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We move up to the front of the line and place our order for food. Once they hand it to us, Cross carries the plates one block over to the picnic tables set up in front of the park at the center of town and sits down. The late September sun is just dipping down beneath the horizon and bathing us all in a beautiful glow. The lush grass the town mows to within an inch of its life is stilla dark green, but the leaves on the trees have started to turn red, ushering in another fall in Kroydon Hills. I love this time of year.
“So tell me about yourself, Cross. I realized yesterday, I didn’t even know you were a dad before I saw you at the studio.”
My little white swan who was sitting calmly on my shoulder perks up and runs her hands over her starched tutu.You didn’t know he was a pro hockey player either.
“Not much to tell. I grew up in Maine. My parents are still there. Left when I was eighteen. Played a few years in the minors. I’ve been with the Revolution for eight years. Moved to Kroydon Hills after Kerrigan was born. She’s three. Jax is about seven months.”
“And their mom...?” I leave the sentence hanging as I dip a fried ravioli in Nonna’s famous marinara sauce and moan around the garlicky goodness.
“She’s gone. Decided being a mom wasn’t for her. Signed away her rights and left town. Haven’t heard a word from her since.” He says it with no emotion, as if a mother giving up her children were no big deal.
“Wow. That has to be hard, especially with your long season. The travel schedule alone must suck. It always felt like my dad was gone half the year when we were kids.”
Cross’s face pales, and I feel like a complete ass.
“We’ve got a great nanny, and my sister, Bellamy, lives with us. She’s a sophomore at Kroydon University and helps when she’s not in class. My brother, Ares, lives with us too. But he’s on the team with me, so he can’t really help most of the time. Besides, some days, I think Jax has a higher emotional IQ than Ares.”
“The God of War?” I cock my head to the side and watch Cross’s shoulders shake with silent laughter.
“Yeah. It’s fitting.”
“Sooo...” I let my eyes rake over this man and try hard to ignore the memory of his hands on my body. “Is your nanny young and hot?” I dip another ravioli before Cross grabs my wrist and leans across the table. He takes a bite, his lips quickly grazing my fingers, sending shockwaves dancing down my skin. The memory of our first night together crashes over me, ruining any hope I had of trying to forget it.
The weight of his body pressed against me.
His lips. His tongue. His touch.
Yeah . . . that hope goes up in flames.
My black swan jetés over to my white swan, head held high, arms extended out beautifully.
Game on,she announces, thrilled with this new development.
Wanting more. And honestly, who can blame her?
“Well, she’s sixty-seven and kind of reminds me of my mom.” There goes that smile again. “Soooo, there’s that.”
“Good answer, Wilder,” I whisper.
“I try.” Cross pushes the untouched plate of zeppole in front of me once the ravioli is gone.
He watches carefully as I tear a piece off, then pop one of the pillowy bites of heaven into my mouth. I moan around the ball of fried dough dipped in sugar. “You’ve got to try one of these.”
I pick up the remaining piece and hold it up to him, prepared for the zap this time.
At least I thought I was.
But I’m learning quickly, I may neveractuallybe ready for Cross Wilder.
He hums deep in his throat. “Thatisgood.”
I look over his face and drag my thumb through the sugar at the corner of his lips, but Cross has other ideas. He leans across the table and wraps a hand around the back of my neck moments before his lips brush over mine. “But that’s even better.”
I open my eyes, our faces only a hairsbreadth apart.
Yes.Yes, it is.
Do we have a NEW COUPLE ALERT, Kroydon Hills?
