Chapter 12

Holly

Luke was sitting in the middle of the rug in the living room constructing a colorful Lego masterpiece. I had been staring at it for at least five minutes to try to figure out what the somewhat crooked, multilevel piece was but had come to no conclusions.

He was humming a familiar country tune, or at least, he was humming the part he knew, which was the upbeat chorus. I got up from where I sat at the dining table reading the paper and joined him on the carpet. I crossed my legs and leaned forward to peer at his creation.

“What are you making here? It looks big enough for a lot of Lego men to live inside.”

“It’s a firehouse.” Luke’s tone suggested I should already know just by looking at it.

“Well, of course it is,” I smiled. “How many firemen work there?”

He cocked his head to the side as he regarded his “firehouse.” “Seventy-two, but a lot of them never show up to work. They just like being called firemen.”

“Wow. Seventy-three, huh? They must be really good at fighting fires.”

Luke nodded vigorously and looked up at me. His eyes were bright green like mine, and I would forever be thankful I couldn’t see Kent in him when my son looked at me. “They can stop any fire, mama. No matter what.”

“Very cool,” I stretched out to lie on my side and laid my head on my elbow. “Do you have enough extra pieces for me to make something?”

“Sure.” Luke pushed the Rubbermaid container full of loose Lego pieces toward me. “What are you going to make?”

“Well, I was thinking I could build a house that the firemen could save when it catches on fire.”

“Okay.” Luke grinned before bowing his head and setting back to work on his so-called fire station. “Make sure it’s a big house.”

“Big. Got it.” I began assembling the lower level of what would soon turn into a very mediocre Lego house. As I worked, I continuously looked up at Luke to make sure he was still having fun.

Ever since moving back to New York City, I had been plagued with guilt over taking Luke away from his father. Even though Kent had never been good to me, and in my mind was never a good father, Luke loved him unconditionally. And the poor kid had nothing to do with the mistakes his parents made. Yet here he was, hundreds of miles from his father, probably missing him dearly.

I snapped a yellow block on to a corner and sighed. “Luke, can Mommy ask you something?”

“Yep.” He never looked up at me as he continued working. There was something to be appreciated in that. Kids were simple. Easy. Straightforward.

“No matter what you answer, Mommy will be happy, okay? I promise.”

Now he looked up at me, his curiosity piqued. This was not how our usual conversations began. “Okay.”

“Do you miss your dad, Luke?”

My stomach clenched as I awaited his answer. I had promised I would be happy no matter what his answer was, but I wasn’t so sure I could keep a straight face if he admitted to missing Kent terribly. I forced myself to look calmly at my son as he put down his Lego pieces and shuffled around so he was facing me directly.

“Sometimes,” he said.

“Yeah? How about right now? Do you miss your daddy right now?”

Luke shrugged. “No.”

“When are the times you do miss him?”

Luke chewed the inside of his cheek, a terrible habit Kent had repeatedly told me I had taught him. There was no denying it. I chewed the insides of my lips and cheeks until the skin was raw and my mouth tasted like copper. It was an anxiety thing or a way of coping with the anxiety.

“I miss going to the park.” Luke nodded to himself. “Yeah. I miss the park and the yellow slide. And the tire swings. Daddy always spun the swing real good.”

“Your dad definitely was a good spinner.” I thought back to the days where Kent and I would walk down the street to the park in our old community. It wasn’t an impressive playground by any means, but it was close by and Luke enjoyed the visits we made there.

Although, of course, Kent only came once in a blue moon. For the most part, Luke and I went alone, and the two of us would play on the seesaw or the regular swings. I was never able to spin the tire swing as well as him, and Luke, wiser than his mere six years, never asked me to.

Feeling a surge of emotion building inside me, I hurried to complete my Lego house to offer both me and my son a distraction. I snapped on the last piece and pushed it toward Luke.

“Ta-da! All done! What do you think? Is it worthy of your seventy-three firemen?”

Luke’s eyes widened, and he clapped his hands together. “Awesome! I’m going to make more. I’m going to make a whole town!”

The front door opened, and Kim hollered a loud hello as she kicked off her shoes. Luke and I called back, and soon, she was emerging in the living room with bags of new trial medications. She dropped them on the sofa with a huff and planted her hands on her hips as she surveyed the mess we had made of her carpet.

“So, are we playing with Legos tonight, kiddo?” Kim asked.

Luke pointed at the house I had just finished. “Yeah! Mommy already made a house, and I have a fire station. I want to build a whole town!”

“A whole town?” Kim exclaimed, joining us on the carpet. She shot me a mischievous look. “So, what can I make? We’ll need more houses, that’s for sure. And maybe a church, and a bar, and a grocery store.”

My phone vibrated on the coffee table. My stomach did a backflip. I reached for the phone and peered down at the text message. “He’s here,” I whispered more to myself than Luke and Kim.

Kim chuckled as she began rummaging through the container of Legos. “Better not keep him waiting. Poor guy has been waiting long enough. Tell him I say hello.”

