"I'm going to need you to stop thinking so hard, Ruthless." Tucker's words are soft in my ear. "It looks like you're starting to melt down, and my mother’s going to notice and try to hug you."
That gets my attention and has my eyes snapping to his face. "Seriously?"
Deidre has been very busy since we got here. She rushed around the kitchen finishing dinner while making sure to check in with each of her sons as well as Mariah and Brooke. Birdie’s high chair was situated next to her for the meal and Deidre handled making sure she got a little of everything, cutting anything problematic into bite-sized pieces. Once dinner was over, she whisked Birdie away to clean her up before taking her to play. I've actually felt like she might not have even remembered I was here, so hearing she would notice my current expression is a little hard to believe.
"Seriously." Tucker's thumb strokes my shoulder, his arm a steady weight around me just like it’s been since we sat down at the table. "She's behaved herself pretty well so far, but I can promise you she’s dying to smother you with maternal affection." He tips his head, wincing a little, like he feels bad about what he's about to say. "It's sort of her thing."
A tiny twinge of something flares deep inside me. I’ve been the one doing all the mothering for so long, I almost forget what it’s like to be mothered. How it feels to be taken care of. Doted on. Loved and appreciated just as I am.
Tucker’s right. Deidre does dish out that kind of affection like it comes from a bottomless well. Tonight, I’ve watched her bestow it on her sons, on Brooke and Mariah, on the twins and Birdie.
Everyone but me.
I lean close to Tucker, keeping my voice low so no one will overhear. "Do you think she doesn't like me?"
Honestly, Deidre wouldn’t be the first person who wasn’t a fan of mine. I've probably been called bitch more often than I've been called kind, but assumed that had more to do with my reserved nature than anything. I know I'm not warm and fuzzy or outgoing, but I’m not mean or spiteful. I’m just…
So very different from Tucker’s warm, open, friendly self.
Tucker's head snaps my way, confusion pinching his brow. "What? No." He looks me over, like he’s seeking evidence of my claim. "Why would you think that?"
"I don't know." I roll both lips inward, pressing them together like I can seal off the rest of this conversation before it escapes my mouth.
For some reason it doesn't work.
"Maybe I'm not what she expected. I’m the first woman you've ever brought home. It's possible she assumed I would be some sort of amazing, gorgeous, brilliant woman brimming with personality."
Tucker's head tips, the confusion on his face lingering. "I feel like I shouldn't have to tell you this, but you are all those things."
All the thoughts circling my brain trip over each other, collapsing into a jumbled pile that leaves me unable to form any response other than, "Oh."
I'm working real hard to avoid admitting that I’m starting to like Tucker, but I don’t know how much longer that’s going to last. It seems like every word that comes out of his mouth makes him more and more appealing to me.
Which is worrisome.
Almost as bad as letting him press me up against the side-by-side while we make out.
I've been able to easily discard any other physical interactions we've shared as necessities. They simply had to happen to ensurewe looked comfortable touching each other. They were performative. Done for the sake of whoever happened to be watching us at the time in order to convince them we’re actually in a relationship.
But no one was watching us outside. There was no audience. No one to convince.
And no way to claim it was just us trying to get comfortable. It's very evident we’re more than comfortable with each other at this point.
Tucker reaches up, pushing a lock of hair away from my face before curling it behind my ear. “To be honest, my family probably had no clue what to expect when they heard I found someone.”
“That’s because you’ve never kept anyone around for longer than a night, so no one got a glimpse at any of them.” I try reminding myself who Tucker really is. The way he handles his social life.
But I’m having a hard time reconciling the man I’ve heard so much about with the one who’s so sweet to me and my daughter. The man who is clearly dedicated to his family. The man who works his ass off, and knows every employee in his family’s gigantic business by their first name.
He’s so committed in every other aspect of his life, that I’m struggling to understand why he is so resistant to having a romantic relationship. He’s clearly built for it, and there’s certainly no lack of willing women.
Also, he's a very good kisser, so I have to assume he’s at least moderately decent at everything that comes after that.
It just doesn’t make sense.
A strange shadow passes over Tucker’s normally bright and open expression. It’s nothing more than a flicker, but it’s a familiar one. An emotion I’ve seen in the mirror many times.
Pain. Not the physical kind, but the sort you can’t simply bandage up and wait to heal. It’s the type that lingers. Sometimes festers. Turns from an ache to a breath-stealing stab at the most inopportune times.
