“And yet, here you are, being a caveman and being adorable . . .”
“You’re deflecting.”
“You spend seventeen years married to someone who takes you for granted, the last six neglecting your daughter, move across the country, get obsessed with your grumpy but adorable neighbor with understandable commitment issues, and tell me you wouldn’t want to deflect too.”
He studies me in the soft glow of the lamp. “I like you, Maisey Spencer,” he says quietly. “I like you enough to tell you I like you, and that’s more than I’ve admitted to any woman in years.”
“I like you, too,” I whisper. “And it’s scary. And I don’t know what Junie will think.”
I kiss her forehead. “So ask her.”
“I put a man’s needs ahead of hers for years. More years than I have left with her before she goes to college.”
“I’m not Dean.”
I huff. “I’m well aware. You’ve done more for my daughter than her own father has lately. But that doesn’t mean she sees it that way.”
He settles onto the bed, still half leaning on me, and kisses my shoulder. “Tony used to talk about you like you hung the moon. I didn’t understand why he bothered when he’d always tell me you had your own life, you had better things to do than visit an old coot like him. But I get it now. You’re a star, Maisey. Not a TV star. A celestial star, shining bright, bringing hope and inspiration everywhere you go. You say you neglected June the past six years. But did you? Did you call her every day when you were gone? Did you send her things that made you think of her while you were on the road?”
“Of course, but that’s the absolute bare minimum of what a parent should—”
“Did Dean do it?”
“I did it for both of us.”
He doesn’t answer right away.
And I know why.
He’s letting me think about the fact that Junie will remember those details. She’ll know I did the best I could with the choices I made.
“Three years ago, when we got home after wrapping up the season and had two solid months at home, I refused every job offer that came our way. Dean got super pissed at me, but that summer, I took Junie everywhere. We went to the pool. We went to three different amusement parks. I made Dean take off work, and we went to the beach. We shopped. We gossiped. We ate too much ice cream. And I did it all out of guilt, and I have no idea if she liked it or not, and I don’t know if she remembers. I just know it never felt like enough. I feel like I’m finally in a place where I know I’m giving her enough, and it’s hard and draining but so worth it, and I don’t want to go back.”
“I heard a rumor there are people who start dating single moms and engage with their kids because they know they’re getting a package deal.”
“I hear the words you’re saying, and I want to believe them. And that’s the best I can do tonight.”
“I’ll take it.”
I twist my neck so I can look at him. “Seriously? That’s it? You’ll take it?”
“No rush, Maisey. Can’t do the math if you don’t read the whole problem, and you can’t wave a wand and make a person’s feelings go away. If you could, my job would be a fuck ton simpler.”
“You like your job.”
“Love it.”
“Teenage hormones and all?”
“They’re a puzzle. Every one of them. If they leave my classroom happier and more confident, even if they can’t math to save their lives, I’ve done my job.”
I stare at him.
He gives me a lazy smile.
I know what that smile means. It means And yes, Maisey, I’m working on making you see what a good person you are too.
“Who regularly tells you what a good person you are?” I ask him.
“I do.”
An unexpected laugh rolls out of me.
His smile goes soft as he strokes my hair again. “Apparently there’s this woman in my life who’s bound and determined to tell me too. Funny thing, though—the more she tells me I’m good, the more I want to be even better.”
“Hmm. I have something that I think you might be able to do better.”
“Do you now?”
I slide my hand over his chest, soaking up the view. The wolf tattoo on one biceps. The geometric designs on the other. The hair over his broad pecs, narrowing down to his fit stomach and his belly button.
My hand drifts lower. And lower. Until I’m gripping his hard length and stroking my fist slowly over it. “Yep. And it starts right here.”
“You’re gonna kill me, woman.”
“You’re welcome.”
He pounces again.
I laugh, but not for long.
Because when Flint kisses me and touches me and makes me gasp and moan, he takes me somewhere even better than laughter.
Chapter 33
Flint
I’m happily dozing Friday morning, vaguely aware that the sun is peeking through the blue checkered curtains Opal insisted on putting in here for me when I moved in, under the massive quilt that was a gift from a student my first year of teaching, playing big spoon to Maisey’s warm, lush body, when she bolts upright with a gasp. “My phone.”
“It’s here,” I mumble. I smack my nightstand on her other side, find it, and hand it to her. “Why?”
“This is your phone.”
“Hmm?”
She sighs. “Go back to sleep, goofy.”
The mattress shakes as she climbs off it. I watch through half-closed eyes, enjoying the view of naked Maisey moving around my bedroom, but not so much enjoying the sight of her pulling on her leggings and her sweatshirt. “I think I left it in my truck when I got here last night. Right back.”
“Better,” I say through a yawn.
My favorite thing about Maisey?
She doesn’t hold back. She doesn’t play games. She says what she’s feeling. She tells me what she wants. She’s not afraid to talk about her insecurities and what she views as her failings, and she’s not afraid of the work it takes to get what she wants and needs.
Yeah, that’s a lot of favorite things.
But they’re all true.
My stomach grumbles, so I pull myself out of bed, dig into my dresser for a pair of pajama pants while Maisey hunts around my living room and kitchen. “I’m running outside quick,” she tells me when I step out of the bedroom. “I really do think I left it in the truck.”
“I’ll be here to warm you up. Coffee’s coming.”
She smiles over her shoulder, her hair a disaster, her cheeks pink, and her lips whisker burned, and dashes outside. I yawn through realizing I should’ve offered to go get her phone out of her truck for her, but it’s too late.
Plus, one other thing I like about Maisey?
She’d tell me that I do enough for other people and she can do this for herself.
So I start coffee instead.
I’ve just hit the button on the pot when I hear a strangled noise that wakes me up faster than caffeine ever could. I’m out the door before I register that I’m barefoot, but the frost and subfreezing temperature don’t bother me.
Not after one look at Maisey’s face.