Chapter Twenty

Cat

I feel like this storm is a metaphor for my life right now. What started out as a tiny squall has now turned my life into a violent surge of uncertainty, filled with a wave of want and a windstorm of self-doubt.

Once we’re safely on shore, Booker takes me home. At my doorstep, he kisses me, slow and desperate, as if he doesn’t want it to end as much as me.

Despite the swell of anxiety in the pit of my stomach, I keep the smile on my face that’s there whenever he’s near and wish him a goodnight. He bows his head, rushing back out into the rain as he leaves my door stoop.

Part of me wants to call out the words I’ve said over and over a million times in my head, asking him not to leave me.

But, my mouth remains shut. The words don’t come. Because as much as I want to say them, I need to think about Cooper.

Once I’m showered and my temperature has returned to normal, I light a few candles, and then there’s a knock on my door.

“How do you always know when I need you the most?” I ask Tristan after opening the door.

She steps into the low-lit house and smiles. “I think when you’ve known someone as long as we’ve known each other, you just know.” She moves to the couch. “Now, what’s wrong?”

I laugh. “I never said anything was wrong.”

“Oh come on, I know you better than you know yourself.” She kicks off her shoes and takes a seat on the couch.

I tumble down next to her and prop my feet on the coffee table. “Are things moving too fast with Booker?”

She smiles. “I don’t know, you tell me.”

I tell her about confronting him and give her a few details about the other night and then today on the boat. A very g-rated version. She's not having that, though, asking for all the details, and I tell my best friend everything about all of the confusion I'm feeling.

“Cat,” she starts, “what are you going to do when he leaves?”

“I don't know,” I whisper. “Why do all the important people leave?”

“They don't,” she says, her face morphing into compassion, “but you know he's only here temporarily. Is this just sex? Cause I see the look in your eyes.”

“What look?”

“The look that says you have rocketed past like into that gray area that becomes…”

“Don't say it,” I place my hand over her mouth, then drop it. “It was just really good sex. That's all.”

“If you say so,” she says, knowing I don't believe it anymore than she does.

***

The next morning, I skip my breakfast run and instead throw myself into making blueberry pancakes for Cooper and I. After Tristan left last night, I still hadn’t made up my mind about Booker, and whether I can continue this thing happening between us.

We have an expiration date. It’s so obvious.

A knock sounds at the door as I fold blueberries into the batter.

“Mom, Booker’s here,” Cooper shouts from the front door.

I wipe my hand on my apron and walk out to the living area where he stands, looking extra scrumptious, in jeans and a Boondock Saints tee.

“Hey,” I greet him, immediately feeling the now familiar pull.

“You left a few of your tools at my house.” He holds up a little bag of my gardening tools in his hand.

“Thank you.” I reach for the bag, and everything is so awkward between us, even though he now knows my backside better than I do.

But, Cooper doesn’t notice.

“Mom stayed home from work to make pancakes. Want some?”

His dark eyes meet mine for a moment. “Work?”

“Yeah,” I answer. “I deliver breakfast on the weekends. DeliciousnessDelivered. That's what I was doing when you stole my donut.”

“Ah,” he says, a grin breaking out, “and all this time I thought you just really liked donuts.”

“Well, obviously,” I answer, “but I don't think my butt could handle five boxes.”

The look in his eyes morphs from amusement to downright sexual. Heat fans across my body remembering how I begged him to use the plug. “Don't even say it.”

He licks his lips.

“You gonna stay?” Cooper asks, looking up from his video game.

He smiles wide, never looking away from me. “Sure, buddy. If it’s ok with your mom.”

This is the thing with kids: everyone is welcome. So, I smile as Cooper assures him I’m fine with it.

Booker follows me into the kitchen after Cooper returns to his game, oblivious to the undercurrents between Booker and I.

The air sizzles and zaps with an odd unfamiliarity as I grab a yellow mug from the cherry cabinet and pour him a cup of coffee. I’ve never had anyone over for pancakes with my son before.

So, this is what it feels like to have the domesticated life. In all my years as a single mother, I never guessed it would feel so...cozy. Me pouring batter into a skillet while he leans back against the counter, watching.

