Griff frowns like he understands but doesn’t like it. “For you, she’d risk it. Do you need anything else?”
“Nothing, but thanks,” she assures. “Tell Britta we said goodbye.”
“Will do.”
“Good luck tonight,” Mandy calls as we leave.
Then we’re gone. The ride back to the house is silent. She’s so pensive, I can almost hear her thinking. I want to ask questions, help her sort through her thoughts if she needs it, and blurt all the reasons I hope she gives us a try. But I don’t. Outside noise when I’m trying to think bugs the hell out of me, and I’m guessing she won’t appreciate me “mansplaining,” as Ellie would have put it.
Back at Masey’s vacation rental, I hide the distinctive Mustang in the adjacent garage, then make a quick trip through the interior of the house. Nothing has been disrupted, so I lead Amanda and Oliver in. We settle the groceries, plan a quick dinner, then she disappears to give Oliver a bath.
As I chop some veggies for a salad and heat the oven for chicken, I can’t help but wonder what the night will bring.
When she emerges with a freshly bathed boy, she leaves him to play on a blanket with his toys, and we finish cooking. While she’s picking at her plate, she’s giving Oliver tiny bites of chicken and some jarred food we picked up at the store.
Finally, as the sun begins to go down, she disappears into the master bedroom with her baby. Then I hear singing. Her voice is high, light, and melodic. And I hear her love for Oliver as she croons the lullaby.
I can’t help it. I meander down the hall and prop myself against the portal to watch. She’s cradling her son against her chest, and he’s looking up at her with big eyes. The naked love on her face as she looks down at him nearly chokes me. In that moment, I realize I’d consider myself incredibly blessed to have even a fraction of the devotion she’s showing her son. And I find myself determined to win her. I want more days like today. More nights where she sings Oliver—and maybe the children we have together—to sleep. I don’t care if it sounds crazy anymore. I’m listening to my gut.
Suddenly, she looks up and catches sight of me. “What are you doing?”
Her whisper isn’t meant to be sexy, but somehow it lights me on fire. “Watching you. You’re beautiful. Barclay was an idiot for throwing you away.”
Her lips curl up in a shy smile. “You’re only saying that because you’re trying to seduce me.”
“No. Well, yes, I’m trying to seduce you, but I’m saying that because it’s true.” I lean against the doorway. “Is it working?”
Chapter Seven
After Oliver fell asleep, cuddled up with his plushy toy train, Mandy and I do the dishes in silence. I can tell she’s thinking—so hard I can almost feel it.
She’s in the middle of drying a frying pan when she abruptly turns to me. “How long were you married?”
“Ten years officially, but Ellie and I have been separated for nearly two. She asked for ‘space’ one night. A few months later, I realized I was more relaxed, more…myself—not walking on eggshells, wondering if I was saying the wrong thing all the time—so I filed for divorce. She didn’t fight me.”
“No children?”
I shake my head. “We tried. Eventually doctors told us she wouldn’t be able to get pregnant.” No reason to get into all the medical stuff, and I doubt Mandy cares about my ex-wife’s ovaries. “It’s one of the things that changed her perspective on life, I think. After we heard that without something like IVF she wouldn’t be able to have kids, she started focusing on ways to improve herself, which I supported. She wanted to go to college. Fine. I was busy with the gun range. She helped when she could. But…we started living two different lives and grew apart.”
“Did you want children?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you still?”
I tucked that hope away years ago, after the doctors gave Ellie and me the bad news and she refused to discuss adoption. But now? “If the opportunity arises, I’d like to. The sooner the better. I want to be young enough to enjoy them.”
Mandy nods. “Is Ellie your age?”
“Six years younger.”
“Do you think the age difference was the problem with you two?”
The easy answer is no. When Ellie and I got married, we were both in our twenties and at roughly the same place in life. But I’m not sure that’s what Mandy is really asking. “Maybe. I don’t know whether the age difference had anything to do with her refusal to try working it out. Maybe it was immaturity. Or maybe it was the realization that her thirties were just starting and she didn’t want to spend them tied down to someone she didn’t see a future with?” I shrug. “I don’t know. But she was always looking for something. Herself, I think. I’m not sure how much of a role age played in that.”
“Thank you. I’m not trying to be invasive.” She sets the frying pan aside and blinks up at me in the too-bright kitchen. “I’m trying to figure out if we’d be a good fit.”
I suspected as much. “Take your time. When you decide, I want you to be sure.”
“Does my age bother you?”
“I’ve given it thought, but no. Does my age bother you?”
She shakes her head. “I was never attracted to anyone my own age. Even in fifth grade, I had a crush on my teacher.”
“When did you first think of Barclay as something other than your dad’s friend?”
“Honestly? I don’t think I ever saw him that way.” Mandy hesitates. “It’s funny. My mother was always reluctant to let me spend summers with Harlow at the Reed house because she worried Maxon or Griff would try to hustle me into bed.”
“Did they?”
“Never.”
“Were you ever interested?”
She wrinkles her nose. “They
