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“He’s hardly a boy, Mom.” She could still feel the telltale scrape of his facial hair; see the dark look he’d given her before he gripped her waist and tugged her against his solid wall of a body. Taylor’s cheeks warmed when she admitted, “I liked it immensely.”
“Older men.” Deena sighed. “There is something about them.”
Deena was fifty-four years old, ten years Charles Thompson’s junior. When she married Charles, who was selling and making a small fortune in direct sales at the time, Deena’s father—Taylor’s curmudgeonly but lovable grandfather—hit the roof. It was a story she’d heard time and time again as a little girl, told exuberantly by her father and interspersed with his infectious laughter at how he’d eventually won over his father-in-law. Her mother had laughed with him.
Taylor grew accustomed to the sound of her parents’ comingling laughter. It’d stretched from her childhood until her father’s passing last year, ending the only way it could—when he was no longer alive to contribute.
She’d recently been contemplating her father’s reasoning behind her avoiding Royce. Even when he’d been very ill, he’d reiterated that Bran was a better fit for her and steered her away from the older Knox “boy.”
“Well good for you for livening things up,” her mother said. “Galas used to be fun, but now they’re a drag. I only attended because it was the first time I’d been out since...” She shook her head rather than say the words your father’s death. “It’s expected you show up and look like you’re not in a million pieces.”
“You’re not. And it’s remarkable.” She reached for her mother’s hand and Deena’s eyes misted over. “I know you miss him. You must. I miss him like I lost a limb.”
“Try losing all of them.” Deena’s mouth compressed into a tight line.
Dad had been less healthy than his wife—more into rich foods and cigars, and any activity that involved socializing. Taylor smiled a bittersweet smile at the memory of her father’s warm personality. After losing him there’d been an absence of charm in her life.
There was a note of ease about Bran that reminded her of her dad, which likely had contributed to her agreeing to go out with him. But the attraction had been a big fat goose egg. If Bran would climb down off that high horse of his, he’d probably admit as much to her. When two people were attracted to each other they behaved like... Well, like Royce and Taylor had behaved in that closet.
Taylor had admired the Knox siblings her entire life—how close they were. She’d been treated like an unofficial sister. Jack and Macy were like a second set of parents. Royce, the oldest, hadn’t been around much when Bran, Gia and Taylor were teens and he was in college. But whenever he returned to spend time with his family, Taylor noticed.
Until Saturday night, when Royce’s hand had been on her waist and his lips on hers, she wouldn’t have guessed he’d ever notice her.
She recalled the silky softness on her fingers when she raked them into his hair. She’d wanted to climb that wall of masculinity to the summit. He’d been a perplexing mix of rigid and pliant during that kiss. Unraveling his straight-edged spine sent a zing of pleasure through her that hummed inside of her still. Had she seen him come unglued before last weekend? She didn’t think so.
“I need to talk to Brannon,” she told her mother. She’d been saying that a lot lately—to others and to herself. “Royce and Brannon were glaring at each other in a meeting today and I can’t help thinking that’s my fault.”
Royce had been distracted in the financial meeting, and she’d bet she could also take credit for that. He’d been far from flustered, but when his eyebrows carved a deep line in his forehead, she’d read his expression as easily as she had his email. He needed help. So, she bailed him out.
“Brannon was out of line. You two are cute together, but marriage?” Deena shook her head. “I love that boy, I do. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying Royce is the one for you, but darling, you’re not married. You’re certainly not engaged. You weren’t anything when you shared that kiss except for curious.”
And turned on, but that was too crass to mention.
“You’re right.”
“Perhaps the near-miss engagement is making you think about having a family. You’re healing from losing your father. It’s normal for your thoughts to turn inward.”
“Coffee with the widow’s group is helping.” Taylor loved her mother but even Deena would be the first to admit that she’d never been what anyone would call “introspective.”
“They’re a lifeline. As far as your own future, don’t pressure yourself. You love to do that, and I can tell you’re trying to plot and plan. Let the future unfold on its own instead. See how that goes.”
Easy for Deena to say. She loved to go with the flow. Taylor preferred directing the flow whenever possible.
“Who do you think Jack will name as his new CEO?” Deena propped her elbow on the table, wine in hand.
“Not Gia. She never wanted to run that company.”
“Smart girl.” Deena smirked. “I imagine it’ll be Royce, don’t you?”
“I could see either of them as CEO, but Royce’s being older could be an advantage.”
“Maybe Jack will name you.”
“No.” Taylor held out a hand like a stop sign. “I like my inherited position. It suits me. Plus, I like to think that I’m making Dad proud.” She was going to say more but a lump in her throat stymied the words.
“Oh, honey.” Her mother gave her a quick hug before bending over the table to address her quietly. “He’s so proud. I know it. Charles always talked about how you’re his legacy, Tay. You’re like him in all the right ways. None of my underachiever tendencies. If you had a craft room filled with art supplies, you’d have a million-dollar business behind it. I just give them away.” She smiled, though, knowing it wasn’t a fault but simply the way she was. “When you’re ready to start a family—no matter who you start one with—you’ll succeed. Plenty of time for that, though.”
“Thanks, Mom.” Deena Thompson always said the right thing.
“I have a craft room to retire to and I know you’re not interested in spending the entire evening with me. I suspect you have work to do even after eight o’clock?”
“You know me well.” Taylor was looking forward to it, though. Her laptop was a comfort.
Her mother left the room, Rolf at her heels.
On the drive home, Taylor thought of Royce and what he was doing tonight. If he was home answering emails or tinkering with a spreadsheet. Had he thought of her since the kiss?
He would have had to... Wouldn’t he?
