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He looks back at me, smiling in a whole new way. “I do. That’s Zach,” he says, pride in his tone as his eyes linger on the frame. “He’s seven now.”
Which means Finn had him when he was…I don’t even know his age.
And I’m curious. But I’m more curious about this new side of the man I’m spending one sordid night with. Finn’s a flirt, he’s a tease, and he’s a dirty talker. He’s a giver. He’s a friend. And he’s a doting father.
Which makes me strangely sad for a few seconds. So much separates us. Even if my dad weren’t between us, we’re far apart in our lives. I’m just starting my career. He’s at the pinnacle. He’s parenting. I don’t even have a cat, and don’t get me started on plants. My thumb is one hundred percent black.
I try to shake off the differences.
Obviously Zach isn’t here tonight. I’m curious where he is, but I don’t think it’s appropriate to ask. Besides, he’s probably with Finn’s ex-wife.
“He’s with his grandparents,” Finn adds, as if reading my thoughts, something he’s becoming scarily good at.
“Oh, it’s nice that they’re close,” I say. But I’m not sure I want to spend too much time on the topic of family. We might get too close tomyfamily.
“Actually, I share custody with them,” he adds as we reach the kitchen.
My brow knits. Sharing custody with grandparents is unusual. But I do my best not to pry since I wouldn’t like it if he did it to me. “He seems like a happy kid.”
“He is. I’m very lucky,” Finn says, beaming like he’s glowing inside. “I’ve been getting to know him for the last eight months. I didn’t know I had a kid until then, so it’s been an adjustment. But a damn good one.”
That’s huge, and now I’m dying to know more, maybe over pizza. Finn opens the fridge, takes out a red and white box, and says, “This is from Zach’s favorite place. But his eyes are bigger than his stomach, so there’s plenty for any ridiculously sexy pizza lovers in the kitchen right now.”
But when Finn opens the box of half-eaten pizza, I wince. There’s sausage on it. I suppose I can just pick around it though. “Looks good,” I say, upbeat.
Finn tilts his head, studying my expression. “You don’t sound sure.”
“No, it’s fine. It’s great,” I say with false brightness. It just seems so rude to turn the food down after I went on about my love of pizza.
“Ah,” he says, realization dawning. “You don’t eat meat.” The man is too intuitive when it comes to me, and the weird part is I don’t mind. I kind of like when he figures me out. When I don’t have to spell out my wishes. I don’t know what to make of that feeling though, so I try to set it aside.
“I don’t. But I can pick it off. It’s a vegetarian life hack,” I say, making light of it. “It’s no big deal.”
He scoffs, then shuts the box, saying goodbye to the pizza. “A better life hack is getting you what you want. I want you to have a meal. Not something that you have to…reassemble.”
It’s just food. But I like his insistence. “I like Asian cuisine. Noodles and tofu and veggies and anything with spice.”
That earns me a sly grin. “You like it hot?”
I’ll take that innuendo and run with it.“The hotter the better.”
He groans, then steps closer. “It’s strange that I find your love of spicy food attractive. But…” he says, holding my chin, “I do.”
I shiver, torn between wanting to get to know him more, to ask questions about his son, and wanting a kiss. But he’s shifted gears, so maybe he doesn’t want to talk about family anymore. I part my lips, letting a kiss win. He sweeps one across my mouth, making me gasp before letting go.
He turns away, and as he orders food from his phone, I notice an open window letting in that tempting smell of honeysuckle. With a deep inhale, I savor the scent as he keeps busy on the screen. Does he have a garden past the kitchen? Does Zach play in it? Does my father hang out with Finn and his son right here in this house? Has he been in this kitchen? Cracked open a beer? Eaten a meal?
I rub my temple, trying to scrub away the thoughts that don’t go with honeysuckle as Finn puts down the phone. “Should be here in twenty,” he says, studying me. “What are you thinking?”
You don’t want to know.
I flash myall is good heresmile. “Nothing,” I lie.
His expression darkens and he looks at me skeptically. “I don’t believe you.”
It’s impossible to dance around the truth with him, so I exhale heavily, then ask, “Are you running on Sunday with my dad? I heard you two talking about it in his office.” Maybe acknowledging this discomfort will defuse it. Let me move past it, at least for the rest of the night.
But his expression falters, turning somber, and I’ve ruined this moment. This perfect night that’s happening out of time, outside of consequences.
