Page 50 of On the Line

I like the way that sounds coming out of his mouth way more than I should.

Excited squeals precede the girls’ stampede, and then their bodies are plowing into mine, each of them hugging a leg like they always do. Then they sit on my feet, demanding that I walk around with each of them attached to me, which lately has felt like my daily workout. I can’t believe how fast they’re growing—and that thought is followed by the same one as always: that Josh is missing this. Then again, he missed most things even when he was alive.

Jameson stands on the other side of the massive island, his hands each on the back of a different barstool, watching me.

“You cooked” is all I can manage to choke out under the weight of his stare. I take a few awkward steps with my kids attached to my legs.

“I thought you might be hungry.”

“I’m starving.”

“Okay, how about I finish cooking this and then we can eat?”

I almost sayYou don’t need to get home?But I hold my tongue because I realize I don’twanthim to go home. I want him to stay and have dinner with us.

Him, here in my house, watching a movie with my girls, cooking us dinner ... it feels right. It feels like what I’ve always imagined the other half of a relationshipshouldfeel like. Working together, small sacrifices and little acts of service for each other.

I’m not even in a relationship with Jameson, and it makes me realize how terribly one-sided my marriage was. Except, that wasn’t one-sided in the beginning either. Josh put on a really good show until he had me locked down. And I’m terrified of making the same mistake again—trusting that what someone shows me is real, only to find out later that it was all an act.

“Where’d your mind just go?” Jameson asks as he walks around the island toward me. That’s when I realize I didn’t answer his question.

“Sorry. I was just thinking ...” I don’t know what to say, and I’m not great at coming up with things on the spot. But there’s no way that I can tell him that I was envisioning a future for us. Jameson Flynn doesn’t do relationships, and I don’t think I’d ever recover from a fling with this man.

I’m a single mom rebuilding my life. Things are finally going really well, and having sex with him would fuck up everything—my friendship with him, my friendship with his sisters, the sense of independence I’m rebuilding for myself.

It’s not worth what I stand to lose.

He approaches me cautiously, like he’s afraid I’ll scare and run off—as if I could with a kid attached to each leg. He stops in front of me, reaching out to tuck a piece of my hair behind my ear. I revel in the adoring way he looks at me as the pads of his fingertips graze along the top of my cheekbone, run through the hair at my temple, and drag along the shell of my ear.

A sound escapes my throat, and I’m horrified to realize it sounds a lot like a moan. And by the way his dark eyes light up, I know he didn’t miss it either. He smirks, then says, “Let me get this pasta going.”

He turns and walks the few steps to the stove, where I can hear the water starting to boil.

These mixed signals—acting like he wants me, then turning and walking away—are making my brain hurt, so I take my girls upstairs with me to change out of my work clothes. Even though nothing’s going to happen, I put on a sexy light pink lace bra and thong. Just in case. Then I put on joggers and a matching top, brush out my long hair, slide my feet into my slippers, and pick up my girls to bring them back downstairs where they run back into the living room to play.

As I walk around the island toward the stove, Jameson eyes me over his shoulder, and then the timer goes off. While he moves to drain the pasta, I head to the fridge because I’m fairly certain I have some Parmesan cheese in there.

“You’re going to a wedding next weekend?” he asks casually as I shut the refrigerator door. I glance over and he’s holding an invitation that was sitting on my counter near the sink.

“Yeah. My cousin is getting married. Paige and I are going up together.”

“What about Morgan?” he asks, as he lifts the colander out of the sink.

“It’s my dad’s nephew getting married, and Morgan is related on my mom’s side of the family. She’s staying here with my girls, since it’s an adult-only reception.” He sets the invitation down, and I watch him move around my kitchen like he belongs here, dumping the colander full of pasta into the sauce, then reaching for the Parmesan cheese I set near the stove for him. “Paige is going to be my wingman at the wedding.”

He raises an eyebrow at the same time he gives me a side-eye. “Your wingman?”

“Yeah, she’s going to keep my ex-boyfriend from high school away from me.”

Justin, who I dated for over two years in high school, is recently divorced from my ex-best friend. He’s been texting me lately and dropping some not-so-subtle hints about how much he’s looking forward to seeing me at the wedding. I could not possibly be less interested in exploring that opportunity, and am actually dreading seeing him.

His tone is dry. “That’s not the point of a wingman, Lauren.”

“Well, whatever you’d call it, that’s Paige’s role this weekend.” I grab some plates out of the cabinet and carry them over to the stove.

When I set them down, he steps up behind me, planting his hands on the counter on each side of me so that I’m boxed in his arms. A thrill runs up my spine when he drops his voice low and says, “If you really want him to leave you alone, you should bring a date.”

I allow myself a moment to enjoy his warmth. I allow myself to picture what it would be like to bring him with me too, but then I also imagine how people would look at me if I brought a date to a wedding only four months after Josh’s death.

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