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And yes, I get that he’s helping me. No, I don’t want to think about the tightening below my belly button. I dislike him. Period. Whatever’s going on in my body is some hormonal imbalance, not an actual, genuine attraction to the man. There’s a medical explanation for all this—probably. Maybe. Don’t quote me on that.
Des wipes his forehead with his forearm and glances my way when I enter the room. “Hey.”
The tightening spreads through my stomach, darting like little lightning bugs flitting through my veins. How dare he do that to me. “Hi.” I clear my throat. “Thanks for the milk.”
His lips tip into a tiny smile, and for a brief moment, I wonder what it would look like to see him smile fully. Not that he ever would, because he’s grumpy and arrogant and annoying, and the only time he ever chuckles is when he’s mocking me. Yesterday, when I flicked my razor out and cracked a joke, he laughed, but I could tell he was holding back. Maybe he’s incapable of truly laughing.
His face softens slightly. “No problem.”
“I’ll bring the rest of the gallon back this evening.”
“Don’t worry about it.” He pulls off work gloves from his hands, tugging each finger one at a time.
I watch, fascinated. Then I realize what I’m doing and walk jerkily toward the hallway. “I’m just here to grab a few things. Don’t mind me.”
Not waiting for an answer, I make it to my bedroom and start throwing clothes into a big tote bag I fished out of my closet. I have a never-ending supply of large purses. It started when Bailey was a baby.
I pack dresses that have been barely worn, shapewear, a leather skirt that I bought on a whim and then decided wasn’t age-appropriate, but now I’m not sure exactly what “age-appropriate” really means anymore… I walk to my dresser and tug open the top drawer, grabbing handfuls of lacy things.
And I stop.
I used to wear beautiful underwear all the time. I loved having something sexy on under my clothes—and Colin never complained about it either—but at some point, that part of me disappeared. I don’t even know if any of these bits of lingerie will fit anymore. Most of them I bought before I had Bailey.
Those first few years—when she was little and I was on my own—were tough. In fact, “tough” doesn’t even come close to describing the absolute hell I went through. I kept telling myself to enjoy those precious years, to try to appreciate the wonder of my new baby, my toddler, my precocious growing child, but I struggled more than I care to admit. It’s only in the past couple of years, when Bailey has become a bit more independent, that I feel like I’ve got my feet under me again.
Motherhood became wrapped up in shame for me, because I was supposed to be glowing and thriving on little to no sleep, but in reality, I was isolated, alone, and perpetually on the verge of a breakdown. I went through a divorce, a pregnancy riddled with medical issues, and a horrendous birth. My vagina was sliced open. I peed myself for months. My house was a mess. I couldn’t keep up with basic grooming. I didn’t have anyone to talk to. Anytime I even whispered about struggling to my parents, my mother would try to convince me to move back home, until they bought their RV and she started trying to convince me to find a man.
Maybe I was just too proud to realize she was trying to help me. Those first few years of Bailey’s life exist in my memory blanketed in haze, punctuated by the highs of loving my daughter and the lows of being solely responsible for her health and upbringing—and feeling like I was failing.
Is it any wonder I stopped wearing sexy underwear?
There’s a red satin teddy I wore for my first wedding anniversary. Rubbing the fabric between my fingers, I try to remember how it felt to slide it on over my skin, knowing that I looked amazing. On some level, it’s the same way I felt when I put on my yellow dress and went to Georgia’s art gallery opening.
Maybe the girls are right; this date will be a good thing for me. Maybe it doesn’t matter if TallDarkandHandy is attractive. Maybe the point of this is formeto feel attractive, for me to remind myself of the woman who bought lingerie on a whim and wore it under yoga pants and hoodies just because she felt like it.
That woman is still me. She’s in here somewhere.
I pull out a see-through demi bra made of black lace and hold it up against my chest, frowning. Were my boobs really that much smaller before Bailey? I wonder if I loosened the straps, if I could—
“Oh—” Des clears his throat and spins around, facing away from me. “Sorry. I didn’t—”
I snatch the lingerie off my chest and stuff it into my tote. My face is on fire. “Can I help you?”
His voice comes out low and rough. “I wanted to ask about the layout of the kitchen. It’s really long and narrow, but since I’m taking the wall down, I could expand it into the dining room and swap things around.” He glances over his shoulder, sees that it’s safe to turn around, and faces me again. “But I wanted to ask you for your opinion.”
Begrudgingly, I admit that it’s a nice thought. The kitchen hasn’t exactly been functional. I had to buy a trolley on caster wheels and screw a plank of scrap plywood on top to get enough counter space to work in it. I’d gotten used to it, thinking that having a bigger kitchen was a pipe dream.
I shove down my embarrassment and elbow the drawer full of lace and silk until it’s mostly closed. “I see. Thank you—that’s a good idea.”
Desmond nods, his eyes sliding down to my tote bag. “Hot date?” His voice sounds like he swallowed a truckload of gravel.
I like the sound of it. It rattles through me, sending more shivers and lightning bugs bouncing around my body. But letting him see that would be giving him power over me, and he’s got quite enough of that already.
“That’s none of your business, Desmond.”
His gaze rises to meet mine, and it feels like he wants to say something. The moment hangs between us, an unspoken confession dancing on the tip of his tongue. I can almost feel it vibrating between us.
The dragon cracks an eyelid, making me stand up straighter. I’dlovefor Desmond to say something. Is he going to tell me off for not having milk at the house? For sleeping on the couch? For letting Bailey run wild to go over to his house this morning? Maybe he’ll mock me for my stupid hands-on-boobs stunt this morning. He’ll say something snarky about me dating. I narrow my eyes at him, challenging.
