“Can you still help with Ethan sometimes?” His voice is quieter now. Almost hesitant. “Because of my career, I can’t trust him with just anyone. Especially women.”
“You do realize I’m basically a stranger, right?”
“Yes.” He doesn’t hesitate. “But you helped my son before. And I trust you.”
The simple statement lands between us like a stone dropped in still water.
“I can pay you for spending time with him,” he continues. “He doesn’t have any female role models in the house. I think it would be good for him.”
“What about his mother?”
Grayson’s expression darkens. The transformation is instant and complete. The light-hearted, flirtatious man across from me vanishes, replaced by someone grim and closed-off. “She’s no longer in the picture.”
The finality in his tone makes it clear that the subject is off-limits.
I’m quiet for a moment, then venture, “Have you considered remarriage?”
“Out of the question.” His voice is cold. “One failed marriage is enough. And I don’t want to subject my son to a stepmother either.”
I study him across the table. The hard set of his jaw. The way his hands have curled into fists. Whatever happened with Ethan’s mother, it clearly left deep scars.
Our waitress returns with the food, and the table is suddenly covered in plates. The three burgers are massive, steam rising from the meat. The fries are golden and crispy. And my chicken pot pie looks like something out of a food magazine.
“Anything else I can get you two?” she asks.
“We’re good, thanks.” Grayson is already reaching for his first burger.
I pick up my fork, cutting into the pot pie. The filling is rich and savory, and my stomach rumbles in anticipation.
“I’m free on Saturdays,” I hear myself say.
Grayson pauses mid-bite, looking at me.
“I go running in the park where we met,” I continue, not quite believing the words coming out of my mouth. “I can meet you there in the mornings. If you want.”
His face breaks into a grin. “Excellent.”
I immediately regret everything. What have I signed up for? The more I try to stay away from this man, the more entangled we become. It’s like the universe has decided to throw us together no matter how hard I try to maintain distance.
“Don’t look so thrilled,” Grayson says, his tone teasing. “Spending time with a four-year-old isn’t that bad.”
“It’s not Ethan I’m worried about.” I take another bite of my pot pie, avoiding his eyes.
“Oh?” His voice drops lower, more intimate. “Then what are you worried about?”
You, I think. I’m worried about you and the way you make me feel. The way my heart races when you look at me. The way I noticed every defined muscle in your chest earlier. The way I’m hyperaware of your presence even now, across a diner table.
But I don’t say any of that.
Instead, I say, “Nothing. Eat your food.”
He laughs, and the sound wraps around me like warmth.
We eat in relative silence after that. I finish my pot pie, and Grayson makes it through all three burgers plus the fries and onion rings. When our waitress brings the apple pie, he slides it across to me.
“I’m full,” I protest.
“You’re going to waste a perfectly good pie?”
