had something planned—”
“Nothing planned. I’d love pizza.”
“Me too,” Calder said. “And cheesy breadsticks.”
Jensen smiled at him. “A little dude after my own heart. I love cheesy breadsticks.”
“Hey! Uncle Martin calls me little dude.”
“So I shouldn’t call you that?” Jensen asked carefully.
Calder considered him. “It’s okay. You can call me that too.”
“Cool.” Jensen set his hands on my shoulders and gave me a little shove. “Hit the tub. We’ve got this handled.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yep.”
I shuffled forward, grabbed the bottle of Zinfandel I’d opened last night and a coffee mug instead of a wineglass. With the day I’d had I wouldn’t be surprised if I dropped the glass on the bathroom tile and injured myself.
I went directly into the bathroom and started the water, dumping in my favorite jasmine-scented bubble bath. I poured a mug of wine before I undressed.
Two big gulps of wine and fragrant steaming water worked their magic on me. I closed my eyes and relaxed.
My mug became empty far too quickly, but rather than leave my cocoon of warmth for a refill, I remained in my tub of tranquility.
The next time I opened my eyes, the bubbles had dissipated and the water had turned tepid. My languid feeling faded as I stood on the bathmat and realized I hadn’t brought any clothes in with me. Nor had I remembered to grab the big bath towel Calder had brought into the kitchen. All that was left were the regular-sized towels that barely covered my son, let alone me.
I’d have to make a break for my bedroom. I doubted Calder or Jensen was lounging outside the bathroom door waiting for me to emerge. In fact, I hadn’t heard any boisterous boy noises—I’d take that as the all clear.
No stealth or tiptoeing around; I opened the door and strode out, my hand strategically holding the towel between my breasts . . . and I ran square into a brick wall.
A brick wall with warm, callused hands.
Jensen said, “Not watching where you’re going is a habit for both you and your son.”
I glanced up but Jensen’s eyes weren’t on my face.
At all.
And he didn’t seem inclined to let go of me either.
“Ah, I really need to get dressed.”
He retreated. “Sorry.”
I sidestepped him because the man took up a lot of space. “I’ll be right out.”
He said nothing.
But when I turned around after I’d opened my bedroom door, I saw that his focus had been on my ass.
Then he closed his eyes and muttered something like “Off-limits, off-limits, totally off-limits.”
Couldn’t be. I had to be hearing things. I closed the door.
I dressed in black yoga pants, a gray long-sleeved T-shirt and fuzzy socks. I did manage to towel-dry and comb my hair, but I skipped putting on makeup.
When I entered the living room, Calder and Jensen sat side by side on the couch. My son had selected the first season of Dancing with the Stars as their entertainment. I got that heavy feeling in my gut and my mama bear instincts came out full force. Jensen, the super jock, had better not utter any snide comments to make Calder self-conscious in his own home.
“That was a really fancy move,” Jensen said to Calder. “You think she knew how to do that before she got picked to be on TV?”
“Huh-uh. They show her practicing it like a billion times,” Calder said.
“Getting good at anything requires lots of practice. Rewind it. I wanna see her do that again.”
I stood behind them and watched some TV actress extend her leg up in the air and place her hand on the floor, then drop her extending leg back down and kick the other leg up in the air—all while smiling at the camera.
“Do they teach you how to do that in dance class?” Jensen asked Calder.
“Not yet. Maybe they’ll teach us at camp. Wouldn’t that be cool?”
“Totally. The camp sounds amazing. So if you learn how to do it, you gotta teach me.”
Calder tipped his head back to peer into Jensen’s face. “You’d want to learn to do that?”
“If I knew how to do that? I’d be doing that move all the time. Then my teammates would be jealous that I’m also secretly a ninja dancer.”
My son giggled.
Jensen ruffled Calder’s hair. “You laughing at me, little dude?”
“Uh-huh.” Calder’s giggles were a balm to my soul.
I didn’t have the heart to tell my son that I’d received word today the dance camp he’d looked forward to had been canceled.
Calder saw me. “Hey, Mommy, know what?”
“What?” I cut around the end of the couch and perched on the edge of the recliner.
“He has never ever watched Dancing with the Stars!”
I raised my brow at Jensen. “No. Really?”
“During the season I watch game tapes, so I don’t have time to check out TV shows until the season is over,” Jensen explained.
“So what is your favorite show?” I asked him.
Leaning forward, he rested his forearms on his knees and said, “Guess.”
“Inside the NFL,” I offered.
“Nope.” He flashed that charming, dimpled grin. “Try again.”
“Ballers.”
“Woman, give me credit for having interests off the gridiron. It’d be like me assuming your favorite is Making the Team or whatever that show is called about becoming a Dallas Cowboys cheerleader.”
“Point taken. Okay. Your favorite show is . . . America’s Next Top Model.”
Jensen rolled his eyes.
“I know, I know!” Calder piped up. “It’s Chopped!”
I didn’t mask my surprise. “The cooking show? Seriously?”
“Yep. I can’t cook at all, so I’m obsessed with it. Those contestants are badass making a dish out of stuff like fish heads, cotton candy and broccoli and having limited time to do it.”
“You’re not s’posed to say that bad A-word,” Calder said.
“Oh. Right. Sorry.”
“But Mommy says bad words sometimes,” Calder continued. “Sometimes a lot of bad words. Like when—”
“I’m sure Jensen isn’t interested in those very rare times,” I said, to head off Calder’s examples, of which there were more than I cared to hear about.
“So Mommy can be bad? Good to know,” Jensen murmured.
Before I could regain control of the conversation, Calder said, “Guess Mommy’s favorite show,” to Jensen.
“Parenthood,” Jensen said with a smirk.
“Ha ha.”
“No? Damn—I mean darn. I thought I had it. How about . . . Bring It On?”
