We settle into a booth at Fran’s Diner. The lunch rush is over, so the waitress hits our table almost immediately, dropping off four oversized menus. Jack orders a chocolate milkshake; Daisy requests strawberry. Blake purses her lips for a minute, and then asks for vanilla. The three of them look expectantly at me.

“Just coffee,” I say, with a wave of my hand. They all look horribly disappointed. Blake playfully sticks out her bottom lip. I think about reaching across the table and running my thumb over it. Instead, I sigh dramatically. “Fine. And a vanilla milkshake.”

The waitress returns a few minutes later with four shakes that each look big enough to feed a family. Then she takes the rest of our orders. Chicken fingers and fries for the kids — and for Blake, too. All three of them look at me again, expectant grins on their faces.

“Absolutely not,” I say. “I draw the line at chicken fingers. I’ll have the club sandwich.”

They groan in unison, but I hold firm this time. Even though the three of them seem to be in cahoots against me, it does something to my chest to see the way Jack and Daisy smile up at Blake.

“Did you know Uncle Logan’s house is a certified bum-scratching zone?” Daisy says to Blake, as we wait for our food.

Blake snorts, and then quickly covers it up. “No, I didn’t,” she says seriously. “But thank you for telling me.” She glances over at me and winks, and heat colors my cheeks. I shrug.

Throughout lunch, Blake and the kids keep up a steady stream of conversation. I try to stay engaged, but their chatter is so quick and so filled with pop culture references, things I have no clue about, that I can barely keep up. Unlike me, Blake has apparently seen Frozen and every other Disney movie out there. So instead, I find myself leaning back and watching them, taking it all in.

For the first time since I walked in on her hovering outside my office, the day I first thought she was the muffin girl, dispatched to my office from the coffee shop down the street, Blake seems free of any hesitation or uncertainty. Her blonde hair hangs down over her shoulders, and though she twists it around her fingers once in a while, it isn’t the nervous gesture I normally see her make. She’s animated, dynamic, a whirlwind of energy and childlike enthusiasm that has Jack and Daisy absolutely captivated.

Me, too, if I’m being honest. I barely taste the food in front of me, even though it’s perfect in a greasy diner sort of way. All I can do is watch Blake. The way she nibbles on those damn chicken fingers, the way she slowly licks off her fingers, the way she balls up her napkin and tosses it at Jack when he tells her that no one listens to Taylor Swift anymore.

I’m almost disappointed when the waitress brings over the bill. But the diner is starting to bustle with the early dinner crowd, and there are people hovering at the door waiting for a table, so although I could stay and watch Blake entertain my niece and nephew all afternoon, I do the responsible thing and settle up our tab, then usher us all back out into the late afternoon sun.

“Well, I should get back to the office,” Blake says, glancing at the time on her phone.

“Why?” I say, quickly. Too quickly. I clear my throat again. “It’s almost five. And besides, your boss isn’t even there.” I flash her a look that’s supposed to be smoldering but actually just feels embarrassingly keen.

She bites her lip. The sight of her teeth lightly pressing against that soft skin makes something rumble in my chest, but I hold back the growl and lean against the brick wall of the restaurant. I keep one arm wrapped around Jack, mostly to keep myself from reaching for Blake.

“I don’t know,” she says slowly. “I have that scanning project to work on, and I’m way behind now …”

Her tone is playful, which turns me on even more. “Fuck the scanning project,” I growl.

Jack gasps. “Uncle Logan! You said fuck!”

Blake giggles as I pretend to smack myself in the forehead. “Shit! So I did.” That makes Jack giggle, too. I cast my eye to Blake. “What do you say? We could go to the Central Park Zoo?”

We spend the rest of the day in Central Park and grab a late dinner at a nearby pizzeria. I feel slightly guilty about feeding the kids pizza two nights in a row, but I figure this is a once-in-a-blue-moon kind of thing. By the time I call my driver to pick us up, Daisy’s fallen asleep in my arms, Jack is about to fall over, and even Blake is fighting back a yawn. I hold the door open for Blake, then ease the kids into the backseat, then climb in myself.

“I hope you don’t mind if we go back to my place first,” I say, keeping my voice low so as not to wake my sleeping niece. “I’ll take the kids inside and have my driver take you home.”