I got to my feet and flattened out my skirt. “How do I look?”

“You look pretty, Mama.” Luke beamed.

I smiled and bent down to kiss the top of his head. “You’re so sweet. I love you, baby. I’ll be home late, but I’ll see you in the morning, okay? Be good for Auntie Kim.”

“He’s always good,” Kim said.

“Yep,” Luke agreed.

Kim looked me up and down. “You look great, sis. Knock him dead. And then talk to him.”

I crossed my fingers over my heart in an X and nodded. “Promise.”

Then I grabbed my purse and made for the door.

Jax was parked at the curb in his black pickup truck. The paint was shiny and spotless, and I assumed it had been recently waxed. When Jax spotted me coming, he hopped out of the truck and made his way to my door, which he opened and held for me as I approached.

He executed a short wolf whistle and made it obvious he was checking me out; his eyes swept up the length of me, from the toes of my gold sandals to the pink lace neckline of my shirt.

I paused and gave him a little twirl, sending the ends of my white skirt fanning out around me, and in so doing, I probably gave him a good view of my bare legs.

“You look ravishing,” Jax said, taking my hand and helping me up into the passenger seat of his truck.

As I passed him, I caught the scent of his cologne and inhaled deeply. It lingered in the air around me after he closed the door, and I basked in it as I watched him walk around the hood.

He was dressed in a black collared shirt with the sleeves rolled up, black pants, and black boots. A silver watch caught the sun at his wrist, drawing my eyes to his bare forearms and the veins that rippled under his tanned skin. I wanted to trace them with my fingertips and follow them all over his body like a maze I never wanted to escape from.

But first, we needed to talk.

He slid up into the seat beside me and shot me a cocky grin as he started the engine. “How are you?”

“I’m good.” I gave him my best smile to try to set him and myself at ease. Everything was going to be fine. This was Jax, not Kent. I had to keep reminding myself that he wouldn’t react with rage the way Kent always did when he heard something he didn’t like. “I’ve been excited to see you.”

“Likewise,” Jax said, glancing in his mirror before pulling away from the curb and striking a course out to the restaurant.

His hand wandered over to me, and he rested it on my bare knee. The warmth of his calloused palm had my mind daring him to move his hand upward, under the skirt, up the inside of my thighs, and closer to the heat between my legs that was practically screaming for his touch.

But my knee would do.

“So where are we going?” I asked in an effort to distract myself from his scent and his closeness.

“Well, I had a couple of ideas, but it depends what you’re in the mood for. I remember how much you liked that Greek place. What’s it called? The little one with the plants on the ceiling?”

“Socrates Taverna.”

“That’s the one. I was thinking we could go there and gorge ourselves on spanakopita and dolmades. Or there’s a new Italian place close by that is supposed to have unreal lasagna. You pick.”

How Jax had remembered how much I loved spanakopita was beyond me, and as soon as the word left his mouth, my stomach grumbled. “Greek. Definitely Greek.”

“I hoped you’d say that.”

We took a left, and I watched the traffic pass us by as we drew closer.

At the restaurant, the hostess brought us to a table for two outside on the patio. Music was playing softly, and a candle burned between us as the sun set. The street was busy but not busy enough to be too loud to hear one another. I swept my napkin off the table and folded it on my lap as the waitress brought me a glass of red wine and a whiskey for Jax.

“Cheers,” he said, lifting his glass.

“Cheers.” I smiled.

We both took the first sip of our drinks, and then the anticipated awkwardness set in. We both fell quiet and took more interest in our menus than each other, regardless of the fact that we both knew what we wanted to order.

I looked up at him over the top of my menu.

His eyes were cast down, but not moving side to side. He wasn’t reading. He was simply waiting me out.

I didn’t want to make him push me to talk. I needed to come out with this on my own. It was me who had taken the first step to make this conversation happen, anyway. There was no point in dillydallying around it. I just needed to throw it out there and see what came of it.

I closed my menu, grabbed my wine, and drank it in four big mouthfuls.

I caught Jax staring at me with an arched eyebrow. “Do we have a quota we need to meet or something?”

I shook my head and crossed my arms to rest my elbows on the table. “No. I just want to tell you everything now so we can enjoy the rest of the night. Is that okay?”

Jax closed his menu and set it down on top of mine. “More than okay.”

I had no clue where to start. Luke? Kent? I found myself chewing my cheek and forced myself to stop. I took a deep breath and looked into Jax’s deep green eyes.

“Okay. Let’s start with the most important thing.” Spit it out, girl, spit it out.

Jax nodded, encouraging me to keep going. His expression was calm, almost serene, and the way he was looking at me was enough of a reminder that this was not my ex. This was a man who had never done anything to make me think I should ever be afraid of telling him something.

“I have a son.” The words tumbled out of me, and as soon as they were out there, I let out a relieved giggle and drank the rest of my water. “I’m a mom.”