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Her sharp intake of breath seemed to echo in the small parking lot in front of his shop. “God, Sam, I’m so sorry.”
“Me too.”
“Five months is so late in the pregnancy. Your wife must’ve been devastated.”
An extreme understatement but what words were adequate? “Yes. I was too.”
Her face paled. “Oh, I didn’t mean—”
“I know, Rory.”
When she stared at the ground, he fought back a groan. Why hadn’t he just agreed?
“I never say the right thing. Never. I’m the girl who, at ten, asked her friend’s dad if he was going to get his dog stuffed when it got run over by a car. He was a hunter and had all these heads on the wall…” She trailed off when he laughed. “It was horrible. My friend started crying.”
“Did she stop being friends with you immediately?”
“No. We’re still friends to this day.” Her lips trembled into a smile. “I’ve said worse things than that. When my aunt told me she was getting a divorce, I asked if it was because she was such a bitch.”
“Were you ten then too?”
“No. Twenty-six.”
He laughed again and went back to polishing the car. Being with her felt too easy. Like sliding into a favorite pair of shoes or drinking out of his favorite mug.
The feel of her mouth wrapped around his cock flashed into his mind. Yeah, not always so easy.
“You might be surprised to find out I’m the same as you. Open mouth, insert size-thirteen shoe.”
“Thirteen?” Her eyes rounded. “Really?”
“Wanna check the tag?”
Her gaze zoomed downward then back up to his face with a flicker of her eyelashes. “So what they say is true. Always thought it was an old wives’ tale. Or maybe a new boyfriend’s.”
It actually took him a minute to get what she meant. Then he blushed. Obviously seduction and banter were skills that needed frequent practice to keep sharp.
“So, ah, you came by for me to fix your car?”
Her slow smile simultaneously left him feeling as if she understood and at the same time wishing that she didn’t, that she’d pushed for more. “Just the scratches. I don’t even care if they get fixed, like I told you. Mostly I just wanted an excuse to come see you.”
“Oh.” Oh. “So you weren’t repulsed by the letter you read?”
“Repulsed? It was beautiful. Moving. Embarrassing.”
“Huh?” How was his letter to his dead wife embarrassing to her?
“It’s so intimate. I felt like a peeping Thomasina, nose pressed against the window.”
“She never saw those letters.”
“I know. That makes it even worse. It’s weird being privy to something she wasn’t. A really uncomfortable threesome.” At his flinch, she pressed both hands over her mouth so fast that her purse strap drooped toward the crook of her elbow. “Oh my God. I need to superglue my lips shut.”
“It’s okay. Believe me, I’m way worse than you.”
“Not possible. I’m like a bag of potato chips. I never stop at just one awkward comment. They just keep coming and coming.”
“Constant coming doesn’t sound so bad to me,” he said with a hint of a smile, resting his palm against the frame of the vehicle. If the car wasn’t so gorgeous he would’ve gone into full-on flirt mode and leaned back casually but he couldn’t do that with his buddy Josh’s prime Trans Am. Even slouching near it showed disrespect.