“Of course.” Her voice is husky, but I don’t know if it’s fatigue or something else. “Today was fun. I never thought butterflies would be part of my job description, but I liked it.”

“I’m glad. At least you can’t say working for me is dull.”

“Oh, I never would have said that, even before today.” A private thought turns up the corners of her mouth into a small smile. I ache to run my thumb over that bottom lip, to pull her to me, kiss her the way I’ve been thinking of doing all day.

Between us, Daisy stirs, and I lean back against the seat with a sigh.

I don’t live far from the park, and it isn’t long before we pull up in front of my building. Blake is biting her lip again.

“What?” I ask. I can already tell when she wants to say something.

“Do you mind if I come up? Just for a minute,” she adds hastily. “I, um, need to use the facilities.”

“Another bathroom emergency?” I tease.

Her cheeks color. “Something like that.”

“Of course. Come on up.”

We ride the elevator up in silence, Daisy nestled in my arms, and Jack drooped against Blake’s side. I show her to the powder room while I get the kiddos set up in the guest bedroom. Daisy is completely dead to the world, and Jack’s eyes drift closed as soon as his head hits the pillow. I doubt I’ll hear a peep out of either of them until tomorrow. After I get them into bed, I pause for a minute at the door to watch them sleep. Such great kids. I actually enjoyed today, more than I thought I would. Some of that was Blake’s presence, but a lot of it was Jack and Daisy, too. The kids are fun to be around. And it was such a different way to spend a Friday — normally, I’m stuck in the office until well into the evening, and then it’s off to some crowded bar or restaurant. Today, for the first time in a long time, I felt free.

By the time I emerge from the guest room, I find Blake wandering through the living area. She spins around when she hears me.

“Quite the place you have,” she says. Her eyes are wide as she takes in the open space, the modern furnishings. She’s combed her hair, I think, and I notice a fresh sheen of pink on her lips.

“It’s home,” I say with a shrug. That’s not exactly true, of course. It’s where I live, but it’s hardly home. I bought this place after Laura died, but it’s never really been more than a spot to sleep and store my things. Blake is one of the only people to ever even set foot through the door, besides my immediate family. I don’t exactly make a habit of hosting people here. “Would you like a glass of wine?”

Well, so much for not hosting people here.

Blake hesitates, twisting her hair over her shoulder.

“I insist,” I tell her, already heading towards the kitchen, where a wine fridge is keeping a dozen of my favorite bottles at exactly the right temperature.

“Alright,” she acquiesces. “But just one.”

“Somewhere you have to be?” I grab a bottle and open it.

“Well, no, not exactly.”

“Good.” I pass her a glass, and then tap mine lightly against hers. The expensive crystal rings out in the silent apartment.

Without taking a sip, Blake sets her glass down on the marble island. “I have to tell you something.”

“What?” I take a long swallow.

“I lost Jack.”

“You what?” My heart knocks against my chest.

“Today at the museum. I lost him. Just for a few minutes, but oh God, Logan, I was so scared. I’m so sorry.”

Suddenly, she’s crying, and the thudding in my chest surges into a fierce protectiveness. Not just of Jack, but of Blake.

“Come here,” I say, pulling her into my arms. “It’s okay. He’s okay. Everything turned out fine.”

“I know, but it could have gone so differently. What if someone wanted to kill him and wear his skin?”

“Blake, I don’t even know what that means, but that’s sick.”

She laughs, wiping away her tears. “I know. Too much Criminal Minds.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” I still have my arms wrapped around her. Her body is warm and soft against my chest. Her curves seem to fit against me perfectly. I pull her tighter. Blood is already starting to surge towards my cock. I should be used to the feeling, since it’s a near daily occurrence around this woman, but it still fills me with a kind of desperation that takes my breath away.

Blake laughs nervously as my arms tighten around her. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m so emotional about this.” She wipes at her cheeks again. “You’re right; he was fine.”

“He was,” I say, and I nuzzle my lips against the trail of her tear.

“And he’s a smart kid,” she says slowly.

“He is,” I say, and run my tongue along the line of her jaw, tasting her salt and her sweetness.

“And you’re going to kiss me,” she says.

“I am.” I don’t smile as I run my lips over hers. Softly at first, and then harder, claiming her mouth with mine. It’s as good as it was last time. Maybe better, even. Her softness becomes mine, her innocence. I hold it under my thumb, but carefully. Like a live butterfly.

