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I help her to her feet and wipe the dirt and flower petals from her clothing before finally turning to see Mac walking up the path toward us.
And my ovaries just lay down and surrender.
One of his big, broad hands cups the quickly-growing kitten to his chest, a little ball of black fur purring loudly against him. I watch tiny little paws kneading his thumb as Mr. Fuzzles nuzzles his face against Mac’s other fingers, the rest of his body lying on Mac’s wrist and forearm. Mac stops in front of my mother and me, a soft expression on his face as he uses a finger to scratch behind the kitten’s ears. It sounds like he’s holding a little engine.
“Oh, he likes you,” my mother says. “He’s never let me pick him up and hold him like that.”
Mac’s lips tilt up, his eyes still on the little ball of fur. Then he glances at me and nods. “Here.” He extends his hands and deposits the cat into my arms, to Mr. Fuzzles’s great displeasure. The cat yowls and reaches for Mac, flailing and scratching so hard I nearly drop him.
Mac to the rescue once again. He grabs Mr. Fuzzles with a deep chuckle and nods to the door. “Maybe I should bring him inside.”
“Great idea!” My mother claps, retrieves one of her slippers from the plants, and leads the way to the house. “Have you two eaten? I can whip something up for you.”
Oh…no. I don’t want a family dinner with Mac and my mother. No way.
Panicked, I whip my head toward Mac, who just gives me a wink and a smile. “I have plans, unfortunately, but thank you for the offer, Lottie. I’ll have to take a rain check.”
“Another time.” Mom waves a hand for us to follow her to the living room. “Keep your shoes on. Mr. Fuzzles’s scratching post is in the guest room. We can drop him in there”—she turns to the cat and lifts a finger as if she’s scolding him like a child—“so he can think about what he’s done.”
I notice the way Mac’s eyes linger on the kids’ shoes by the door, the jackets, the colorful backpack with Disney princesses all over it, and I bite my lip.
I haven’t actually told him about the kids. It’s not that I’ve withheld the information, it just…never came up. The time that I’ve spent with Mac has felt like an escape from my life. Not that I’m ashamed of my kids, but just that… I don’t know. It’s just so much easier to be a divorced woman meeting up with a hot badass without thinking about all the implications of actually being with him.
But Mac says nothing about the kids’ clothes. He just deposits Mr. Fuzzles next to his food and water bowls, grinning when the cat does a figure-eight through his legs, then softly closes the door.
“I’ll walk you out,” I tell him.
When we get to the motorcycle again, the curtains twitch, and I know for sure my mother is watching. I clear my throat. “Look, Mac. I, um… I haven’t actually mentioned this before, but I’ve got two kids.”
Surprisingly, Mac just smiles. “I know.”
“You know?”
“Your ex mentioned something about it being his weekend. I figured it out.”
I let out a little snort. “Ah,” I say, and give him an awkward smile.
“It’s fine, Trina. I like kids. Obviously.” He smiles back, as if what he just said makes sense. Why would it be obvious that he likes kids?
Frowning, I just nod. “Right. Well, look, Mac—” I take a deep breath. Time to be a big girl. “I haven’t actually dated anyone since Kevin, and I’m not really ready to introduce the kids to anyone. It’s not anything about you. It’s just, I don’t want men in and out of their lives while the divorce is so fresh, and…”
“I get it.” Mac reaches over to take my hand, then places a soft kiss against my knuckles. “You’re doing the right thing. I wasn’t going to ask to meet them.”
“Oh. Well…good.” I bite my lip and nudge the pavement with my toe. That was a much easier conversation than I imagined.
That makes him chuckle. “I’ll call you, Trina.”
My lips curl, and I nod. “Okay.”
With one more soft kiss on the lips, Mac dons his helmet and slings a strong leg over his bike, gives me a wink and a smile, then rides off down the street and out of sight.
I turn to see my mother at the door, a cheeky grin teasing her lips. “Trina, honey, that man is something else. If you don’t want him, I’ll have him any day of the week. Hell, I’ll have him every day of the week!”
“Mom, gross.” I frown, and Lottie just laughs.
But the scariest part is, I feel the same way.
CHAPTER 15
