in the process.
She winced but not as much as she would have if she hadn’t installed the plastic disc onto the wall that protected it from rogue knobs—a common occurrence when living with an almost seven-year-old, unfortunately.
This wince came from knowing the wall was safe, but remembering her actions of the night before.
God.
She’d lost it in Finn’s arms.
Why had she gotten married so young?
If only she’d gone crazy in college, then she could say her worst memory was a drunken one-night stand with a really jerky guy.
Instead, she’d gotten married to the really jerky guy.
“Mom!” Rylie said, coming over and tugging back the blankets. “I want pancakes before school. And Mr. Finn wants them, too.”
Shan froze. “Mr. Finn?”
“Uh-huh. He was asleep on the couch, but I woke him up.” She spun in a circle. “Do you like my outfit? Lizzy and I are going to match today.”
“Wait, Ry.” Shan sat up, pushing off the bed. “Mr. Finn—er Finn is here? Why?”
“Silly! You let Mr. Finn stay on the couch because he got locked out of his house.” Ry’s face screwed up. “He’s going to call a . . . doors man to let him in.”
“A locksmith?”
“Yeah. A locksmith.” Rylie nodded firmly. “So, can we have pancakes, Mommy?”
Shannon’s eyes flicked to the clock, saw that unfortunately they had plenty of time for her to shower, dress, and still make pancakes.
“Mr. Finn is on the couch?”
“Nope,” Ry said. “He’s on the deck.”
“Okay, honey. I’ll make pancakes. But I need to shower first.”
“Yes! Pancakes!” Rylie ran off then skidded to a stop at the bedroom door. “I’m going to wear my new socks today. Are you?”
“Sure, baby.”
Then she was off, yelling, “Mom said yes for pancakes, but she needs to shower!”
Shan quickly pulled together an outfit and brought it into the bathroom with her, taking the world’s quickest shower because there was something unnerving . . . okay, she would be lying if she said it was only unnerving to picture Finn standing on the deck, knowing she was naked under a stream of water.
Would he like what he saw?
Making a disgusted noise, she yanked the knob to the right, shutting off the water and then stepping out of the stall.
Her body was fine. She was thin with some curves, but she also had stretch marks from Ry’s pregnancy, and her boobs were . . . well, they’d had their perkier days. And Finn filmed movies with gorgeous actresses and models, women who probably didn’t have stretch marks—or even if they did have them, then they at least had a team of makeup artists, wardrobe people, and lighting technicians to make them look their best.
She was—
“Yeah, no,” she muttered, meeting her eyes in the mirror. “I’m so not doing this.”
She tugged on her favorite pair of jeans, the ones that hugged her not-so-Hollywood curves but made her ass look fabulous. She added a pale blue blouse that brought out the color of her eyes, put on her new penguin socks, slipped into her favorite and ridiculously expensive but comfortable flats, then slapped some minimal makeup onto her face, threw on a necklace, swiped a brush through her hair, and called it good.
Long ago, she’d given up wearing anything really nice and expensive (her shoes aside, since she needed her feet to be comfortable in order to get through the day), even though her third graders were neater than the kindergartners she’d begun her teaching career with, it had only taken one experience with glitter, white glue, and feathers to teach her that lesson.
Also, let it be noted that she no longer used glitter in her classes either.
She tossed her towel in the hamper, along with her jammies, and left the bathroom.
Pancake time.
Correction: girding her loins against Finn Stoneman time.
He was standing in the hall, leaning back against the wall, his head perfectly placed between her wedding picture and one of her and Ry—two guesses for which picture she was wishing she’d shit-canned in that moment, and it wasn’t the one that had her and her daughter in matching flowy dresses, waves crashing over their ankles.
He smiled. “Morning.”
“Why’d you sleep on my couch?”
The smile faltered, and seriously, she got it. Her tone was sharp, but that was mostly because the man was fucking ridiculous.
How in the hell did someone look so sexy this early in the morning, after sleeping on her couch, without changing his clothes or brushing his teeth? How did he look so freaking sexy standing in her hallway, slightly rumpled, stubble