Page 58 of Home in the Country
My nickname!I somehow manage to not squeal like a preteen girl and casually tuck a piece of hair behind my ear instead.
Clearing my throat, I turn my gaze to the stove. Water is starting to boil for pasta and a pot of sauce simmers next to it.
“It’s just jar sauce, but I doctored it a little bit. I hope that’s okay.”
“It’s amazing. Thank you. You didn’t have to do this. I was going to throw a frozen pizza in the oven and just wing it, so this is amazing.”
I press my lips together to stop the onslaught of words I’m sure will come if I let them.
“Why don’t you go get changed while I set the table, and when you get back I’ll head out.”
“You’re not going to stay and eat?” I sound alarmed even to my own ears, and now it’s his turn to press his lips together.
“I, uh, wasn’t planning on it. Figured you’d like some time just to yourselves.”
I hate the words that come out of the mouth that’s tasted every inch of me. They hurt in a way that so many others never have.
“Friends eat dinner together all the time.” My voice is just above a whisper.
“But that was before I fell in love with your kid. I don’t know how to do the right thing, Fallon.”
“Stay.”
His eyes fall shut and I hold my breath.
“Otto, are you eatin’ with us? You have to!”
Briggs busies himself cleaning up the table, but his excitement is clear.
“I’m going to go change,” I say.
Backing away, I don’t give him a chance to answer before I’m turning and heading for my room.
I exchange my blouse and slacks for black leggings and an oversized, button-down flannel with the sleeves rolled up. It’s not until I’m back in the kitchen that I realize what I’m wearing.
Otto chokes on a sip of water and pounds a fist into his chest as his eyes go molten. His normal icy-blue eyes are almost electric as he stares at me. He doesn’t hide his desire, and I wipe my hands down the front of my shirt.
His shirt.
The shirt I took from him the day we had sex in the field. He told me it looked better on me anyway, and I didn’t argue because it smelled like him.
Fresh-cut grass and wood and something citrusy.
I remember crying in my dorm room when the smell had finally worn off. Maybe it made me crazy, but I didn’t care because I needed the comfort even if I couldn’t reach out to him.
A thousand questions pass between us, and I can’t answer any of them because Briggs races into the room and jumps in his seat.
“Mama, I’m sooo hungry! Can we eat, please?”
I sigh but smile at my son and pray that I can keep him little just a bit longer.
“Sure, buddy, let me get your plate.”
“Otto, you can sit next to me!”
Maybe I should feel bad that Otto physically can’t say no to Briggs, but I can’t—not when I finally know what I need to say to him.
19