Blake moans softly, her breath sweet. Then she pulls away. “Logan, we shouldn’t.”

“Oh, but we should.”

“What about the kids?”

“They’re passed out so cold I think I could walk an elephant through that room and they wouldn’t wake up.”

“I’d like to see that,” she giggles. “You, walking an elephant.”

“Figure of speech.” I run my fingers through her thick hair, and then my lips find hers again.

Every part of my body pulses with need. Need for Blake, for her touch, her taste, her skin against mine. The need to bury myself inside her again, the way I did the other day at my office. The need to feel her body taking me in, making space for me. I lift her up, planting her ass on the island. She immediately wraps her legs around me, pulling me even closer to her. Already making space for me. Already wanting me inside her.

My dick is aching, and at this angle it would be so easy to just free myself, push aside her panties, and slip into her sweet wet heat. Just like last time.

Except we missed so much last time. In our rush to sate the ferocious need between us, we’d jumped right from kissing to fucking. There were so many delectable stops along the way, but we’d sailed right past them. I hadn’t even had my mouth against her pussy yet, and tasting Blake Holloway is something I can’t go another day without experiencing. You might even say it’s the number one thing on my to-do list right now.

I reach my hands up under the flimsy skirt of her sundress. Her skin is warm, as if she’d been baking in the sun. Warm, and soft as silk. I nudge her thighs apart, trailing my fingers along the tender skin of her inner thigh.

“Up,” I bark. She obediently lifts her hips, and I tug at the hem of her panties, peeling them slowly down over her thighs. When I have them off, I stuff them into my pocket.

“Much better.”

Blake is panting already, her skin flushed, and I’ve barely even touched her. I like knowing I have this effect on her. I want to see her completely undone.

I lean forward and kiss my way up her inner thigh, knowing my beard stubble is probably driving her crazy. Sure enough, she squirms underneath me. Her breath is already coming faster. I hook my arms under her knees and pull her thighs further apart, spreading her for me. The sight in front of me is like heaven on a plate. The most delectable meal I can imagine, served up right on my own marble countertop. Blake is all soft folds and secrets, crevices and kissable curves, a glistening mystery, a pretty pink puzzle.

I breathe in her scent, as pretty and pink as she is. I watch her face as I reach out to touch her. Her lips are parted, and she sucks in a breath as a I run my thumb over her damp skin. I watch her still as I bring my thumb to my lips, watch her eyes widen as I lick her sweet cream off my own skin.

“Logan,” she pants.

“Shhh.”

“What about the kids?”

“Trust me, they aren’t going to wake up.”

“What if they do?”

I raise one eyebrow. “Then I guess you’re just going to have to be quiet.”

She laughs nervously, but then stops as I descend upon her. I stroke my tongue over her clit, feel it swell under my touch. I run my lips over her folds, feel her unfurl beneath me. I lick, suck, nibble, tease. Blake whimpers, whines, pants, tenses.

I’m relentless. No matter how she squirms or writhes or begs. I pleasure her over and over, as if my life mission was to make Blake come. As if the sweet cream that drips onto my tongue was my one and only life source. In this moment, it feels like it is. With every lick, every flick, I’m writing something onto her body. Something I can’t express any other way.

When her muscles start to clench, I hold her firm. I suck her clit between my lips at the same second that I finally slip two fingers into her channel. I want — no, need — to feel her come. To feel her squeeze me the way she did in my office the other day.

Blake’s hips buck underneath me. She shoves her fist into her mouth to try to silence the moans that are falling from her lips. I want to take her hand away, tell her to scream as loud as she wants, but the last thing I need is one of the kids wandering out of bed. So I let her bite down on her knuckles, just to stifle the sound.

Her whole body trembles as I pump my fingers in and out of her. Finally, her legs stiffen and jerk, almost as if she’s been electrocuted. She collapses backwards onto the marble island, her hair spilling out behind her, her chest heaving.

I kiss her thighs again and then lean up towards her face. I kiss her so that she can taste herself on me, then run my tongue along her jaw.

“I’ve been waiting a very long time to do that.”

