Page 60 of Someone to Hold
She crosses her arms over her chest, and I try not to notice how the soft cotton of her T-shirt pulls across her gorgeous chest. Or the strand of bright copper hair that’s escaped her ponytail to frame her face. She’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, even when frustrated and guarded. It takes everything I have not to reach for her.
“Is that why you had sex with me?”
The question knocks the wind out of my lungs. “Are you fucking joking?”
“Do I look like I’m joking?”
“Of course it wasn’t about Teddy. Is that whyyouslept with me? To scratch some twisted itch for your late husband’s best friend?”
I see the blush spread across her neck and color her cheeks, but she tilts her chin and holds my gaze. “Not my kind of kink.”
“Where the hell is this coming from, Molly?”
Uncertainty flashes in her green eyes. “Nothing has happened since last weekend. Why are you keeping your distance?”
I keep my jaw from hitting the ground, but just barely. “I’m trying to respect you. I don’t want you to think I expect to end up in your bed every time we’re alone.”
She inclines her head like she’s never actually considered that as an option. “Do you want to be in my bed again?”
“Sweetheart, is the Pope Catholic?”
She breathes out a laughs. “Is papal kinkyourthing?”
I step toward her with a growl. “You’re my thing.” God help us both how much I want her. I want to kiss the laugh off her lips, to feel her come apart in my arms again. To wake up every morning with her warm body pressed against mine.
She glances toward the house. “The kids will be coming out any moment,” she whispers, but she’s already leaning closer. “I can’t let them see me with you.”
Another growl rises up in my throat, but I tamp it down. “I get it.” She wants me, but she’s smart. Smart enough to keep what’s happening between us a secret, which is fine with me.
Ialmostbelieve that lie. I do want more, but I’ll take what she’s willing to give.
“Tonight,” I tell her.
“I’m not sure I can arrange sleepovers for the kids.”
“Then we’ll be quiet.”
I see her draw in a shaky breath. “After last time, I don’t know if Icanbe quiet.”
“Call it a challenge.” I lean in closer. “You up for it?”
She blinks, eyes softening. “Yes.”
I almost kiss her right then and there. But this isn’t permanent, and she’s the one setting the terms.
“Mom,” Laurel calls as the screen door slams. “Can we have money for the crepe stand?”
Molly jerks back as Laurel and Luke barrel toward us. “You bet.”
“Are you sure about staying for the market?” she asks me as the kids pile into the old truck.
“You’re not getting rid of me that easy.”
“Not yet, anyway,” she whispers. And just like that, we’re both reminded this has an expiration date.
The weight of those words settles between us as we finish loading the tubs of flowers then head toward town and the first weekend market of the spring season. The kids are talking a mile a minute, which is a nice distraction, but I won’t lie, part of me wants to skip the farmers market altogether. Since the accident, I’ve kept my distance from crowded town events. It’s the easiest way to avoid questions I don’t want to answer.
Maybe it’s time to stop hiding. Being with Molly and the twins, their unbridled excitement over everything from the perfect parking spot to whether Mrs. Henderson will have her famous strawberry jam—it’s infectious. The back of the truck is loaded with Molly’s arrangements: cheerful daffodils and tulips, fragrant purple hyacinths, and delicate branches of flowering cherry she must have coaxed from somewhere. The sweet, hopeful scent of spring fills the cab, and for the first time in months, I feel like I’m part of something that adds beauty to the world instead of just taking up space in it.
