She’s not the first person to ask the question. But sitting here in this sticky booth, feeling safer than I’ve felt in months, she’s the first person I feel like I can give a truly honest answer to.
“I’m afraid,” I admit. Wow, it’s the first time I’ve said it out loud. Hearing the words, I realize how true they are.
Shelby’s gaze shifts to sympathy. “Of acting?”
“I don’t know, exactly,” I say honestly. “At first, I just wanted to be there for my kids, as a mom. The years are short, and I didn’t want to miss a moment of their babyhoods. I didn’t want to be on set when Isla lost her first tooth or Levi took his first step. And then Levi got his diagnosis, and he needed more care. There were so many appointments and therapists, and I didn’t feel like I could offload that to someone else. But now they’re older and a bit settled, and I guess… the thought of going back to it now freaks me out.”
“Freaks you out how?” Shelby asks.
She could be a therapist.
“Well,” I breathe, deciding to be completely honest, having come this far. “It’s hard to put yourself out there. What if I do and… people are over me?”
“As if anyone could get over you.” Jesse’s voice is low.
I look at him, and he finally shifts his eyes to mine.
“You think people would get over America’s Sweetheart?” Shelby shakes her head. “Honey, come on.”
“It’s not only that,” I protest. “It’s also… if I’m going to get back in the ring and spend time away from my kids, it has to be fora project I really believe in. Something that feels important, you know?”
I can feel Jesse’s eyes burning into the side of my face. I glance over at him and he’s studying me carefully, his mouth set in a hard line. I wish I knew what he was thinking.
“You’ll know when it’s the right one,” Shelby says reassuringly. “I’m sure of it.”
I smile back at her. “I hope you’re right.”
The food arrives. No one seems to notice that Jesse is only eating with his left hand. His leg has migrated to seal itself against mine, his thigh pressing into my skin. There is a delicious heat passing between us, made even more electrifying by the secrecy of it.
I wouldn’t mind sharing a few more secrets with Jesse.
It’s dark by the time we get home, the velvety, indigo sky melting into the silhouette of treetops. The houses encircling the lake provide the only luminance, their interior lights casting shimmering reflections across the water.
Jesse switches off the truck’s ignition. We dropped Toby and Shelby off first, and now we’re alone, sitting in a parked car like teenagers who don’t want the night to end.
The smoke of our under-the-table secret plumes between us, the memory of his fingers interlocking with mine branded on my skin. Are we going to talk about it?
Do we need words at all?
For the first time since I met him, he seems nervous, his usual steadiness now replaced with boyish uncertainty. He’s looking everywhere but at me, his long fingers drumming rapidly against the steering wheel.
“Walk me to my door?” I ask, and it’s only then that he turns to look at me. He swallows hard, then nods.
It’s a funny thing to suggest. Old-fashioned. I just couldn’t think of anything else.
We step out of the truck and head up the driveway, our hands swinging inches from each other but not quite touching. My fingers are screaming to lace themselves through his again, but I can’t get a read on him now. His body language is tight and closed off, a sharp contrast to the energy he was putting off an hour ago. Has he changed his mind, regretted his earlier flirtation? I wouldn’t blame him for recalibrating after thinking it through. Who would want to get involved with someone like me, a mother of two who’s approaching forty and saddled with this much emotional baggage? Still, it’s not like I’m holding auditions for a second husband. This doesn’t have to be anything serious. We’re clearly attracted to each other, so why not give in to chemistry and get it out of our systems?
Now we’re facing each other on my front porch. He shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans, affording me another glimpse of his muscled forearms. I bite down on my bottom lip as I study the trail of veins, the faded pink scar that curves up from his wrist. Every detail about this man is unspeakably sexy.
“Thank you for today. I thought it was going to be hard, but you turned it around.”
He shrugs, color creeping into his cheeks. “You’re giving me too much credit. It was all my brother and sister-in-law. I apologize for them again, by the way. Both for the paintball debacle and their behavior after two alcoholic beverages.”
“Good thing you were there to throw yourself at me,” I say. But the joke falls flat, the words coming out more serious than I intended.
His flush deepens.
“It was nothing,” he says quietly. “It was just a game.”
