Page 49 of Cross Check Daddies
When he pulls back, his eyes are darker. “In that case,” he says, “have dinner with me.”
“I have to check with my nanny and Jackson…”
“Just let me know, okay, vixen?”
I nod, still catching my breath.
He winks, stepping back slowly. His smile—if you can call it that—is a quiet promise.
Then he turns and walks down the hall. I stare after him, dazed, lips tingling, skin hot under my clothes.
The moment he’s out of sight, I slide my key into the door and stumble inside legs barely working.
I drop onto the couch like a puppet with its strings cut.
Ace Carter just kissed me.
Jackson is already at the kitchen table when I come in, swinging his legs under him, hair sticking up like a puffball, still wearing his dino-print pajamas.
The smell of butter and coffee fills the air. Sasha must’ve just left. Her note is stuck to the fridge with a little smiley face and a reminder to call about Jackson’s dentist appointment.
I set my mug down and ruffle his hair before reaching for the eggs. “Alright, chef, what are you in the mood for today?”
He grins. “Waffles. With chocolate chips. And strawberries. And those tiny marshmallows.”
I laugh, cracking eggs into a bowl. “That’s not breakfast. That’s sugar with a side of chaos.”
He leans forward dramatically. “I’m in my sugar era, Mom.”
“God help me,” I mutter, shaking my head. “Fine. But we start the day by picking up my car, then we can find somewhere to ruin your teeth. Deal?”
He nods and stuffs a strawberry into his mouth from the container I just set on the counter. Thirty minutes later, we’re in the car, waffles in a box on his lap, fresh clothes on, and my own car retrieved with minimal annoyance.
The sun is already hot by mid-morning, so I park near the waterfront. There’s a little farmers’ market sprawled across the sand-side plaza, booths lined with fresh fruit, baked goods, and some indie jewelry. Jackson darts toward a stand with handmade slingshots, and I trail after him, still sipping from my lukewarm coffee.
Then I see him.
Tanner is leaning against a wooden post near the smoothie shack. Gray shirt stretched across his chest, sunglasses pushing his hair back, like he belongs here in the sun. He spots us immediately, lifts a hand, and Jackson runs to him like they’ve been best friends since preschool.
“Hey buddy,” Tanner says, crouching down to Jackson’s level. “Where’s your dog today?”
“Home,” Jackson replies with a tiny shrug. “He had too much fun yesterday. He’s sleeping it off.”
Tanner ruffles his hair. “Smart dog.”
I stand awkwardly to the side, watching them connect like it’s natural. Tanner’s eyes slide to me as he stands. The line of his jaw tightens.
“Why are you ignoring my texts?”
My lips part. “Tanner, not now.”
He stares at me for a long second, expression unreadable behind his glasses. Then he pulls his phone out and types. My own buzzes a second later.
>> I’ll be waiting for you at the beach tonight. 9. If you don’t show, I’ll take that as my answer. And I’ll stop chasing you.
I stare at the message, heat licking through my chest and pooling lower. My mouth dries. I glance up and he’s already walking away, hand tousling Jackson’s hair again as he goes. He doesn’t look back.
I spend the rest of the day on autopilot. We buy overpriced watermelon chunks. Jackson wins a tiny plush turtle from a ring toss. He’s smiling so hard it makes my chest ache. I laugh when I need to, answer his questions, pretend like I’m not unspooling thread by thread inside.
