runner?”
She nodded. “Yes. Since I got here, I’ve been training for the Boston Marathon. I didn’t know I’d be here, so I didn’t register for it this year. But next year, I plan to run in it.”
I glanced down when a little sneaker kicked my thigh. I’d forgotten I was holding Clementine. “No shi—” I stopped myself from cursing. “No joke, I haven’t missed one in years. What’s your qualifying time?”
She pulled her lip to the side with her teeth as if thinking. “I’ve been consistently running three hours, fifteen minutes.”
“That’s fantastic.”
With a shrug, Elle settled her things and took a hesitant step toward me. Her body language told me she didn’t want to be close.
Was it anger or fighting the want?
I needed to know.
“What is the qualifying standard for women over thirty?” It was an innocent enough question. One that I knew would ease the stifling atmosphere in the room in case it was anger.
She narrowed her eyes at me and snarled, “There is no bracket for women over thirty and by the way, I’m just barely over thirty.”
I studied her face in the soft light. Even with her features bunched up, she was stunning. Beautiful. Natural. My body started to ache for her to be nearer. With nonchalance, I lifted a shoulder and a brow. “That’s right. We’re in the same age bracket.”
“Stop with the Mrs. Robinson jokes. There’s only three years between us. That in no way makes me that much older than you.”
Good. The tension was eased.
I gave her a slight smile. “I guess you’re right.”
She walked over to me and extended her arms to take Clementine. She was careful to leave enough space between us. It didn’t matter. I was drawn to her the moment she entered the room and with paper-thin spaces between us, I couldn’t stop myself from making that physical connection with her that somehow I craved.
“Elle.” I drew out the single syllable and dragged on the tail of it, turning her name into a plea.
“No, Logan.” Elle shook her head and without taking Clementine, took a step back.
My hand grabbed her wrist and tugged her closer. Clementine was oblivious as she stared out the window with both hands on the glass now. With a need I couldn’t explain, I kissed her.
Maybe sensing it was coming, Elle didn’t open her mouth for me. It didn’t stop me from kissing her. My lips parted and I gusted hot breaths over her mouth. I urged her closer with the hand that held her in place. She didn’t struggle to get away. With the tip of my wet tongue, I probed between her lips until she couldn’t fight it and opened her mouth to let me in.
The kiss was harder than it should have been, and when my tongue swept inside her mouth she moved even closer.
I almost felt as if she was shaking.
Elle suddenly jerked her wrist from my grip but didn’t move away. “No, Logan, we can’t,” she said softly, our mouths still so close they almost touched with each word she spoke.
I pulled my head back a little so I could see her. “Why not?”
I knew why I shouldn’t be with her, but not why she thought she shouldn’t be with me—that’s what I needed to know.
Her eyes closed for half a heartbeat. “Because I can’t think straight when we’re this close.”
I wanted to respond with something witty like I can think for the both of us, but I knew humor wasn’t the answer. I reached inside myself to figure out what was, but before I could determine that, I was interrupted.
Little hands reached out. “Momma.”
With a proud look, Elle took Clementine.
I stared open-mouthed at what she’d just called Elle.
Elle fidgeted a little and said, “She was with her cousins yesterday and is in a phase where she repeats everything she hears. They called for their mother all day, so now she’s doing it. It will pass.”
I nodded, not so sure about that. Not that I knew anything about kids, but Clementine looked at Elle like she was her mother and Elle looked at Clementine as though she liked it. I felt a sharp pang of hurt when I thought about what would happen when Elle’s sister returned.
“Ready to go?” Elle asked, strapping Clementine into the stroller.
She’d put as much distance between us as she could as fast as she could.
I zipped up my sweatshirt, pulled my hat on, and slid on my sunglasses. “Yeah, let me push that,” I said, indicating