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“Don’t.”
He blinks at my adamance.
“I’m sorry. It’s your business.”
“Not a problem,. I’ve been in your business, so I guess you’ve earned a trespass into mine.” There’s a grin in his eyes.
“Yes, but I extended an engraved invitation to intrude into my life.”
“Intrude?”
“Maybe intrude isn’t the right word, since I asked, but this hasn’t exactly been comfortable. I’m a very private person.”
“Huh. I hadn’t noticed.” His grin makes me smile too. He folds his hands across his stomach. “I imagine it’s been a nightmare for you, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry you’re going through this, and I’m sorry I made things more difficult.”
Suddenly, I’m searching for but can’t find the hard soul I first met, the one he’s apologizing for. “You’ve helped me, John. I—I wish there was something I could do for you.”
As his gaze drops to my mouth, I want to recall the words. Innocent words, I swear.
I could swear his mind is also going places I didn’t intend, and worse, mine must be right there with him or else I wouldn’t have noticed.
His throat clears. “Tell you what. All I need right now is five minutes to close my eyes. Would that be too rude of me?” Even as he speaks, he slouches into the cushions and lolls his head back, his eyelids falling.
“Look who’s worried about being rude all of a sudden,” I quip, oh-so grateful he moved us past the moment.
Laugh lines reshape his mouth. “Five minutes and I’ll take you home, Hollie.”
Five minutes turn into ten, twenty. His hard jaw slackens. His mouth opens. In this state, reconciling this gentler version with the hard-shelled man who made me want to dump hot coffee in his lap takes work.
I hope he takes the kayak out often. He should. A body can’t work all the time.
That single-seat boat is fitting of its owner. At least I have Jacob.
Do I? He’s nearly grown. Like it or not, Reagan is in his life, and lately, he’s seemed angry. We’re not eye-to-eye on his relationship—he’s too young to be serious with a girl—but it feels like there’s more.
Something else I need to be worried about.
The brush of fabric makes me open my eyes. John’s wrist is turned and his smartwatch is lit up. He swings his feet to the rocked patio. “Be right back.”
I watch through the curtainless windows as he picks his phone off the kitchen island and makes a call. He puts it in speaker mode and sets it back down. As he listens more than speaks, he unbuttons his cuffs and rolls each sleeve meticulously. Even in relax mode, he’s precise and purposeful.
Except, on occasion, for his hair, a tell of stress, I’m learning. He runs his hand through it, mussing the neat strands.
I’m not going to lie to myself. John Chavez is an incredibly good-looking man. Agrandfather? His fit physique makes that a difficult concept to wrap my mind around—which is silly, considering my own situation, a parent by fifteen. Jacob is already seventeen. It isn’t beyond the realm of possibility—
It's been such a nice afternoon. I refuse to ruin it.
I settle in, captivated. Birds chirp, and a distant engine grows nearer on the otherwise very quiet street. Somehow, even its rumble is a soothing sound.
My eyes get heavy. I’m in no rush. This afternoon is a retreat, and I’m making the choice to enjoy the moment. Reality always returns quickly enough.
Heavy footsteps send my eyes open wide. A man has rounded the corner and stepped booted feet onto the patio. Stopping short, his gaze sweeps over me likeI’mthe intruder. I pull myself up in the seat, but otherwise, I’m lacking the oxygen to breathe. Stringy black hair dangles around a harsh face. He’s tall and thin, yet very muscled—and every last one of those muscles is visible thanks to a sleeveless shirt. Ugly artwork oozes from beneath the fabric, across nearly every area of exposed flesh.
Suddenly, he…grins? “You’re Hollie, aren’t you?”
“I…” Forget talking, I can hardly breathe.
Still smiling, he glances around. “I’m looking for John?”
