Page 52 of Mother Pucker

I gaze at him, struggling to form complete thoughts. Does he realize how fucking swoony he is? That might have been the strangest thing a man has said to me, but is it crazy that I find it so endearing?

He leans into me, nudging me softly with his shoulder. “I know I got to kiss those lips of yours today, but it wasn’t enough, and well . . . I couldn’t fall asleep without another one.”

I let out a huff of air, shaking my head as I break my gaze from him to look at the house across the street. This man. What the fuck am I going to do about this man? “How do you manage to surprise me at every step, Rowan Parker?”

He doesn’t answer, and instead, we sit in silence for a few minutes, passing the cigarette back and forth until there’s nothing left.

“Thank you for teaching Kai how to skate today. He had a lot of fun,” I say, breaking the silence between us.

“I probably had more fun than he did, to be honest. He’s a really good kid, and in just one session, he made so much progress.” His perfectly white teeth sparkle from between his lips. “Did you see him march on the ice? That’s not easy to do when you’re just learning!”

My chest feels warm. That same warmth I felt earlier this morning when I saw my son laugh and come out of his shell with the man sitting next to me, like they were old friends.

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I work up the question I’ve been wondering about. “So, what are you really doing here?” Surely, he wouldn’t have come from downtown Boston for a kiss . . .

“What do you think I’m doing here, Shay?” His golden green eyes hold mine. “I wanted to see you.”

I look down at my feet, feeling his intense gaze to be all too much. “Why?” I let the question hang for a moment before adding, “What I mean is, are you sure you want this, Rowan? Do you not see the hot mess in front of you? I’m a thirty-five-year-old woman with a kid and baggage that could fill up an entire seven-fifty-seven. I’m at least ten years older than you–”

“Eight years,” he corrects.

I chuckle. “I secretly smoke–”

“You’re quitting, and it’s no longer a secret,” he argues.

“I constantly live in fear and don’t take risks–”

“I disagree.”

That has me turning in his direction.

“I disagree.” His voice is soft as he tucks a wayward strand of my hair behind my ear. “You might have fears, like anyone else, but you’re working to overcome them. You’ve already come so far in just a few days.”

My eyes bounce between his, contemplating. Yeah, I have made a lot of changes in the past few days. I’ve stepped out of my comfort zone and pushed myself, even when I wanted to quit and go back to what felt normal for me.

And I can attribute a lot of that to him.

He’s given me a glimpse of the woman I used to be. And while she hasn’t fully emerged, she’s gathering her nerves, curious about all that she missed while she was in the shadows.

His thumb brushes over my cheek, bringing me out of my thoughts. “How long have you smoked?”

There’s no judgment in his question; no shade thrown my way. Just curiosity.

“On and off for three years–”

“After your husband died,” he states knowingly.

I take a breath of the cold breeze. “I did it a few times in college, but yeah, after he died, it became a secret way to cope from time to time.”

Rowan’s lips quirk. “How are you going to cope now that you’re quitting?”

I admire the curve of his luscious mouth, the scruff around his jaw. “I have a few coping mechanisms inside my nightstand.”

The air around us thickens with insinuation and his voice deepens. “Pretty sure we agreed you wouldn’t use those unless–”

“Unless you’re there,” I finish for him while my heart speeds up at the thought of him being there while I use my toy.

An electric current buzzes around us as Rowan’s gaze drops to my lips, and it’s as if he’s reading my lustful thoughts. “I’m here now, baby.”

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