She licks her lips. I see her jaw briefly clench, and she swallows hard. “Okay, she's not your girlfriend. I get it. She just seemed extremely friendly with you when I saw you two at the airport together.”
Bailey still hasn’t pulled herself away from my grasp. I start moving my thumb up and down, slowly caressing her soft skin. “Why do you care?”
“I don’t.”
“It seems like you do,” I whisper.
“Stop fooling yourself. I know it’s such a surprise to believe that a woman might not actually be attracted to you. But I’m not and you’re going to keep embarrassing yourself if you continue to believe I am”—she jerks her arm from me for the second time—“friend.” She turns to grab her water bottle stomping around the opposite side of the treadmill to avoid passing in front of me.
I chuckle at her attempt at an insult at my expense. “Now that we’re officially friends, can I call you, B?”
“Not if you expect me to answer,” she replies, giving me her back and swiftly exiting the small and now suffocatingly hot workout room.
Chapter Eight
Bailey
Luca and I are on our way to my parents’ house for Thanksgiving by the early afternoon. It’s a beautiful fall day. Well, a little warmer than most would expect in November, but the sun is out, and there’s a light breeze to offset the lingering heat from the summer.
“Is Uncle Harry already at Grammy and Papa’s house?” Luca asks from the back seat.
As I turn onto my parents’ street, I see that my brother, his fiancée Jess, and their three-year-old daughter Phoebe are already here.
“It looks like they are. That’s their car, buddy,” I say, pointing toward the window at the black SUV parked by the mailboxes.
“I can’t wait to show Uncle Harry my new soccer moves.” His little voice is high-pitched and filled with excitement.“I bet he’s anxious to play soccer with you too,” I tell him while I park to the left of my parents’ long driveway. My brother loves playing soccer with Luca, and he gets to do all the things that Penelope isn’t into. Harry always wanted a brother, and he got stuck with me—a sister who wanted nothing to do with sports, dirt, orwrestling. He finally got that with Luca and enjoys reminding me every day that his nephew is like the little brother he wished that I was.
While one of my hands is carrying the mac and cheese, the other is fiddling with the buckles on Luca’s car seat. He sees me struggling with the latch, so he decides to try to help by yanking aggressively on the belt. Making grunting noises, his little hands wrap around the belt, tearing it apart.
“It’s okay, buddy. I got it.” I reassure him.
“Let me help.” I hear a familiar voice from behind me. It’s both smooth yet irritating. The subtle smell of spice and leather warms my body, forcing my eyes to close.
Mason’s back rubs against the front of my chest as he slides between me and the open car door. My breath catches, forcing me to open my lips and suck in deeply.
Before I have the chance to protest or even move myself away, he quickly unlatches the straps, and Luca pops out of the car.
“I could have done that myself,” I say.
“It seemed like you needed a little help,” he responds, one arm propped up on the top of the car.
“I didn’t. And what are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be with your parents, gracing them with your delightful presence?” I ask.
“Somebody is just sunshine and rainbows today, huh?”
Luca stands to my side, staring up at Mason. I figured that they would meet eventually. I guess I just hoped I would have more control over when and where.
I bend down to Luca’s level, wrapping my free arm around his body. “Luca, this is Uncle Harry’s friend, Mason.”
“Hi, Mason. Do you know how to fist bump?” Luca stares up at Mason’s tall frame.
Mason lowers himself into a squat. “Yes, I do,” he says, then makes a fist and extends an arm out into the space between the three of us.
Luca smiles, showing off his missing bottom tooth before meeting Mason’s curled hand to bump. They both make thebombsound at the same time.
“It’s so good to meet you, Luca,” Mason says with a wide grin on his face.
Of course, my child likes him instantly. Why am I not surprised?
