“Jane.” He was done with the pretense.
“Look… Cole.” She moved around to the other side of the bench; he wasn’t sure if that was to see him better or to put a large object between them. “I do really appreciate what you’ve done today, but I don’t want my kid exposed to your day drinking.”
His what now? “My…day drinking? I’m on vacation.”
“Studies have shown that kids who are exposed to adults regularly drinking around them are more likely to indulge in risky behaviors surrounding alcohol and have more alcohol-related issues as they navigate their teens.”
Cole shook his head. Was she for real? “I’ve been here for five days. I’m going to be gone soon. And I’m on vacation.”
She folded her arms. “He likes you. He’s impressionable.”
“He’s four!” Cole tried and failed to keep the exasperation out of his voice.
“Good habits start young.” She pursed her lips, which was strangely distracting. A little twist to her mouth that looked all schoolmistress again and made him wonder what she thought about day boinking. “So do bad.”
Christ… He gave himself a mental shake, engaging the brain in his head, not his pants. Jane Spencer was the full mommy catastrophe. He bet she had a dozen books on child-rearing somewhere at home. He had a feeling her standards would be impossible, which made the fact he really, really wanted to kiss that mouth so hard right now super confusing.
“Fine…” Cole shook his head. He didn’t have time for this. Finn was out there unsupervised, and there was no time to argue about something he wasn’t really doing with a woman who made him think of other things he’d rather be doing.
With her. During the day. Although that probably breached her standards, too. Only night fucking for the mommy, and then only strictly missionary.
“I’ll drink water.” He’d lost all appetite for beer, anyway. What he really needed now was tequila. Reaching into the fridge again, he dragged out the bottle she’d handed him before.
“Thank you,” she murmured. “I appreciate it.”
Cole was getting sick of hearing that word. It was so damn…bland. A mommy word used to make a kid feel special but made Cole feel like she was patting him on the head and sending him away, and he wondered how she’d react if he leaned in right now and kissed her mouth. Kissed her in a way that went beyond appreciation.
In a way that would wipe the word from her vocabulary forever.
But his life was fucked-up enough now without doing something monumentally stupid. Jane was a divorced, single mum who didn’t deserve to be messed with because he wanted to be seen. Not to mention how dangerous to his health she could be, considering how well the woman could wield a tool.
So he got out of the kitchen as quickly as his damn useless leg would carry him and continued down the stairs, kicking off his flip-flops, stripping off his T-shirt, and, much to Finn’s delight, walking straight into the sprinkler.
Cole found himself out on the stairs later that evening, just after eight, watching the day turn to night. The setting sun had given the oak tree a golden crown, but it was slowly fading as a blush stole across the sky, heralding twilight. He could even see the faint glimmer of the first star trying to twinkle through the last dying rays of sunlight. It was peaceful out here, nothing but insect song and the occasional bark from Betty—Tucker and Della’s dog next door—breaking the evening hush.
Cole dragged in a deep cleansing breath of eastern Colorado air, which had cooled nicely.
His gaze fell on the plastic containers still sitting under the tree near the now-dry sprinkler head. After they’d finished in the yard, Jane had taken over, and Cole had gone back to the cricket. He’d vaguely heard her and Finn messing around in the kitchen and then Finn tearing up the stairs at his usual breakneck speed with Jane’s slower, more measured footsteps following behind, but it’d been all quiet for the last hour or so.
He assumed Jane was putting Finn to bed, which meant she’d be down soon getting back to work on the floor. As if he’d conjured her up, he heard the soft shuffle of footsteps behind him, and he tensed as they drew closer. She was probably coming to bollock him over the containers still being in the yard or, worse, compensate for his injury by collecting them herself, and he braced himself for whatever form her criticism