“You sure Harvey won’t get jealous?”
I chuckle at his question, finding the remote to turnSuitsoff.
“Harvey is man enough to handle the rejection. Come on over, Tyler.”
“Be there in a few.”
Looking at Smudge, who sits beside me on the couch, I say, “looks like we’re about to have company.”
After the concert, I changed into my favorite threadbare sweatpants and an old Cranberries T-shirt. Now, filled with a mix of nervous excitement, I dash to my bedroom, pull off the sweatpants and at the last minute change my panties as well. Unfortunately, though, I have to put my bra back on, because my girls can’t hang free tonight. Somewhere in my messy bedroom I know there’s some leggings, but I refuse to remove my Cranberries T-shirt. I swipe on some deodorant and brush my teeth right as a knock sounds at my door, leading my stomach to do a series of complicated somersaults.
Smudge runs to the door, barking, while I take a moment to scan my house. Cluttered, but not filthy. What am I thinking? He’s been here several times now, and it’s always cluttered. Coaching myself to act normal for the first time in my life, I take a few seconds to catch my breath, then swing open the door.
Tyler stands, illuminated by my porch light, wearing a heavy coat and his beanie. He’s rubbing his hands together, and when he blows warm breath into them, his glasses fog up. At the sight of me, his face breaks into a smile.
“Hey, Jo.” It’s a cold night and silver plumes unfurl with his words.
Returning his smile, I say, “Hey, yourself.” I look past him, surprised to see no Volvo parked next to my car.
“I walked,” he explains. “Thought it’d be good for me.”
I usher him inside out of the cold, and with his back to me, I allow my gaze to saunter down the length of him. He tugs off his beanie, releasing a tousled mess of hair, then shrugs out of his coat and hangs it on the hook by the door. Still wearing the blue Henley and khaki slacks from the concert, I openly admire the way his shirt hugs his broad shoulders. Do I have a shoulder kink? Apparently, when it comes to Tyler, I do, because right now they’re doing nothing whatsoever for my self-control. Tyler toes off his shoes, lining them with the rest of ours, and once again my heart takes a tumble. I don’t know what it is about seeing his shoes with ours, but it knocks something loose in me every time.
Facing me again, Tyler slides his glasses off, lifting the hem of his shirt to clean the lenses, and when he slides them back on my pulse quickens. If he looked closely enough, I bet he could see the rapid pace thrumming against my throat.
Before the silence has a chance to get awkward, I find myself speaking, grasping for something to say. “Would you like anything to drink? I’m planning on having a glass of wine. Wait, do you drink? I also have tea, apple juice, and Dr. Pepper. Or water. Water’s free.” I’m rambling. I know I am, but I can’t stop the nonsense tumbling from my lips.Water’s free?Who even says that? Apparently me. I say that. Being around Tyler always seems to scramble my thoughts.
Tyler’s eyebrows rise, and one side of his mouth hitches up. “Wine is good, Jo.”
I cock a brow, grinning at him. “You sure you wanna drink? We both know what happened last time we drank together.” And oh my god, I’m flirting with my daughter’s father. Did I proposition him to drunken sex again?
A thunder-roll of a chuckle rumbles out. “Zero regrets.”
My teeth sink into my bottom lip, and I look away, my cheeks heating. Turning, I head to the kitchen and Tyler follows. I quickly find the bottle of Cabernet that Penny gave me, set it on the counter and uncork it.
Moving to the cabinet where I keep wine glasses, I stretch up onto my toes to grab two from the second shelf, fingertips brushing the edge, but I’m not quite tall enough. Huffing quietly, I’m about to hunt down my stepladder in the laundry room, when I feel the warmth of Tyler’s body. He steps up behind me, and it’s the star on the Christmas tree all over again. One long arm reaches past me, his chest brushing against my shoulder as he easily plucks the glasses from the shelf. Taking a deep inhale, I breathe in his scent, a mix of his cologne, soap, and something distinctly him. The butterflies stir in my belly, unbidden and completely unapologetic.
The moment of contact is over before I have a chance to fully revel in it, which is probably a good thing considering I’m a hair’s breadth from climbing this man. Tyler moves around my kitchen with the confidence and familiarity of someone who belongs here, like he’s comfortable and at home amongst my clutter.
He sets the glasses on the countertop and pours my wine first, looking up at me with his eyebrows raised.
“Tell me when.”
“Keep going,” I say, circling my fingers in the air. “It takes a lot for me to get soused,” I say with a little shimmy that brings Tyler’s eyes to my hips and back to my face.
Tyler chuckles and keeps on, filling the wine glass more than halfway. “Soused, huh? That right there’s a five-dollar word.”
“Thank you. I just bought it,” I reply. Then, as if moved by outside forces, I curtsy. Like a damn character from a Regency romance. This night is going great. Really great.
He huffs a quick laugh and pours his own wine. Handing me my glass, he raises his in a toast.
“To the memories of the past and the ones left to create.”
I clink my glass to his, letting his words settle over me. The ones left to create. My heart clenches at the thought that he’ll be here to witness a future. I’ve never dared to entertain the idea that there might be someone to bear witness to my life and the lives of my kids. Even if only in the role of Abby’s father, he’ll still be walking a parallel line alongside us. And my heart doesn’t hate the idea. No, my heart is slowly opening up to all the possibilities.
We each take a sip, our eyes locked over the rims of our glasses.
“I haven’t told you this yet, but your kitchen is great. It looks like you.” Tyler looks around at my robin’s egg blue cabinets, my wooden countertops and then to my table and chairs, each chair painted a different color. All done by yours truly.
