I lean back and run my hand through my hair. “Can’t blame him. I don’t want to share you.”
“Sorry. If I end up having to choose between the two of you, I’m going to have to go with Harry because he loves music and he loves my rats.”
“Rats.” I shake my head. “At what point did you forego the obvious choice of a cat or dog and decide on rodents?”
“That’s…” I can hear the yawn in her voice “…a story for another time.”
“I’ll let you go to sleep.”
“What are you doing Saturday?”
“The usual. Exercise. Working in the yard and my greenhouse. Dragging my son out of his room to get fresh air.”
“Let me make dinner at my place for you and Harrison.”
“You cook?”
She giggles. “Yes. Don’t act so surprised.”
“Harrison has a strict diet.”
“I know. Text me a list of things he can’t have.”
“I’ll feel like a third wheel.”
“Poor baby. We’ll try to include you in the rat play.”
“Maybe we should have dinner at my house.”
“Harry likes to play with my rats. Do you want them at your house?”
“Good point. What time?”
“Six?”
“Six it is. Goodnight.”
“Night, Flint.”
I toss my phone on the bed beside me and grin like a fool. My face doesn’t know how to handle the upward turn of my lips. For now … I let myself believe I deserve this chance, this feeling, this woman. Nothing lasts, but I want to take this as far as I can because it feels so fucking incredible to feel again.
*
Ellen
I spend Saturday morning tidying up my apartment and cleaning the rat cages, even though Flint’s unexpected visit the other night happened to be when things were a bit messy. Hopefully the naked-and-willing woman distracted him from focusing on the clutter.
The place smells like apples and cinnamon from the crisp in the oven, and I made a pot of chicken noodle soup with gluten-free noodles. I also changed my outfit five times like a sixteen-year-old on her first date. There’s no need to be nervous. Flint found me desirable in fuzzy socks and messy hair, but this no-sex thing makes me nervous. I want to make sure he continues to find me desirable until we can work something out with Harry.
God … I hope we can work something out with Harry.
Tonight is step one in my plan. If all three of us hang out enough, he might see how well Flint and I get along, and—fingers crossed, prayers said to any god willing to listen—he will change his mind about the no physical contact rule.
Long shot. I know. But a girl’s gotta try.
“They’re here!” I clench my fists and shake with way too much excitement from the knock on my door. I’m thirty-two. I should have mastered getting a grip by now.
“Hey, guys!”
“Hey.” Harry gives me a half smile and brushes past me, guitar case in hand. “Can I let your rats out?”
I laugh. “Absolutely. Just tell them to ‘come.’”
Stepping out into the hallway, I close the door behind me. Flint peaks an eyebrow, lips twisting into something too irresistible not to kiss.
“An untucked button-down and jeans? I feel cheated of my sex-in-a-suit fix.” Fisting his shirt, I lean up on my tippy toes and kiss him. His hands palm my butt, eliciting a hum of pure pleasure—and torture.
I pull away and rub my lips together.
He makes a quick inspection of my white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, short skirt, knee-high socks, and ankle boots.
“Good lord, you’re a tease. You can’t do this to a man with a child-enforced vow of celibacy.”
“I just don’t want you to lose interest in what you can’t have at the moment.” I open the door and head inside.
“You do realize people desire most what they can’t have.”
“Mmm, I’m counting on it.” I lead him down the hall to the kitchen.
“Smells good.”
I shut off the oven, but leave the crisp in to stay warm until after dinner. “Don’t sound so surprised.”
“I’m not.”
“Lady Gaga came out for me.” Harry carries my naked rat into the living room.
“You’re a rat whisperer.” I wink at him.
“I didn’t whisper. I just said ‘come’ in my regular voice.”
Flint and I share grins.
“A whisperer is someone who is good with a specific kind of animal. Dog whisperer. Horse whisperer,” I say.
“Huh …” Harry lets Lady Gaga climb up his chest to his shoulder. “I guess I could be a rat whisperer someday.”
“I can already feel myself swelling with fatherly pride. ‘What does your son do? He’s a highly sought after rat whisperer.’”
“You know…” I plant my hands on my waist “…some rats can detect tuberculosis, and there’s a specific breed of rats that can locate landmines. So basically, rats are saving lives.”
“Really? That’s cool.” Harry continues to play with Lady Gaga as my other babies make their way into the room.
Flint lifts his feet onto the rung of the barstool and gives me a poorly restrained smile. “I love the case you make for rats. If I ever have to defend the actions of one in court, you’ll be my expert witness.”
“Aw, that means a lot coming from my favorite shyster. I mean … legal beagle.”
This grin works its way up Flint’s handsome face. It’s different than any other grin he’s given me … not that he hands them out with any sort of generosity. Sometimes I wonder if his laughter, his smile, and his life died with Harry’s mother. I wouldn’t blame him one bit if they did.
I meant what I said to him the other day. Sometimes the world ends and forgets to take you with it.
Alex said it to me after he lost his hands. And those same words echoed in my mind when my mom died and when Alex served me with divorce papers.
But just now … Flint grinned like someone told him there was in fact life after death—something magical, something good—and he gave me that look. I don’t know where this journey will take us, but I will always remember this one look and how it made me feel physically touched while standing out of arm’s reach.
“Harry, will you say ‘cage’ to my lady and gentlemen? We’ll play more after dinner, and you can feed them theirs.”
Harry calls their names—their full names—even Lady Gaga’s, and he tells them “cage.”
Flint eases off the kitchen stool and brushes his arm against mine as he makes his way to the stove. He pauses next to me long enough to run his finger along my bare outer thigh, just below the hem of my short skirt.
I nudge him away. “Now who’s the tease?”
He chuckles and lifts the lid to the soup pot. “Harrison loves chicken noodle soup.”
“All kids do.” I grab three bowls and set them on the counter.
“Are you an expert on kids?” He stirs the soup.
I lean my back against the counter next to the stove and watch him. He makes stirring soup look sexy. How is that possible? “Well, I was a kid, so there’s that eighteen years of experience. And I work with a lot of kids, so I’d say I have some degree of expertise.”