"I'd love to see your house," Carter says, his voice low. "The one full of memories. Must be something special."
The words are innocent enough. Casual. Just a normal response to what I told him about my parents' house. But the way he's looking at me, dark eyes intent, focused entirely on my face likehe's trying to read every thought I'm having, makes them feel like anything but innocent.
Is he just being polite? Actually interested in seeing my childhood home?
Or is he saying something else entirely? Something about wanting to be alone with me, away from public spaces and watchful eyes? Something about wanting to kiss me, touch me, take this tension that's been building between us since yesterday and finally do something about it?
The thought of it… His hands on my body, those scarred knuckles tracing my curves, his lips on my neck makes heat flood through me. Makes me clench my thighs together under the table as my panties get embarrassingly wet.
"I'd love that too," I hear myself say, and my voice sounds breathless even to my own ears. "You can come by whenever you want."
"When?"
The question is direct, no pretense. He's watching me, waiting for my answer, and I know what I should say. Should say *later*. Should give myself time to go home first, change into the pretty lingerie that's been sitting in my drawer unworn since before my ex, make sure everything is perfect.
Should be smart about this.
But I don't want to be smart. Don't want to overthink or second-guess or talk myself out of what I want.
And what I want is him. Now.
"Now," I say, the word coming out faster than I intended. "We could go now. While Claire has Maya and Biscuit."
Carter's eyes darken. "Now."
"Yes." I swallow hard, trying to sound more confident than I feel. "Unless you don't want to, or—"
"I want to." His voice is rough, certain. "But are you sure? About leaving Maya with your friend?"
"I trust Claire with my life," I tell him, and it's the absolute truth. "She's the most responsible person I know. She'll take amazing care of Maya, I promise."
Carter glances toward the park again. Maya is laughing, going higher on the swings, Claire spotting her while Biscuit wags his tail. He watches for a long moment, and I can see him weighing it: the trust required to leave his daughter with someone he just met, the risk of letting his guard down even for an hour.
"I should give her my number," he says. "In case anything happens."
"That's smart."
He stands up, pulls out his wallet and leaves enough cash on the table to cover breakfast and a generous tip. "Let's go tell them."
Just like that. No hesitation, no overthinking. He's decided, and now we're moving. I stand on shaky legs, grabbing my purse. My heart is pounding so hard I'm surprised he can't hear it.
We walk toward the park. Carter's stride is purposeful, but I can see the tension in his shoulders. He keeps a short distance between us as we walk. Not touching, not even close to touching, like he's maintaining some kind of boundary until we're actually alone.
It makes the anticipation worse. Makes me aware of the space between us, the air that separates his body from mine.
"Maya," he calls out as we approach the swings.
She jumps off mid-swing. Claire catching her with a slightly panicked expression and runs over. "Daddy! Did you see how high I was going?"
"I saw. You were amazing." He crouches down to her level. "Listen, Ms. Porter is going to show me her house for a little bit. You okay staying here with Ms. Claire and Biscuit?"
Maya looks at Claire, then at Biscuit, then back at her father. "Can we get ice cream after?"
"If Ms. Claire says it's okay."
"Ice cream is definitely okay," Claire confirms. Then she looks at Carter. "What's your number? In case Maya needs anything?"
He rattles it off, and Claire programs it into her phone immediately. "Got it. We'll be fine, I promise. Take your time."