She doesn’t say anything. She’s still biting her knuckles and staring blindly up at the ceiling. Her lips are twisted into something that looks like a crazy smile. She finally props herself up onto her elbows so that she can look at me. She bites her bottom lip. God, does she have any idea what it does to me when she does that?

“And that’s only the beginning,” I tell her. I’m already imagining the thousand and one ways I’m going to fuck her tonight. I’ll be bleary-eyed with the kids tomorrow, but it’ll be worth it.

Instead of answering, Blake scoots off the counter, landing with a thud on her soft white sneakers. She twists her hair.

“Actually … I should probably get home.” She twists her braid, which is now a bit of a mess, I note proudly. “My roommate will be wondering where I am and …”

She doesn’t bother finishing the sentence. She doesn’t need to. We both know it’s just an excuse. I compose my face.

“Sure. I’ll have my driver take you home.”

“Oh, it’s no problem, really, I can —”

“Blake. It’s not a question.”

“Okay.” At least she knows better than to argue with me about that.

I text my driver and then see Blake out. I try to think of something to say, something that’ll sound witty and composed and not like a teenager who just saw his first pair of boobs. But in the end, nothing comes to me, and I watch Blake step onto the elevator without saying a word.

After Blake’s gone and I’ve checked in on the kids — still sound asleep — I crawl into my own bed. It’s a king-sized, and tonight it feels cavernous, the sheets too cold, the duvet too heavy. Blake’s face doesn’t leave my mind. Over and over I replay the moment she climaxed, the look on her face as she approached the brink, the bliss as I took her over the edge.

Then I think about how quickly her bliss had turned to something else. Nervousness, maybe. Discomfort. Something I didn’t like. I replay the moment she walked out the door, the heavy metal easing silently closed behind her.

Why does it bother me? Because I’m usually the one who does the walking out?

I turn over and punch the pillow beneath me, trying to get comfortable. It’s more than that. More than being the one to leave.

Blake’s not the first woman I’ve made come apart at the seams, but she’s the only one I’ve wanted to stick around and help put back together.

At least since …

I sigh. The darkness in the room is absolute, thanks to the light-blocking shades on the windows, and I blink against the inky blackness, trying to erase Laura’s face from my mind. It’s useless. There she is, laughing. There she is, smiling serenely as I slid the engagement ring onto her finger. There she is in her hospital bed, hooked up to a hundred machines. There she is dying, once none of those hundred machines could do anything for her anymore.

I flip over and turn on the lamp. The sudden brightness burns my eyes, and I blink furiously. The mental pictures disappear for a minute and then flicker back as my eyes adjust.

I reach over to my nightstand and slide open the sleek drawer. From inside, I pull out a picture, still in the same ivory frame. I wipe off the thin layer of dust.

Heather’s berated me several times for not keeping any photos of Laura around, but I always tell her the reminder is too painful. Which is true. But she’s wrong that I didn’t keep any pictures. I kept this one. Just the one. Just enough to occasionally pull out and torture myself.

The picture is from a ski vacation we took to Colorado one Christmas. In it, we’re both red-cheeked and grinning at the camera. Laura’s wearing a blue hat, her curly brown hair poking out from underneath. Her eyes look happy. I’m in a blue hat, too, and I’m smiling, but I’m still wearing my ski goggles. The lenses reflect yellow. I can’t see my eyes.

I was happy then. That’s how I remember it. Laura and I were about a month away from being engaged, and I remember originally planning to ask her on that trip. I put it off, for some reason. The ring wasn’t ready yet, or maybe I wasn’t. But it was a given that we’d get engaged — our families had already sanctioned it. Mother was already discreetly phoning florists.

I was happy then. I must have been. I stare down at the picture again, trying to see through the yellow reflection on the glasses, trying to see into the Logan I was then. I was happy. I’m sure of it.

Yet I don’t remember ever feeling like this. I remember feeling … satisfied. Pleased. That life was shaping up the way it was meant to.

But that stomach whooshing sensation I get when Blake walks into the room? The tightening I get in my chest when she walks out of it again? I must have felt that with Laura, too. I wouldn’t have wanted to marry her, otherwise. Right? I wouldn’t have gone so crazy after she died. Right?

The dark room offers no answers. The picture in my hand remains unchanged.

Laura, smiling. Her eyes happy.

Me, smiling. My eyes?

A mystery.