Shoving my phone in my pocket, I walk into the living room, ready to head out the door for dance lessons. Not an activity I’m particularly looking forward to, but I’m willing to give it a chance if gives me another excuse to be near Dessy.
Unfortunately, she needs to run rehearsals so Sabrina will be my partner today, but Aulie will dance with me on fair days.
I should be grateful I get to give my heart a break from all the cardio, but something about losing another chance to have her body pressed against mine is disappointing.
In the living room, Simone is sitting in a chair, soaking in the early morning sun and folding laundry. “So, are you going to explain why you came home soggy yesterday?”
“I uhm.” I flex my hand at my side to keep it from rising to my lips and tracing the phantom tingling sensation that’s lived there ever since Aulie’s mouth left mine. “I lost a game of chicken.”
Simone clucks her tongue. “I heard the chicken got pretty wet, too.”
“How?”
“Aulie picked up Lucy after school like she usually does on Tuesdays, and Luce said that Aulie was soaked. Said she fell at work and left her change of clothes at home. I put two and two together.”
“Why was Aulie picking Lucy up? She’s too busy. I could have done that.”
“And deny Lucy her big sister time? Oh, no. You don’t want to be on the end of that ire.”
I tilt my head to the side. “She’s still doing that?”
“No way I could separate Luce from her.” Simone shakes her head.
Since I started returning to Chawton Falls regularly, Aulie’s bond with my family has only grown. Luce, in particular, became overly attached. When she was seven, she threw a massive tantrum when it was time for me to head back to Boston for the start of the season because it meant she wouldn’t see Aulie for another few months. Aulie promised she’d take Lucy out for ice cream alone, and Lucy screamed, “Like big sister time?” It was a sweet gesture, but that was four years ago. I didn’t know that was something she was still doing.
I rake a hand through my hair. Yeah, this new information will not help me squash my feelings for her. “I’ll have to thank her.”
“You know, Aulie’s just about as pretty as she is nice.” Simone flashes a smile, folding a tiny onesie.
“Really? Hadn’t noticed.” I shrug with a nonchalance that would earn me an Oscar if the Academy was watching.
“So you’re helping with this fair for no reason besides the goodness of your heart.”
“You told me to use my position to help others. Well, here I am, helping.”
“Uh-huh, okay.” Simone smirks, folding a small pair of pants with Baby Yoda printed on them. “So, the puppy dog eyes you set on her all summer?”
“I was high on painkillers. I would have looked at Grady like that, too,” I grump, putting on shoes that wouldn’t be as heavy as yesterday’s work boots.
Boots probably weren’t great for ballroom dancing.
Now there’s a thought that the bad boy of the NHL probably shouldn’t have. Lord, what kind of hold does this woman have on me that I’m over-analyzing my footwear and getting ready for dance rehearsals?
I swear, this woman owns every ounce of me. She’s unearthed the ugliest parts—the ones that haven’t seen the light of day in years—and now, whether she wants them or not, they’re hers.
ChapterNineteen
Aulie Desfleurs
Play:Sway by Rosemary Clooney
My wife.Jack’s fingers delicately glide over my jaw in a phantom memory. It’s been four days since his lips brushed against mine, and I returned his gentle caress with a hungry possession. Four days, and still, his touch, coupled with his gaze of adoration as he grazed my skin, is all I can think about.
This distraction isn’t appreciated considering it’s opening day for the fair. There are a million and one things that require my attention—the fairground maps, character jobs, sign-in sheets, and ticket sales—and currently, they’re all drowned out by the syrupy rasp of Jack’s voice as he held me tightly.
A sharp pain catches my left side. Oh heck. Good to know that still cuts through everything else.
Dr. Murdoch suggested that since the pain is mental, I’d be fine if I found something to distract me. Now, I can’t help but think he’s wrong if Jack Parker’s lips aren’t enough to overcome my hypochondriac tendencies.
