Page 30 of A Simple Regret

Theo nods. “Yep! Mommy helpdid.”

He gives my son a very soft smile, one you almost don’t even see, but I catch it. “Thank you, Theo. These are my favorite.” His words are thick, and it causes the same thickness to clog my own throat.

“Mine too,” he says.

“Have you had one yet?” Camden asks, reaching into the container and pulling out a cookie. He breaks it in half, and the moment Theo shakes his head, he hands him half. Then suddenly, as if he realizes what he’s doing, he looks up at me in both question and apology.

I nod approval.

“All right, Theo, let’s try these cookies out, shall we?” He sets the container down on the concrete, the two halves of the treat sitting on top. “We need to take these gloves off.”

“Umm, maybe his coat too,” I add, taking a step forward to help, but between the two of them, they manage just fine.

“You’re a messy Cookie Monster, huh?” Camden asks, the corner of his mouth turned up.

“Nummmmmm!” Theo bellows in a growl like a monster, making us laugh.

“Me too, little dude. I love eating the cookie.”

There’s something so…dark, so naughty about his statement. Instantly, my body reacts, as if recalling things—very dirty things—Camden would do to my body back when we were young, dumb, and thought we had forever.

“Here,” he says, offering half the cookie.

Theo takes a bite and smiles. “Theo, what do you say?”

“Tank you!” His expression is one of pure joy, and it makes my heart happy. Anytime he smiles, it feels like all that’s wrong in this world is suddenly right, even if only for the briefest of moments.

My eyes move from my son to the man sitting in front of him and clash with the most hypnotic blue eyes I’ve ever seen. They’re more intense than my own, like the ocean waters off a luxurious resort. Picture perfect in every way.

After he finishes his half of the cookie, he clears his throat and stands, gently lifting my son up and placing him on the stool. “Have a seat and enjoy your cookie.”

My throat is like sandpaper as he heads my way. I want to look away, but I can’t. I’m trapped by his gaze, locked in the memories swimming in the depths.

He leans his lower back against the counter beside where I’m standing. His eyes remain forward on my son. “Thank you.”

“Umm, that’s my line,” I mutter, unable to stop my grin.

“I appreciate the cookies.” After a pause he adds, “They’re my favorite.”

“I remember,” I whisper, noticing the chocolate smeared on my son’s face but not caring in the least. “Well, I had hoped they were still your favorite,” I confess.

He finally meets my eyes, and after a beat, he confirms, “They are.”

Needing to find a buffer between us, and since our usual buffer is finishing off his cookie, I ask, “What’s this?” I wave my hand toward the old truck.

He grins. “This, Shortcake, is a 1967 Chevy C10 with a 327 V8 engine and a 2-speed Powerglide transmission.”

I look over the old truck that looks more like a barn find than anything else. “I like the patina look.” He seems surprised by my comment, which makes me chuckle. “What? You think I didn’t pay attention all those times you talked cars?”

He grins one of his easy, carefree smiles. “Anyway, it’s got no air, no radio, and no power steering, which makes her a bitch to turn, but I love it.”

I nod, taking in the truck once more. “I love the color.”

“Me too, actually, and I think I want to have it painted with the patina. There’s a guy outside of Chicago who’s one of the best painters in the industry, and he’s interested. The problem is he’s booked out a year.”

“But that gives you time to get everything else just the way you want it.”

He flashes a quick grin. “Exactly.”