I tap my thumb on the table. “Process faster. She’s going to be back soon, and I don’t want her to walk in while I’m talking to you.”
He sighs. Not like he’s irritated, just that this is all a lot for him. I get it. He’s a single father to a girl who is now considered a young woman. “What do I need to do?”
“Stop at the store. She needs supplies. I’ll text you the list.”
“Okay. Anything else?”
“Yes. You need to lose the horrified tone of voice by the time you get home. It’s the last thing she needs to hear.”
Warner chuckles. “You’re pretty good at this.”
“I have some experience in this department.”
We hang up, I send Warner a text with what he needs to buy, and Peyton comes back into the kitchen. “Did you call my dad?” Her expression tells me she already knows the answer.
I nod. “I had to. I didn’t have enough supplies for you.”
Peyton turns away, her cheeks pink. I reach for her, and this time I actually do touch her. Just lightly on the forearm, so she’ll turn to look at me. “Don’t be embarrassed. This is a completely natural part of life.”
She shrugs. “Yeah, I guess so.”
I stand, lifting Libby into my arms. “We’ll get out of your hair now.”
Peyton’s arm shoots out. “Stay! I mean, can you stay?”
I set Libby back down and try not to show my shock. “Sure, no problem.”
We look at each other, the quiet of the home turning awkward. Peyton sucks her lower lip between her teeth.
A memory surfaces, and I snap my fingers. “I have an idea. Do you trust me?”
A ghost of a smile tugs the corner of Peyton’s lip. “I guess so…”
I head for the couch, and Peyton follows. She sits down beside me. “When my sister and I were younger we’d watch this show together.” Using my phone, I open the internet and find the show. The opening music starts, and Peyton looks at me in disbelief. I have just outed myself as the most uncool person to walk the planet.
Oh well. Might as well seal the deal. I open my mouth, and I sing every word of the theme song. Before the opening line of the show, Peyton’s laughing hysterically.
When Warner walks in a half hour later, he stops just inside the living room, his arms loaded with bags. Charlie is right behind him, toeing off his cleats. Warner clears his throat. “What are you two up to?” His gaze swings from me to Peyton and back again.
I open my mouth, but Peyton answers. “Girl time.” She casts a glance at me, then gets up from the couch. I smile at her.
Peyton has to cross in front of Warner to leave the room. Their collective embarrassment permeates the air. Charlie has moved on already, probably to change out of his sweaty uniform.
“Here,” Warner holds out the bags with the drugstore logo. “I got you some, um, stuff. For, you know…” He looks to me, his eyes desperate for help. My fist is pressed to my lips to keep my laughter inside.
Peyton yanks the bags from his hand, mutters a barely audible thanks, and leaves the room. I get up from the couch and go to where Warner is frozen. He looks down at me, and that’s when I see it. Tears.
“Are you okay?”
He nods. The tears are unshed, but there’s just enough moisture to make his eyes shine. “If you tell Wes I cried about this, I will withhold sex for approximately one month.”
I make a noise in the back of my throat. “Good to know you’re not above using sex as a weapon.”
Warner grabs my hand, curling his fingers through mine. “All’s fair in love and war.”
My heart thrums and my mind goes blank. He just said love, and the panicked look in his eyes tells me he is perfectly aware.
To cover up his panic, I tell him, “I promise not to tell Wes.”
His thumb runs over the top of my hand. “It’s hard, watching her grow up. I swear I can still feel her in my arms on the day she was born.” He makes a cradle with his other arm.
My heart melts into a puddle. Would anybody believe me if I told them the tough, rugged, handsome Warner Hayden has the soul of a poet and the emotional depth most women only dream of?
“Did Peyton call you for help? When she… you know.” Warner leads me by the hand into the kitchen where he starts pulling out ingredients for dinner.
“You can say it,” I chastise. “There’s nothing wrong with naming the event. Normalize it now, so she doesn’t feel like she can’t come to you later about other things having to do with her body.” Warner adopts a look of horror, like he’d never considered there could be other things occurring, so I put the poor guy out of his misery and continue talking. “I happened to come by.” The candy is there, on the table, so I go get it and bring it back, sliding it across the counter toward the potatoes waiting for Warner’s peeler.
“I was dropping off some candy when she answered the door. She told me what happened.”
Warner stops what he’s doing and opens the jar. He fishes out a peach ring and eats it. “I’ll never have something peach flavored and not think of you.” He eats two more and closes the jar. “How many of those did you bring with you from LA?”
“An ungodly amount. I have a very real problem.”
Warner resumes peeling, the conversation about Peyton presumably finished. I suppose a father can only take so much. I lean against the counter in the same spot I was in when he made pancakes. I think it’s safe to assume he hasn’t heard about the picture of us or seen it. He would have mentioned it by now. Here goes nothing.
“My mom called me after I finished up today, and—”
Warner whips around, his hand against his forehead. “Shit, I’m sorry. I can’t believe I forgot to ask you how your first day of filming went. What an asshole.”
“Something else kind of big was happening,” I remind him. “And it went well. Until my mom called afterward. She sent me a picture from a gossip site.”
Warner pauses, giving me a wary look. “Do I even want to know?”
My eyes squint as I make a bare-teeth face. “Probably.”
His eyes widen, urging me to just say it already.
“Someone in the grocery store took a picture of us kissing. And sent it to the tabs.” Warner doesn’t say anything, he just stares at me. It’s probably a look very similar to when I called him and told him about Peyton. I pull up the picture from my messages and offer it to him. He looks at it.
It’s… sexy.
If I had to use a unit of measurement, I’d say it’s sexy as fuck.
There we are, a moment of time captured, our bodies pressed so close we could be sewn together. His hands are on my face, my hands grip the front of his shirt. The picture also tells the story of what we’ve done in the moments the camera didn’t capture. The intensity, the passion of that kiss, makes a wager we are lovers a safe bet.
Warner lets out a long, slow breath. “That’s fucking hot.”
It’s the last thing I was expecting him to say, and also the perfect response. “You’re not mad?”
“What’s there to be mad about? I can’t change it. Nor would I want to.” Warner drops what’s in his hands and moves closer to me. He pins me against the counter, one hand on either side of me, his hips grinding into me. He leans down, his voice rumbling against my ear. “I was on the receiving end of that kiss. Pretty sure that makes me the luckiest man in the world.”