Then I frowned at the glass. What the fuck was I doing?
I reminded myself again that she was way too young for me, even if I was the kind of guy who’d mess around with a woman he’d have to see coming and going all the time—which I wasn’t. And the last thing I needed was an awkward situation when I’d moved here for a fresh start. That meant keeping my hands to myself.
Even if she was the prettiest woman I’d seen in a long, long time.
Even if the memory of her bare skin would taunt me every time I closed my eyes.
Even if I’d frantically jerked off while thinking about her in the shower earlier—which would not happen again.
I untucked my shirt again, turned off the light, grabbed the two beers, and went back outside. Over on her patio, the milkshake was gone and she was setting a plate on the little table with a maple bacon cupcake on it.
“I only had one of these, but it’s yours if you want it,” she said, dropping into one of the chairs.
“I had one earlier.” I sat in the other chair and popped the caps off both bottles.
“Verdict, please. Do you agree with your girls that bacon does not belong on a cupcake?”
“No. It was fucking delicious.” I handed her a beer. “Here you go. It’s no chocolate Frosty, but it’s cold and wet.”
She laughed. “Thanks.” Clinking her bottle against mine, she said, “To new neighbors.”
I drank when she did, trying not to stare at her lips on the bottle.
Setting her beer on the table, she stretched out her legs, pointing and flexing her bare feet. “High heels,” she said with a sigh. “They look good, but they hurt like a bitch.”
I wasn’t sure how to respond to that, but she had looked good in those heels and those jeans and that tiny little top. From the moment I’d seen her walk into the party, I’d been unable to think straight, and not just because I was scared she could read my mind about the whole getting off to her in the shower thing.
I cleared my throat. “I’m, uh, sorry again about earlier.”
She flipped a wrist. “It’s okay. Someday I will forget how hideously embarrassing that was.”
“You have nothing to be embarrassed about,” I said quickly.
“Just the fact that my new neighbors saw my bum,” she joked, reaching for her beer.
I frowned. “The girls have no fucking filter.”
She smiled at me sideways. “That’s what they said about you.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yes. They told me all sorts of interesting things about you when they came over today.”
Groaning, I tipped up my beer. “Like what?”
“Ohhh, how grumpy you are, how much you snore . . .”
“Assholes,” I muttered.
“They also mentioned how hairy you are and that you swear too much.”
“That is a fucking lie.”
She laughed—an adorably girlish little giggle—and said, “I told them about the swear jar my sisters and I used to make my dad put money into whenever he cursed.”
“I heard about it,” I grumbled. “Thanks a lot.”
“You might have met my dad tonight—his name is Declan MacAllister, but everyone calls him Mack.”
“I don’t think so,” I said, sort of glad I hadn’t had to look her father in the eye tonight. “So how are you related to Chip again?”
“We’re actually not blood-related, but I consider him my cousin. His biological mom is April Sawyer, and my stepmom—who’s been married to my dad since I was four—is Frannie Sawyer. They’re sisters.”
“Oh.” I stared out into the dark for a moment, remembering events from the year I’d met Chip. He’d moved up to Traverse City just before our senior year of high school and we’d hit it off right away. We were both on the baseball team, which had been really exciting that year, not only because our record was so good but because Tyler Shaw—the recently retired MLB pitcher and most famous graduate of our high school—had come back to town and was helping out the coaching staff.
“That was pretty fucking wild, discovering that our coach was actually Chip’s biological dad,” I said, “not to mention that it was Tyler Shaw.”
Winnie nodded. “Yeah. I was too young to know what was going on at the time, but I’ve heard the story.”
I braced myself. “Were you even in school when we graduated?”
“Barely,” she said, giggling again. “I was in kindergarten.”
Jesus.
I took another swallow. “Luna’s age. She starts kindergarten this year.”
“Is she excited?”
“I think so. It helps that Hallie is already there, although she can get anxious about things.”
“How so?”
“She’s a little bit of a germaphobe, doesn’t love eating in the cafeteria, also likes to have things just so in her desk, and if a kid borrows a colored pencil and doesn’t put it back exactly the right way, she loses her shit.”
Winnie nodded. “That must be tough on her.”
“It can be, because her behavior comes off as weird to the other kids. She hates being barefoot, so she’s always wearing something on her feet. Even in the pool, she wears swim socks.”
“What about in the shower at home?”
“Naomi, the girls’ mom, sometimes allows it to avoid a fight, but I don’t. That probably makes me the mean parent, but I believe in consistency, and the doctor said it’s better for her if we don’t allow the compulsive behavior.”
“Does the doctor think she’ll grow out of it?”
“Too hard to say right now, but it’s possible.” I hesitated, then went on. “Naomi thinks Hallie’s anxiety stems from worrying about me when I was gone.”
“I heard you were a SEAL. But not the kind at Sea World.”
“Not the kind at Sea World. They would have liked that much better.” I studied the label on my beer bottle, picking at the edge of it with my thumb. “I was gone a lot when they were tiny. Back-to-back tours.”
“But it’s not like you had a choice about that.”
“No, but the fact remains—I wasn’t there when either of them were born, and I missed a ton of milestones after that. I had to watch both of them take their first steps on video.” I paused. “I don’t regret my choices, but I feel bad about the things I missed.”
“And your ex blames Hallie’s anxiety on your absences?”
“She doesn’t exactly put it like that, but it’s pretty clear that’s the case.” I paused and added, “I think she blames a lot of things on my absences.”
She was silent at that, and I was embarrassed.
Why the hell was I telling Winnie about this? I never talked about this stuff with anyone, let alone a near-stranger. I was trying to think of a way to change the subject when Winnie gracefully moved the conversation in a different direction.
“Well, they seem like sweet, polite, adorable girls—when they’re not talking about my bum.” She brought her heels to the edge of her chair and wrapped her arms around her legs, setting her chin on her knees the way a kid would. “I hope they don’t give you too much grief about the swear jar.”