the red stain lining her lips and the bouncing she was doing; I’d say I might need to cut her off.
“We’d love you to stay.” I smiled as he stepped inside. “And thank you. Again.”
His muscled forearm brushed me as he walked inside and those butterflies that I’d felt before walking up his steps when I went to return the money were back again. I pressed my hand to my belly and took a deep breath as I closed the door.
I watched as he walked through the front room to the dining room and set the pizza boxes down. At close to two thousand square feet, my grandfather’s gable front home was much roomier than the 900 square foot condo I’d rented in Seattle. But somehow with Hank being in the space, it felt…claustrophobic.
I wasn’t sure if it was his wide shoulders, his height, or just sheer mass, but the space seemed smaller. And sexier. And less oxygenated.
I was suddenly finding it difficult to breathe.
Hank Comfort was such an imposing presence and I wasn’t talking about his impressive stature. The man had a way about him. It was commanding and authoritative which I found even sexier than his perfect jawline, muscled physique, bedroom eyes, and mesmerizing voice.
He took his hat off, ran his fingers through his hair, and looked around. “Wow. You’ve been busy.”
After coming home this afternoon, I’d tackled the front room, washing the walls, floors and putting up some new curtains I’d picked up at the Super Saver which we’d gone to after ice cream and before the grocery store. I’d also unpacked all of Luna’s books and some of our pictures to set in the built-in bookcase to give the place more of a home vibe.
“It still has a long way to go.” As much as I appreciated having this place, this safe haven, I was scared to find out just how bad things were behind the walls once I got into the nitty-gritty of things.
All I’d done so far was give the old place a tiny facelift and added personal touches. It had all been cosmetic. But if I did decided to stay here, I was going to have to do serious surgery to make sure it was a safe place for me and Luna long term.
Luna was talking a mile a minute as she and Hank followed me into the kitchen. I’d love to blame her chattiness on her Kool-Aid consumption, but the amount of sugar she currently had coursing through her had nothing to do with it.
She was a talker. Always had been. It could be a lot, even for me.
But it didn’t seem to faze Hank in the slightest. If anything, he encouraged her long-winded stories. Always asking questions, and genuinely appearing to be interested in her answers.
I grabbed the paper plates that I’d picked up at the Piggly Wiggly since I realized somewhere between South Dakota and Missouri that I’d forgotten to pack the dishes. It was a miracle I’d remembered pots and pans since I packed up our entire lives in under five hours.
As we sat down to eat Luna reminded me, “Momma, you said I could watch TV and have a picnic dinner.”
“Picnic dinners” were something that I’d come up with to ease the guilt of wanting Luna to be occupied while we ate and letting her watch television to give me a break. I didn’t do it often. The rule was no TV during dinner. But on special occasions, like after I’d spent 48 of the last 96 hours driving, Luna got to have a picnic dinner.
“We have company.” Part of me wanted her to stay at the table as a buffer. Spending time with Hank and Luna was a lot different than one on one time. I’d found that out when we’d shared ice cream on the bench. It felt so intimate, even though we’d been in public surrounded by dozens of people.
“But you promised.”
She was right. I had.
“Okay.” Before I even finished agreeing, Luna grabbed the throw blanket that was on the couch, spread it out on the floor, and had the television turned on.
I brought a plate of pizza and veggies and a glass of water to her. She barely noticed as I sat it down, already entranced in the action on the screen.
By the time I’d made it back to the table, Hank had made me a plate of pizza and veggies and had grabbed two sodas from the fridge.