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But I can still tell that he recognizes it.
I hastily readjust my robe after I set my coffee cup on the counter—righting it and belting it across my front to hide my shirt. The last thing I need is for Aiden to be thinking about my nipples while he’s trying to talk to me.
I clear my throat, trying not to think about how obvious I’m being. “So, coffee? How do you take it?”
“Black is fine.”
I purse my lips. “Really?”
“I don’t like all of that extra stuff,” he admits.
I can’t help it. It makes me smile. “You know, I’ve always said that people who drink black coffee don’t love themselves.”
“I don’t know if that logic is sound,” Aiden counters, his mouth quirking.
I don’t answer, turning to make him a cup instead. I can hear him finally crossing the living room to join me in the kitchen, thescrape of a barstool behind me alerting me to his nearness. It’s the closest he’s been to me since last weekend, and I have to admit it puts me on edge. I can almost feel his eyes on me as I work, and I can’t help but wonder if he’s remembering the last time we were this close. Is he still thinking about what he saw, or am I the only one fretting over it?
I turn to hand him his cup when I’m done pouring his coffee, and when he reaches to take it from me, his fingers brush against mine. I feel little sparks where they touch, and he doesn’t immediately withdraw his hand. A second passes, maybe more, before he takes the cup from me, and I raise mine in a mock toast, keeping my place against the counter on the other side and trying not to hyperfixate on how broad his shoulders look in his T-shirt or how warm his touch was.
“So,” he starts, taking a careful sip from his mug. “Damn, that’s hot.” He frowns as he continues. “Did I miss anything interesting this week?”
“Well, I’ve been introducing Sophie to my underground gambling ring, but she hasn’t impressed me yet.”
His mouth twitches. “Have you?”
“Yep.” I sigh dramatically. “The kid has no poker face. I don’t think she’s cut out for it.”
“I’m not sure if I should be grateful or disappointed.”
“Definitely disappointed. If she can’t handle blackjack, how are we ever going to get to Texas Hold’em?”
He nods seriously. “Well, this does sound much more educational than multiplication tables.”
“Oh, she’s definitely not ready for that. She blows past twenty-one nearly every hand.”
Aiden is laughing now, and I’m grateful to see something other than furtive glances and his retreating figure as he ducksout of a room to avoid me. I could easily just keep up this “let’s pretend it didn’t happen” game and hope that carried us back to normal, but unfortunately, I am a glutton for punishment at heart.
I avert my eyes as I bring my cup to my mouth. “So, you weren’t kidding when you said things were going to get busy, huh?”
Aiden sighs, blowing softly on his coffee. “It’s been a nightmare. One of our suppliers had problems delivering this week. That’s why I have a meeting today; I have to meet with another supplier to try and get things back on track.”
I can tell by the sound of his voice that his frequent absences are more likely to get worse before they get better. It makes me think of all the times this week Sophie has mentioned her dad, knowing that Aiden can’t help that his job is hectic but still feeling sympathy for the little girl who had to have hoped she’d at least get to see him on the weekends.
I know I should mind my own business, but it’s hard. “Sophie will miss hanging out with you this weekend.”
“She’ll have a better time with you than she ever would with me,” he says with an airy sort of laugh.
I wish I knew why Aiden insists on putting himself down all the time when it comes to his parenting. I wonder if he actually thinks his daughter wouldn’t prefer to spend her time with herdadrather than some random lady he hired.
“She misses you when you’re not here,” I counter, trying to keep my tone casual. “I can tell.”
Aiden’s brow furrows as he stares down into his cup, thinking. “I miss her too. I’m hoping things will slow down soon.”
I wrestle with telling him that Sophie isn’t the only one who’s noticed his absence, wondering if it will only make things weirder. I mean, there’s no doubt in my mind that he’s been purposefully avoiding me lately, and I can’t decide if addressing it would be worse than pretending it isn’t happening.
“I know how busy you’ve been,” I point out carefully before taking a sip from my own cup. “Feels like I haven’t seen you this week.”
There. I said it. I’m probably going to regret it, but I said it.
