Page 31 of A Place Like You

I know what he’s thinking, he could add more members to our family. Though they’ll be around for a while, I should probably keep Milo away from the Kershaws.

“We won’t keep you,” I cut in, not too subtly veering the conversation away from Drake’s family and Milo’s scheming.

“What are you two doing for lunch?” Drake inquires, catching me off guard.

“Cleaning the house,” I answer without missing a beat. We can’t indulge in this friendship, in this proximity. Milo could misunderstand, and I . . . well, I’ve drawn an invisible line between us as I build a wall.

“Then I’ll swing by with some food around noon,” Drake proposes, his voice bearing an air of casual confidence.

“Dino food?” Milo pipes up, hopeful.

“No,” Drake chuckles, “but I’ll bring something equally delicious—for human consumption.”

“Okay,” Milo says, satisfied.

With a final “Enjoy your breakfast,” Drake heads to the counter. A stack of paper cups and bags wait there, along with one of his brothers. He embraces Donna, a familiar warmth in their interaction. Drake, in contrast, offers only a wave. I surmise he’s one of Donna’s children.

I shouldn’t care, but this is becoming more interesting than we hoped. Maybe tonight, the girls and I can start piecing together the puzzle that’s the Kershaw family.

Chapter Eighteen

Drake

“She’s cute,” Callahan says casually as we leave the coffee shop. “I might even say hot.”

The weight of the coffee tray almost slips from my grip as I glance toward the door, startled by Callahan’s comment. Why is he looking at her? Of course, I refuse to discuss Wren with him, so I respond, “What are you talking about?” pretending to be confused by his observation.

I sound stupid, but it’s for the best. I could tell him that Wren isn’t just cute. She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve encountered in a long time. I’ve been denying this attraction ever since our paths crossed in this exact coffee shop, but it’s becoming increasingly difficult to resist her.

Her image lingers in my mind, making it hard to focus on anything else. Wren Lynch seems like a complicated woman who is surprisingly easy to talk to—and understand. There’s something about her that leaves me strangely undone every time I’m around her.

When I entered the café and caught sight of her, an overwhelming desire to walk up to her and kiss her good morning consumed me. For some reason I can’t explain, I yearn to spend every moment of the day with her.

Since last night, I’ve been aching to taste her, and the urge to touch her grows stronger with each passing moment. I wonder if it’s possible to purge her from my system without giving in to these needs—the lust I never thought I would be able to feel for a woman.

It’s been long, so long, since I turned off my emotions and my body went dormant.

It’s absurd. I’m forty-three, and I shouldn’t be lusting after someone so young and full of life, but here I am, wanting a lot more than I should.

“The gorgeous doctor,” Cal clarifies, amused by my attempt to feign ignorance, unaware of the turmoil she’s stirred within me.

“Yeah, I guess so,” I reply nonchalantly, attempting to hide the attraction I have toward Wren Lynch.

We spent last night just talking, but it felt like so much more. Her presence made me forget my problems but left me yearning for things I shouldn’t want—her lips, her body, and even the simple pleasure of falling asleep beside her.

I crave to know the rhythm of her heartbeat, synchronized with mine.

But this is where things get complicated. This is the first time in my life when I can’t control my emotions and reactions toward a woman. Wren wouldn’t be the first woman in my life. There have been several others, and of course, I can’t forget Noelle.

My relationship with Noelle was a gradual progression from dating to living together. We made sense in a hectic world where no one had time to stop and find love.

Wren, on the other hand, she’s different. She evokes feelings in me that are both frightening and exhilarating. Yet, I can’t ignore the reality of our circumstances. She has a son, I’m leaving . . . there are several more that I can’t come up with but that’ll show me we don’t fit together.

Callahan scoffs, snapping me back to the present. “So, you have a thing for her, and she’s married?”

“There’s nothing between us,” I reply defensively, pushing aside the pull I feel toward her. “And she’s single.”

“So, single mom, huh?” he mumbles, but there’s something beneath his tone I don’t understand.

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