“That’s a movie.”
“My bad. Is it . . .” He shot Calder a sideways look. “Dancing with the Stars?”
“Yes!” Calder clapped. “Me and Mommy have the same favorite show.”
“She’s definitely got good taste.”
Three raps sounded on the door, followed by, “Delivery from Papa John’s.”
Jensen vaulted over the back of the couch—in that sexy one-handed maneuver—before I even moved to grab my purse.
“Wait—”
He said, “Nope,” over his shoulder. “I got this.”
While he paid, I set out paper plates, napkins, cups and a jug of milk on the dining room table.
When Jensen returned with the pizzas, he pulled out the chair next to Calder.
“That’s where Mommy sits.” Calder pointed to the chair across from him. “You can sit over there.”
I mouthed “Sorry” at him. Calder was set in his ways about a few things.
“No worries.”
We helped ourselves to pizza. I said, “Thanks for buying us dinner. My turn next time.”
Wait. Would he think that was presumptive?
“Sounds fair.” He looked at Calder. “So that’s
your spot at the table.”
He nodded.
“Since I live by myself, I can sit anywhere I want at my table. So I never sit in the same place two days in a row.”
“How come?”
“From the time I was in a high chair until I graduated from high school, I had no choice but to sit at the same place at our family table. And since I’m the youngest, it seemed like I was the last one to get food.”
“Do you sit in the same place at home now?” Calder asked.
“Nope. But I am bigger than both of my brothers so now I get the food first.”
Calder took a huge bite of his cheese pizza and said, “You are a giant.”
“Calder. Do not talk with your mouth full.”
He mumbled, “Sorry.”
“And when you’re done chewing, apologize to Mr. Lund. You are aware of the no-name-calling rule in our house.” I glanced at Jensen, wondering if he’d jump in and assure me that Calder didn’t have to apologize. My biggest pet peeve when attempting to teach my son to mind his manners was when people—even my brother—tried to let it slide. Might be a small thing to them, but as a single parent, I needed Calder to listen to me and obey the rules I set for him.
Jensen said nothing as he helped himself to two more slices of pizza.
Calder took a big swig of milk before he said, “Sorry, Mr. Lund.”
“I’m cool with you calling me Jensen, or Jens.”
“Pop-pop said they call you The Rocket ’cause you run so fast.”
From the corner of my eye, I saw Jensen tense up.
But Calder, being a six-year-old in his own little world, didn’t notice. He continued on. “I could call you that.”
“Nah. Jensen is my grandpa’s last name and I was named after him, so stick with that, ’kay?”
“Okay.”
Calder didn’t chatter like he usually did. He kept sneaking looks at Jensen, as if trying to figure out why Jensen was here.
We were on the same page there.
After helping clean up, Jensen said, “I’ll leave you guys to enjoy the rest of your night.” He smirked at me. “If you decide to go out again, maybe carry an umbrella.”
“Hilarious.” I handed him a box with the leftovers. “Here.”
“Did you keep some?”
I shook my head. Evidently he hadn’t noticed that only three slices remained from two large pizzas. “You paid. I’ve got plenty of food. I forgot to say thank you for putting the groceries away.”
“No problem.” He studied me. “You sure you’re okay?”
Apparently I hadn’t hidden my mood very well. I forced a smile. “I’m good.”
“All right.” He said, “Later, little dude.”
Calder stood on the couch and said, “Later, Rocketman.”
Jensen laughed. “He’s determined to call me that.”
I poked Jensen in the chest. “You have the word rocket as a nickname. That is the coolest thing to a little boy. You would’ve done the same thing at his age.”
“True.”
“Good night, Lund.”
“Later, sunshine.”
Sunshine? When I’d been moody from the moment I saw him?
He’d probably meant that sarcastically.
After I’d tucked Calder in bed, I was half-tempted to call it a day and crawl between the sheets myself. But I knew I’d just stare at the ceiling and fret.
I poured another mug of wine and crossed to the patio door, watching rain slide down the glass like tears and pool on the concrete balcony. The dreary weather perfectly fit my mood.
Not only would the cancellation of the camp be devastating to my son, I’d already arranged my summer work schedule around the day camp hours. Finding a replacement camp at this late date would be nearly impossible. But I’d have to start looking right away.
Four soft knocks on the door pulled me out of my brooding.
I had no idea how long I’d been staring aimlessly into the night, but I knew who I’d find standing in the hallway.
And I was really glad he’d come back.
Nine
JENSEN
Maybe I was an idiot, but I knocked on Rowan’s door two and a half hours after I’d left.
I wasn’t sure if she’d answer. Part of me wasn’t sure why I was even there.
Except another part of me recognized I found it too hard to stay away from her.
Rowan opened the door and blocked it, her arms crossed over her chest. “Did you forget something?”
I stared at her lips. The cocky side of me almost responded, Yeah, baby, I forgot to kiss the hell out of you before I left. I tamped that idea down. “I thought you might want to talk about whatever is bothering you tonight.”
“What makes you think anything is wrong?”
My eyes searched hers but I didn’t say anything.
“Maybe I’m just tired. Maybe I was about to go to bed when you came a-knocking.”
Such a little liar you are. But I’d learned that if I didn’t respond, she’d find the silence uncomfortable and tell me everything I wanted to know.
Three . . . two . . . one . . .
“Fine. Come in. But I finished off the wine.”
“Good thing I’m not looking for a drinking buddy.”
She harrumphed behind me after I walked past her into the living room.
I took the chair opposite the couch.
Rowan plopped in the middle of the sofa and eyed me suspiciously. “What’s really going on?”
“You tell me. I’ve hung out with you every night this week. That means, like it or not, I can tell when something is wrong.” I leaned forward, resting my forearms on my knees. “So talk to me.