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“I don’t have children, so I can’t fully understand what you’re going through. But raising them to become independent is part of the job description, is it not?” Terrance flicked a speck of dirt off his shorts with a fastidious finger. “One of the things I’ve learned in counselling is that to have a healthy relationship with anyone else, you have to have a healthy one with yourself. Maybe you can take this time to reconnect with yourself as a woman, not only a mother.”
His words were an echo of her own thoughts. That didn’t make them any more welcome. “Easier said than done. They’ve been my entire focus for so long. I don’t know if I can step back.”
“What you need is something to occupy you. You could volunteer. Or find a job.”
“Yeah. About that...” She plucked a blade of grass and twirled it in her fingers.
“Penta.” His neat eyebrows rose. “Have you been keeping secrets?”
CASH HELD THE CONES of whisky caramel pecan and haskap berry at shoulder height as he dodged running, laughing children. Penta was seated where he’d left her, accompanied by a man about his own age. He remembered him from the motorcycle course. Trent? Terry? No, something more stick-up-the-ass. Terrance, that was it.
He was slim instead of broad, clean shaven instead of bearded, and dapper instead of scruffy. Basically, Cash’s complete opposite. He might have felt threatened if Penta hadn’t pointed out the man’s husband earlier.
As he neared, he caught a few syllables of their conversation. He handed Penta her haskap cone and she tossed aside a mangled piece of grass before taking it. Then he sank down beside her, hips popping and complaining. “What’s this about secrets?”
Her cheeks, already pink, reddened deeper. “It’s not a secret. It’s nothing at all, which is why I haven’t mentioned it.”
Terrance looked across Penta to Cash. “We were talking about her finding something to occupy her other than children and she got all flustered.”
She swatted his arm with her free hand. “I did not get flustered. It’s just—maybe I have been looking. For a job.”
Terrance’s cellphone rang and he checked the screen. “Sorry, must run. They’re about to start the costume parade and need wranglers. You can fill me in later.” With a polite smile at Cash and a warmer one for Penta, he rose to his feet and sashayed down the hill.
Cash crunched a pecan piece between his teeth, the ice cream’s strong whisky flavour flooding his mouth. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
She rolled her shoulders. “I don’t know. I feel rather ridiculous, looking for what is basically my first job at forty-four.” She licked a trickle of melting treat off her knuckle, frowning at the cone like it was the cause of her embarrassment. “I have two years of science courses from university but no degree, no special qualifications, no sought-after skills.”
“Science courses?” Scientists were nerdy, cold, and analytical, the inverse of Penta’s sweetness, warmth, and compassion. Or so he’d always imagined.
“I thought I might work in a lab someday. Conducting experiments, solving puzzles.” She nibbled at the edge of the waffle cone. “Mark and I met in university. I got pregnant and when we married, finishing my degree wasn’t the most important thing in my life.”
If Penta had brought the focus and attention she showered on her children to a career, she would have been an unstoppable force. “I’m sure you’ll find something. You have more going for you than you think.”
His attempt at consolation felt clunky and awkward, as if the emotional muscles necessary had atrophied. That’s what happened when you kept to yourself, remained cut off from human contact as much as possible. Until one woman barged her way into your life and upset everything.
He tossed the last bite of cone into his mouth, stood up, and held out his hand. “I saw a temporary tattoo stand down below. Let’s go get you inked.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Cash was greedy. That’s all there was to it. Greedy for more of Penta’s kisses, more of her lovemaking. More of her.
The time they spent together was never enough. He came to the gradual realization that it might never be enough. That he might want more of Penta than she could give. She had her children, her friends, her father, all of which filled her days.
While he had no one but her.
He rose from his crouch beside the Baby Bonnie, knees protesting. He’d had to put aside the Triumph’s restoration for several days. This was always a busy time of year, with most bikes out of storage. Also, it didn’t seem to matter that summer inevitably came after spring—there were always owners who were shocked it was July and demanded he rush to get their rides road ready so they could take advantage of the short northern British Columbia season.
Wiping his hands on a rag, he stared at the partially reconstructed bike. The longer he worked on it, the more attached he grew to the classic machine. As much as he liked having Penta ride pillion, maybe he should keep the Bonnie. In case Penta wanted to borrow her once in a while.
His thoughts drifted to Jeremy Wicken’s, where she and the kids were having dinner. She’d invited him, like she did to almost everything, but he had said no. As much as he wanted to be with her, he wouldn’t push his luck by accepting all her offers.
Which meant he had no one to blame but himself for his current solitary state.
Pissed off by his own whininess, he cleaned up his tools and headed to his apartment. Habit not hunger had him opening the fridge and staring at the contents. Though well-stocked, nothing tempted him into either cooking or eating.
If he stayed in tonight, he might just scratch his eyes out. Snatching up his leather jacket, he strode down the outside stairs, retrieved his bike from the lockup, and roared out of the alley.
He headed south, sweeping and swerving through the light traffic until he reached the main highway. Then, heedless of speed limits, he twisted the throttle and let the bike soar.
