There’s a knock on the door. A zing shoots through me. I’m almost positive it’s Warner with coffee. Last night when he dropped me off after dinner with his family, he mentioned birthday coffee. Libby jumps off the couch and races for the front door.
I open the door, phone tucked between my shoulder and my tipped head. I was only half right. A smile spreads across my face. Warner stands on the bottom porch stair, and Charlie stands on the threshold, a handful of flowers thrust out at me. “Happy birthday,” he says. “I picked these for you.” Libby jumps around his feet.
I take the flowers. Earth clings to the flower’s roots, showering down on my foot as the arrangement changes hands. “Charlie, you shouldn’t have.” I wink at him, and he beams. My eyes find Warner. One side of his mouth lifts into a smile. Into the phone, I say, “Morgan, I need to go. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” Using my free hand, I slip the phone from my head and tuck it into my pocket.
Warner walks the rest of the way to me in the open doorway. He’s holding coffee. “Morgan, huh? She’s a real person?” He must see my confusion, because he follows it up with, “That’s the name you gave me the first day we met.”
I press two fingers to my lips, suppressing a laugh, and step back to welcome Warner and Charlie inside. “Morgan is my best friend,” I explain, watching Warner stride into the kitchen. He pulls two mugs down while I rinse the dirt from the flowers and drop them into a cup with water. Charlie hops onto a stool that faces the kitchen counter and watches.
“These are lovely flowers, Charlie.” I tap the glass holding the bouquet. “Where did you get them?”
He pushes hair off his forehead, dirt beneath his fingernails. “There’s a meadow behind our house. But they grow nearly everywhere this time of year. They pop up out of nowhere.”
I nod. “Wildflowers?”
“Yep.” He glances behind me at a cabinet. “Uncle Wyatt keeps hot chocolate here for me…”
Warner laughs. “Is that your way of asking?”
Charlie shrugs. “Maybe.”
“I think that’s something we can do.” I turn around, and Warner is close, so close I almost run into his outstretched hand with the mug of hot coffee.
“Thank you.” I look up at him, towering over me. He presses the coffee into my hands, my fingertips raking across his hand as I take it.
Though no sound comes from him, his face is anything but quiet. His lower lip separates from his upper. The tip of his tongue slips out, curling over his bottom lip. His pupils dilate, black overtaking caramel. Blood warms his skin half hidden beneath two days of stubble.
The increasing heat of the coffee mug forces me to disrupt the moment. I place the mug on the counter and step around Warner to fix Charlie’s hot chocolate. Like he said, there’s a jar of pre-made mix in the cabinet.
“Here you go.” I place the mug in front of Charlie. He thanks me, then glances at his feet. “Can I take Libby outside to play?”
I look to Warner. “Fine by me.”
He nods his yes to Charlie. Charlie walks out of the cabin, two small hands wrapped tightly around his cup. Libby trots beside him.
My attention swings from the closing front door to Warner. He’s looking at me over the brim of his cup.
“Happy birthday,” he says. His voice is deep and low, curling into me like the steam rising from his coffee.
“You said that already.” It’s a light, teasing admonishment.
Warner shakes his head. “Charlie did. I didn’t.”
“Right.” I look away. If I could keep my gaze trained on Warner, I would. But he’s doing this thing where he’s looking at me too closely, too intrusively, and it’s making me squirm. It’s safer to avert my gaze.
“Ready for tonight?” Warner asks. “In case you hadn’t noticed, Dakota is pretty excited.”
“She really didn’t need to—”
“Stop.”
“Stop what?”
“Trying to insist you don’t need a celebration.”
“I don’t.”
Warner rolls his eyes toward the ceiling. “I swear, woman, you are so damn hardheaded.”
Laughter bursts from me, almost spilling my coffee as I shake. “That’s the most cowboy thing I’ve ever heard you say.”
Warner’s eyes narrow. “Cowboy thing?”
“Yeah, you know. Western, or whatever.” My palm slices through the air as I gesture, but really, I’m only digging myself deeper into a hole.
A smirk plays at the corner of his mouth. “No, I don’t know. Why don’t you enlighten me?”
I make a sound of playful disgust. “Quit playing dumb, Warner. Cowboy stuff like ‘yeehaw.’” For emphasis, I twirl my hand in the air like I’m wielding a lasso.
Warner’s smirk turns into a full smile. “To be fair, I haven’t heard you say anything too ‘actressy’.”
I snort a laugh. “And what would be considered ‘actressy’?”
Warner shrugs. “I’m not sure.”
We look at each other for a long moment, the humor of our conversation disappearing like the sun ducking behind the clouds. The air between us thickens. How is it that two people who are still recovering from the pains of the past could possibly be tasked with the handling of a new opportunity? It seems too much. An embarrassment of riches.
But wouldn’t it be crazy to let it pass us by? This kind of chemistry is rare. I know this, as surely as I know anything.
I reach for Warner’s hand, my fingers sliding into his. “Warner, I—”
Charlie bursts in, panting. “You should have seen how fast Libby chased a stick I found.”
I release Warner’s hand and take a step back. His eyes search mine, but only for a second. Charlie is still talking, as oblivious to the climate of the room as any ten-year-old boy would be.
“…you should get Libby a ball, Tenley.” Charlie marches into the kitchen, directly between Warner and I, and sets his empty mug in the sink. He turns to face us, an imperfect line of hot chocolate half dried above his upper lip. “Ready, Dad? I don’t want to be late for school.”
“Yeah, bud.” Warner’s voice is thicker than usual. “Let’s go see if Peyton is ready yet.”
Charlie fist-bumps me on his way out. Warner leans in, his lips near my ear, and says in a low voice, “I’ll pick you up this evening.”
I nod, a shiver of excitement making its way down my spine.
18
Warner
When I was young, I thought this was all going to be easy. My life was a road, paved in smooth sandstone, and I was just stepping onto it. If I turn around now and look back, I see what I couldn’t then. Rocks jutting up from below, forced through the sandstone by seismic interruptions.
I’d consider Tenley a seismic interruption of gargantuan proportion. Nothing else explains these jittery nerves in my stomach. Or the bouquet of pink roses lying on the passenger seat.
I’m wearing a collared shirt. Cologne. I’m a thirty-five-year-old single father of two and I’m taking a woman on a date.