Yet, vulnerable and funny.
In the next breath, he’s halfway down the stairs. I close the door and lean my back against it.
Don’t do it.
I can’t help myself. He’s gone, but I still feel his hands on me. I cup my breast over my shirt, grazing my nipple like he did, and my other hand slides down the front of my linen pants.
Chapter Twelve
Rupert
“He’s a terrible muse,”I say to my wife from the doorway to the second-floor balcony overlooking the gardens on the opposite side of the house as the lake. It’s a muggy day. Even the air smells like warm earth, the inside of a compost bin.
Callie doesn’t turn to look at me. After a long inhale and equally slow exhale, she nods. “I called you uninspiring, so you found a man who is the younger version of you, and you thought he’d be better?”
I sit on the edge of the lounger beside hers, hands folded between my legs. “You liked the younger version of me.”
She grunts a laugh, leaning her head back and closing her eyes. “I liked our life when it was innocent.”
I stare at her bare leg, poking through the opening in her robe. She’s as beautiful as ever. I miss our playfulness, the passion, our unlikely love story. I misshereven though she’s right here. We live like strangers in this big house. Acquaintances on a good day.
“I was far from innocent,” I say.
She cracks open one eye and surprises me with a smirk. “Neither is Flynn.”
“Yeah, but I like the kid.”
“He’s not our son.”
I track a hummingbird making its way to the feeder hanging from a hook off the edge of the railing. “I know. However, you were going to stay in bed today, until he barged into your room. Now, here you are.”
“He’s not our son,” she repeats.
“Yet,here you are,” I say.
“I think you just wanted to make up a weird job like when Hunter Morrison hired ahomemaker. Bragging rights. What’s next? Are you and Hunter going to see who can hire a knocker-upper first?”
I cough a laugh, pressing a fist to my mouth. “If I want someone knocked up, I’m still plenty virile to do it myself.”
She rubs her temples. “My father is dead, but I know he just lifted his lifeless hand and smacked it against his forehead because his daughter married an idiot. A knocker-upper was a human alarm clock during the Industrial Revolution. Don’t you remember inGreat Expectations, Mr. Wopsle gets knocked up? They used a long stick to tap on the window.”
Thirty-three years of marriage, and she still amazes me. I married the prettiest, kindest, smartest woman in the world. And I don’t even have to say it anymore. She knows this look I’m giving her, and it still makes her blush and smile even if it’s not enough to bring her out of her dark place when she goes there.
“Flynn’s friend, June, looks so familiar. Don’t you think?” she asks, quickly changing the subject because she doesn’t take compliments well, not even the silent kind.
“Not really. But she seems nice. I’m not sure how he got her attention.”
Callie rolls her head to the side and gives me a look with one eyebrow peaked. “How did you get my attention?”
I sit straight, hands on the edge of the lounger. “My charm.”
“Pfft …” She rolls her eyes.
“My good looks?”
“Try again.”
I frown. “I don’t like the version of this story where you claim to have only given me a second glance because you knew I was the kind of guy your father hated.”