A warmth crowds my insides, and I realize how much I want him here.

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” he says against the shell of my ear.

The pancakes need to be flipped, and I focus on the task at hand, even though chills are racing along my skin. I want to toss the spatula, fling my arms around his neck and kiss him. Instead, I shake out the shiver, and flip the cakes on the stove.

“I can’t stop thinking about you too,” I finally whisper, admitting the truth, hoping like hell the words don’t bite.

He wraps his arms around my waist, and I push out of his hold and peek over my shoulder at him. “Cooper’s here.”

He holds his hands up, taking a step back, recognition dawning on his face. “I’ll be sure to keep my hands to myself.”

I laugh a little and his smile really is a perfect thing. So true. And when it reaches his eyes, they sparkle.

“How many do you want?” I point to the batter in the pan.

“Whatever extra you have.” He takes a seat on a barstool at the island and lets out a smooth, controlled breath. “Oh, by the way, Poppy put the ‘for sale’ sign on the house.”

And the end has come. It's over before it even began. Which is a good thing, I guess. A knot forms around my heart, squeezing it dry of everything. I fake enthusiasm. “That’s great.”

My hands shake, and I try not to think about how much I’ll miss this man. But, I knew what I was getting into, and I chose to do it anyways. So, I need to pull up my big girl panties, and face the future. Alone.

“Who’s ready?” I ask, faking a glimmer of happiness I wish more than anything I really felt, as I head towards the dining room with a plate of pancakes.

After we’re all seated around the table, I sit silently and listen to Booker and Cooper joke about rocks and superheroes. Their chatter fills the room, but I can’t process any of it.

I push my food around on my plate as the memory of Booker and I yesterday together flows through my mind. And I’m not talking about only the sex. It was all of it—the intimacy, the rush of adrenaline when he held me close, the way he looked at me.

Is this what falling for someone feels like?

When breakfast is over, he helps me clear the table, and we head outside. Cooper runs to play in the yard, and Booker and I take a seat on the front porch swing.

He holds my hand as we rock gently.

“How long do you think it will take to sell?”

He squeezes my hand in his. “I don’t know,” he answers. “But, I'll be here a little longer, tying up loose ends.”

“Well, I hope it sells quickly.” I try my hardest to sound upbeat.

“Don’t.” His eyes meet mine, and I almost want to break down right here and beg him not to go.

But, I’m strong. I’d never ask that of him.

Does he feel it too?

“Booker, it is what it is.” I put on a brave front, even if I’m a coward..

Sure, LA isn’t a lifetime away. But, I want someone who doesn’t fly in on the weekends. And besides, he doesn’t ever plan on staying here, and I don’t plan on ever moving. So that’s that.

Booker stays all day. We play games with Cooper, and I even giggle as they toss a football in the front yard together.

Something is happening to my chest, a warmth spreading through it, reaching out to each limb. I don’t know how to make it go away. Or if I even want it to. God, what am I thinking?

Every girl dreams of a love so big it moves mountains. I’m not saying that’s what Booker and I have, but the pinch in my heart when I think of him leaving, makes me think it might be around the corner.

Later in the evening, after Cooper has gone to bed, Booker and I move to the couch. We snuggle, cuddle, and I laugh to myself at the conversation Tristan and I had about him cuddling. He’s so a cuddler.

I take what I can get from him, greedy to spend our last days alone together, in my bed. I let him touch me in ways I’ve never been touched before. He moans my name. I moan his.

The end is inevitable, but I feel like this is only the beginning of him and I. So many things to learn and explore about one another. He takes his time kissing, nibbling, and sucking along my body into the wee hours of the morning. When dawn breaks, he holds me as close as he can, our bodies wrapped together as one.

“Where’s that dirty mouth now?” I tease as he’s about to enter me for the third time tonight.

He explores my eyes, the moment hanging between us, as he whispers, “I’m speechless.”

And then he moves inside me—tender, loving, and poetic. It’s a moment I won’t soon forget and wish like hell I would never have to.