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“Yeah, Daddy.”
“Okay, good. Then clear your plate.”
Henry lifted up his plate and toddled out to the kitchen. As he vanished from sight, Carter leaned across the table.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I didn’t mean for that… to, uh… yeah.”
“Don’t apologize. He’s a kid, I get it. Besides, it was sweet.”
Carter looked into his lap. “I just hope he’s not, y’know, messed up. About not having a mom.”
Was Carter about to open up to me? At least we had now established that Henry’s mom wasn’t on the scene. Were we going to make material progress in our discussions?
I thought there was a chance at open communication. Until, that is, Henry re-entered, bright-eyed as ever, totally unaware of the doors he’d flung ajar.
“Bedtime,” Carter announced, nimbly dodging my loaded barrage of questions.
My, but he was good at avoidance.
He scooped Henry up into his arms. “Phoebe, I’ll be back in a little while. You’re welcome to hang around here, go back to the trailer… whatever you’d like.”
“I think I’ll stay here,” I said, remembering the feeling of his foot on mine.
He nodded, then took off with Henry.
Sitting back in my chair, I listened to the sounds of their nighttime ritual echoing through the house. Water running. Grunts of struggle and whines of ‘but I want the Spiderman ones’ — getting pajamas on. At last, I heard a story about a pigeon and a bus being read aloud, then a lullaby begin to rise from the back corner of the house.
The house was peaceful. I dabbed a tear from the corner of my eye. Carter’s song was beautiful, his voice deep but melodic. Was Henry the only sunshine in his life? I longed to bolt from my chair, letting the wooden back clatter on the floor, and race to comfort Carter, lay his head on my breast, and whisper that everything would be all right.
But of course, that wasn’t an option. This was all getting far too intimate, and far too real, for a four-day stopover. You can’t rip somebody’s life wide open and then leave as soon as your car is repaired. No, I needed to take a step back. Give him space.
At last, Carter returned, the hem of his shirt freshly dampened.
His eyes saw mine dart to the hem.
“Henry’s a messy brusher,” he explained. “Give me a sec, I’ll change.”
He walked out of the kitchen and into the entry hall, where I watched him pull a flannel off a coat hook. His fingers moved with precision, unbuttoning his shirt and ripping it from his body. Perhaps he thought I couldn’t see? Or maybe he knew full well that I could, and that it was a view any girl would kill for.
Beneath his now-discarded damp shirt he wore a white tank top, its ridges molded to his abs. His arms had bulged in the other shirt, but now, they were on full display. I felt my panties grow wet, which was mortifying. Some guy invites you into his home, and you gush all over his seat? Not cool.
Carter buttoned up the flannel in several brisk movements, unaware or unfazed that I was disappointed that the show was over, then strolled back to the dining room table, looming large over the thin piece of wood.
“Hey.”
“Hey.”
We were silent.
“You stayed, huh?”
“I stayed. Not really anywhere to go.”
“Yeah. That’s why I like it here in Rough and Ready.”
“You live on the outskirts of a tiny place that is in the middle of nowhere.”
He thought about this for a moment, then replied, “It’s good you stayed.”
“Your singing… it was wonderful.”
Carter blushed. “I’m tone deaf. I just sing with love. That makes everything sound better.”
More silence. The air between us was heavy, as though laden with unspoken secrets, words that neither of us was ready to say. We were so close to one another that if I just reached across the table, I could be touching him — unbuttoning this new shirt, peeling off the white tank top, unbuckling that heavy silver belt…
Instead, I was good. I stayed seated.
“Hey,” he said suddenly. “Do you wanna see something?”
For an insane, silent second, I crossed my fingers and hoped by ‘something’ he meant ‘his cock.’
Oh my God, my mind screamed. You’re insatiable!
Aloud, I replied, “Sure. What is it?”
He smiled, and I knew I would see anything he wanted to show me, cock or otherwise.
Carter moved around to my side of the table, and took my hand to help me out of the seat. Our grasps intertwined for a moment. He dropped my palm as soon as I’d risen to a standing position. That was probably for the best.
“Follow me.”
We moved away from the table, and I followed him close behind.
Out of nowhere, a sliding glass door appeared, through which I saw a garden.
Carter unlatched the door. “This is my happy place.”
We strode out together, and in a whirl of fabric, Carter pulled a blanket off a nearby wooden-planked bench and settled it onto the ground.
