Page 68 of The Refiner

I swallow, forcing my gaze to the ceiling. He’s just trying to prove a point, Keys. Don’t fall into his hotness trap.

His cool fingers grasp my chin and pull my face down, so I’m looking him in the eyes—those crystal-clear blue eyes that almost seem inhuman. “If nothing has changed between us then a date shouldn’t create a problem for you.”

Oh, it’s definitely creating a problem, especially if he keeps up with this behavior. But if I’m going down, so is he. “Deal. Find the valve, Dr. Potter.”

Without another word, I take Tatum to the back bedroom and guzzle most of the coffee until I’m calm enough to change clothes and risk walking back to the closet where Astor is kneeling, his jeans darker from the water. I don’t notice how they cling to his thighs and how his forearms flex as he reaches behind the round thing. “The plumber will be here this afternoon, and the cleaning crew thereafter, but I recommend we get most of the water soaked up before the wood floors have a chance to absorb more.”

I appreciate that he doesn’t rub my face in the fact that he found the sacred valve and has shut off the spraying water. “Okay. I’ll grab some towels and a mop.”

I don’t give him time to answer because I need a minute to myself. Should I have known he would find the valve? Probably. Should I feel bad for thinking this man couldn’t find something if I couldn’t? Yes. And I do. But what bothers me the most is that I agreed to an actual date with this man, where neither of us can use the excuse to change a diaper or put the baby down when conversation becomes too uncomfortable.

Sure, we’d talked in the hospital, but that was a different time. A time when we were both scared and in a tremendous amount of pain. Now, we’ve had time to lament on Piper’s passing and the fact that we are basically raising a child together.

We’ve had time together.

We’ve experienced grief and joy together.

But never have we ever just experienced each other.

Alone.

Without any excuses or sex between us.

I grab a stack of towels and head back into the hallway, where Astor is standing, water dripping down his pecs like it was purposefully done. But I know this is no fairy tale and the tightness of his mouth is due to a look of concern, not sex appeal. “Do you know if Piper has a dehumidifier? I’m thinking we should run it with as many fans as you can find, so the floor dries faster.”

I wait about three seconds, making sure he’s absolutely serious before I cry, drop the towels and throw my arms around him like an absolute fool. I don’t say anything, I just hug every hard inch of muscles my arms wrap around. This man needs to go home and sleep like yesterday. Yet, here he is, tired, likely rundown thanks to Tatum’s circadian rhythm, and he’s worried about saving Piper’s floor. He could have answered the phone this morning and responded with, “Man, that sucks. I’ll have my assistant send you a list of reputable plumbers. Ciao!” But he didn’t. Instead, he brought me a coffee, got sopping wet and called people who would help me, but not before thinking about how we could salvage these floors before help arrived.

Ass Face wouldn’t have done that.

Hell, Kenny wouldn’t have done that. Kenny would have come, but there is no way he would be elbow deep in water he didn’t know where it was coming from. Astor Potter has rocked my world and created doubt in my cold heart that all men are not created equal.

“Hey.” He shushes me while rubbing soft circles on my back. It only makes me cry harder. This man’s strength—his comfort—is something I will never get used to. I lap it up in gulps, remembering his stern voice demanding I tell my sister goodbye and that I was going to be okay. At the time, I was so mad at him. I knew I wasn’t going to be okay. I wanted to be selfish and make Piper open her eyes and comfort me, but he wouldn’t let me. He made me take his strength and lie to my sister that I was going to be okay.

And clearly, sobbing into this man’s chest over some water-logged wood floors is not okay. So really, it’s his fault he’s in this position.

“The floors will be fine.” He tries lying to me, which I appreciate, but we both know the floors won’t escape this incident without scars.

Just like us.

And that makes me angry. I have enough scars; I don’t need Astor Potter, Man Extraordinaire, leaving more. “Would you like to make a wager on that?”

I might be upset, but stupid I am not. I lost a bet; doesn’t mean I can’t make it right with another one.

Astor chuckles, and I feel it vibrate my cheek. “Never. You’re not getting out of our date.”

It’s not like I haven’t been on awkward dates before. “Whatever, it’s just a date. I’ve ruined enough of those before.”

He pulls me back and presses his lips against mine. “Not just any date. We’re going trick-or-treating.”

“So, the packing…”

The plumbers arrived faster than I expected. So did the cleaners, which resulted in an awful lot of free time that Astor used to snoop around, noting that I hadn’t packed one single box, before shuffling me into the car. The cleaners needed us to clear out, he said, lying through those straight white teeth.

“I’ve been busy,” I cut him an exasperated look, “offering up my vagina to you.”

Grinning, he grips the steering wheel, adjusting in his seat like the thought of my pootnanny conjures up stiff thoughts that manifest in his pants.

“And what a succulent offering it is,” he teases.

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