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“Kate,” he pushes, drowning in my hesitancy.
I hug my cup to my chest and square my shoulders.
“You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s…” My voice trails off. But I don’t know what to say.
How do I make the run-in with his wifenotsound like a big deal when I’m the one bringing it up in the first place? Doesn’t the fact I want to talk about it mean it kind of feels like a big deal to me?
Mack steps even closer, the toe of his boot tapping my Uggs and the heat from his chest warming mine as I lift my chin, looking up at him.
“What’d I do wrong, Kate?” he repeats. “I don’t want to play games. I’m too old for that shit. But I like you. And I had fun––”
“I had fun too,” I rush out. “And it’s nothing like that. Seriously.”
“So, what is it?” he questions.
He looks so young at this moment. So innocent. Like a little boy who has found out Santa isn’t real. And I hate how I put it there. The unease. The confusion.
Unable to take the tension another second, I murmur, “Your wife came into Butter and Grace, and––”
“Ex-wife,” he growls, recognizing the catalyst as he squeezes his hands into fists. “What’d she do this time?”
“She came into the restaurant and mentioned someone named Rachel? Does her name sound familiar?”
He grabs my bicep and drags me to the corner of the coffee shop in search of more privacy. “What happened?”
He looks pissed, his fury practically wafting off him. It mixes with his natural scent until I’m pretty sure I’ve never experienced anything so sexy or mouthwatering, no matter how messed up this scenario is.
Not the time, libido.
But I like seeing him all possessive. And passionate. No one’s ever been possessive of me. I’ve always felt replaceable. Forgettable. Seeing Mack like this? It makes my reservations after my run-in with Summer feel even more inconsequential.
“So the name Rachel does sound familiar?” I confirm.
“She’s my ex’s best friend and hasn’t liked me for years.” He scrubs his hand over his face. “Tell me what happened.”
“Apparently, your wife’s––”
“Ex-wife,” he grits out. Again.
“Your ex-wife’s friend saw us at Rowdy’s last weekend and was telling your girls a bunch of bullshit about how you were rubbing up on a girl who’s half your age. And then, she started asking me a bunch of questions––despite not knowing I was the girl in the scenario. She also asked if I’d seen any middle-aged men trying to hook up with LAU students, and…yeah.” I take a deep breath, all amped up from opening this can of worms. “It was weird. I didn’t know if I should bring it up to you or not. And when she said she’s shielded your daughters from a lot of things in the past, it made me wonder if it’s a normal thing for you to date girls who are a lot younger and more naive, and––”
“And she got in your head,” he finishes, closing his eyes as his jaw almost cracks from the pressure of gritting his teeth. But I don’t blame him. He has every right to be frustrated. I only witnessed Summer meddling with one specific scenario. I can’t even imagine how he’s feeling if this is something happening on a regular basis.
Shrugging one shoulder, I stare down at the black lid on my latte and sigh. “Yeah, Mack. I guess she did get into my head.”
“Let me be clear about something.” His calloused fingers tickle my chin as he grabs it and lifts my head up again, forcing me to look at him. “My ex isn’t a bad person, but she has her shit like everyone else, and she doesn’t want anyone to be happy unless she’s the source of said happiness. It’s always been this way, and while I didn’t recognize it when we were first married, it became very apparent later on. It was drilled into me once we signed the divorce papers. As soon as she discarded me, she decided I wasn’t worth her time, and therefore, I’m not worthanyone’stime. Not even my own daughters’ time.” He lets go of my chin and grabs my hand not holding my latte, squeezing it softly and bringing it to his lips. “I am begging you not to let her make the decision for us too.”
The blue in his eyes is darker now. More stormy. Less light. But there’s an intensity making me pause. Making me curious.
“Isthere an us?” I whisper.
Goosebumps break out along my skin as he brings his hand from my wrist to my arm, dragging his fingers along my collarbone and slipping them through my hair to cup the back of my head.
“I told you playing games and dating around isn’t my thing,” he reminds me. “It’s never been my thing. I like you. I like spending time with you. I want to keep spending time with you. And I don’t want to ruin it by playing a game and pretending I don’t think about you when you’re not around. I’m not asking if you want to be my girlfriend. I know it’s too early.” His mouth quirks up slightly. “But I am telling you I like you. I need you to trust me when I say I’ve only dated two girls in my entire life. Summer. And you. I’m not gonna fuck this up by talking to some random woman on the internet, and I sure as shit don’t prey on girls, Kate. I need you to believe me.”
“I do believe you,” I whisper.
As if my words are a balm to his soul, he closes his eyes and lets them sink in. Looking down at me again, he presses his forehead to mine. “Like I said, Kate, I like you. I like baking cookies with you and watching you study. I liked kissing you, and I liked…” His jaw tics, and he pulls away slightly, looking down at his feet. Ashamed? Embarrassed? I squeeze his wrist, then cup his cheek, forcing him to look at me the same way he did to me barely a minute ago.
