaning it. “I won’t tell him we’re having pizza again that early in the day.”
She slid her hands down her face, groaning as she stood up straight. “Thank you.”
“Wine?”
“God, yes.”
————
I’d done exactly what I told myself I wouldn’t. I’d let her stay.
Jamey had spent the entirety of dinner talking our ears off, telling me about his day with Sophie and how much he loved her. They’d played something he’d named tickle monster, which in reality was just hide-and-seek but if you were found you got tickled. They’d apparently also played hair salon, and Jamey had tried to braid Sophie’s hair, thus explaining Sophie’s messy tresses.
He’d been so exhausted from his excitement that he’d passed out on the couch ten minutes after we finished eating. I’d insisted that she could head home as I held Jamey limp and asleep in my arms, but she’d said she wanted to finish cleaning up, that she didn’t feel right about leaving the house a mess. It wasn’t a mess though, and I should have pushed her to go home. When I’d come back downstairs after getting changed into lounge clothes and tucking Jamey into bed, Sophie was on my couch with a new glass of wine in her hands.
I was in serious, horrendous trouble.
“I thought you were heading back to your place?”
She rubbed the skin of her neck, a little blush rushing to her cheeks. It’s just the alcohol. Don’t get your hopes up. “I thought we could, like, chat. Or something. I don’t know.” Fuck.
“You want to hang out with me?” I smirked, plucking my glass from the side of the sink and filling it anew. “You could have just asked.”
She rolled her eyes as I plopped down on the sofa next to her. “I just thought that since I’m spending so much time here, we should probably get to know each other better. I mean, I could be an axe murderer for all you know, and you have me watching your son.”
“Hmm,” I pondered, taking a sip of my wine. “I don’t get axe murderer when I look in your eyes though. Stalker? Maybe. Voyeur? Absolutely.”
Her blush spread further, covering her cheeks and creeping down her neck. “That was an accident.”
“Oh, come on. We both know it wasn’t an accident.”
She went silent as she stared into her glass of wine, watching her reflection ripple in her unsteady hand, before suddenly breaking out in a half-winded giggle. It was odd, seeing her like that. The wall she seemed to have put up had come down half an inch, erasing the uncomfortable tension that was building. “You’re right,” she admitted, hiding her smile behind her glass. “It wasn’t an accident. But it was a mistake, so we can move on from it.”
We should move on from it. So why don’t I want to?
“Can I ask you something, Hudson?”
My gaze locked on hers the moment she said my name. I hadn’t needed to correct her, and I wondered if it was just the three glasses of wine she’d had or if it was something more. Either way, it set off an alert in my gut, a stirring of blood where it shouldn’t go. “Yeah,” I breathed.
