by Nella Tyler
“Sounds like you’re better off without him then,” I pointed out. She laughed.
“I am in most respects,” she agreed. “But Brady thinks I need someone to play the part of ‘Daddy.’”
“Ah.” I nodded. “Yeah, he sees two-parent families, wonders why he’s different.” She nodded.
“And I’ve kind of concluded that with the job I have, I’m not really getting any closer to making that happen for him,” she explained. “I can’t date any of the guys that I work with, obviously, and dating people for fun just kind of becomes…” she shrugged.
“Busman’s holiday?” She nodded again.
“So you’ll move onto another job, and maybe find the guy who’d make a great dad for your son,” I told her, smiling.
“One can only hope,” she said. “But even if I don’t, I’m pretty sure we’ll be okay.” I looked her in the eyes for a few moments, and I believed her. But just looking at her, seeing how brave she was, how confident in herself, how dedicated she was, the impulse to kiss her came over me. I didn’t fight it. I gave into it, even though I knew I probably shouldn’t. I leaned in and brushed my lips against hers, and Natalie started—but she didn’t push me away, didn’t freeze up, didn’t do anything to indicate she wanted me to stop.
I kissed her with all the pent-up desire I’d been feeling for weeks, ever since we’d had sex. I started to let my hands roam over the curves of her body and Natalie began to really respond, kissing me back, wrapping her arms around my shoulders and pressing her body against mine. I could feel myself starting to get turned on already—it was a hair-trigger response, a reaction to knowing exactly what it would be like if we made the next move, and knowing that someone had tried to hurt the beautiful, wonderful woman in my arms.
But I pulled back, swallowing against the tightness in my throat. “We should probably change the subject,” I told her quietly. “Obviously getting personal like this just…leads to us making bad decisions.” Natalie laughed and changed the channel on the TV.
“You’re right,” she said, nodding. “Let’s talk about something else.” I asked about the menu at the place she’d been having lunch at, and she began talking. In the back of my mind, I thought to myself that even if Katie somehow managed to make a clone, I’d never find a woman I wanted as much as Natalie. But she doesn’t want you that way. I’d have to find a way to settle for less than the best because it was obvious to me that even after she quit her job as a dating coach, Natalie had a different kind of guy in mind.
Chapter Thirty Seven
Natalie
The timer went off on the stove and I hurried over to the burner where the macaroni was boiling, grabbing a pair of potholders on my way. It had been about three days since my second altercation with Nathan, and I had a day off—after dealing with the police a second time, filing reports at the office with Katie, and doing all of the paperwork I could to make sure that I wouldn’t have to deal with the abusive stalker Nathan had turned out to be short of trial.
I picked up the pot the macaroni was in and carried it carefully off the stove, thinking about the fact that the first person I’d thought to call after the incident happened had been Zeke. Even if I knew it had been a mistake to ask him to come into my house, and even more of one to let him go on kissing me, I had to admit that I couldn’t think of anyone who could have done a better job of comforting me in that moment than he had. None of my friends would have been as good; none of my family would have been so undemanding. I wouldn’t have been able to even talk to Brady about what had happened—he was far, far too young to deal with baggage like that.
I smiled to myself, draining the pasta and thinking of Brady in the living room, playing with his toys while he sang along with one of his favorite TV shows. Brady had asked about “Mr. Zeke” earlier in the day, and I had told him that we would probably see the man again soon—even though I wasn’t entirely sure when that would be.
It was wrong of me, I knew. I was still grappling with the fact that I had to make a decision, and that I had to either cut Zeke out of my life completely—and with him the risk of ruining my career—or drop my career for him, thereby risking my heart. I thought of what I’d said to Zeke about quitting. It was true; I was no closer to finding someone for myself than I had been when I started working for the agency, though the reason for it was completely different. I knew that I liked Zeke, and I was pretty sure that he liked me, but whether or not he liked me enough to stay with me was more uncertainty than I could deal with.
I sighed, dumping the drained macaroni into the empty pot and pouring in the ingredients to make the sauce. I stirred, even while I thought about how good it had felt to kiss Zeke again, and how much—in that moment, at least—I had wanted more. I wanted to be around him, I wanted to be able to kiss him without feeling guilty, and I wanted to be able to tell him how I felt without betraying my professional standing. Might as well wish for the moon on a string while you’re at it, I thought wryly. I put the lid on the pasta pot and started to turn my attention onto the rest of dinner; it would keep warm while I cooked the chicken and the green beans that went along with it.
An idea flitted through my head. For an instant I rejected it completely. You could invite him over to dinner. Brady’s here—nothing would happen. But Brady had been in the house the first time we’d had sex; he’d been in his bedroom, though fortunately—to the best of my knowledge—my toddler son had no idea what had happened between Zeke and I, or even that Zeke had been in the house. It was a stupid idea, and I knew it. It would only give Brady the impression that things were even better between me and Zeke than they were, and it would be that much harder to explain to my son when Zeke and I parted ways, either because I’d gotten him reassigned or because things didn’t work out between us after I left the agency. Surely, if he’s not that interested in you, you can ask him to dinner and he’ll turn you down and that will be that. But Zeke had come to my rescue when I was too shaken up to drive myself home from the meeting with Ethan. He had rescued me in the midst of the first altercation. He’d come over in the middle of the night. Even if he wasn’t interested enough in me to be a steady partner, I knew that he was interested enough to come over for dinner—though that might change when I made it clear that I didn’t want to push things any further than I already had.
I stepped back from the stove. Everything was in a kind of holding pattern. If I was smart I would go into the living room with Brady, get involved in his game, and forget all about the tantalizing idea of inviting Zeke over. I’d write up a report on my client and ask Katie to reassign me because I’d developed feelings for someone I was supposed to be working with. Clearly, I am not all that smart. I found my phone, plugged into the wall, charging, and took a deep breath, asking myself a final time if I was sure I was doing the right thing, if I was doing what I really wanted to do, opening a can of worms I wanted to deal with.
Hey, Zeke, I wrote. Just a random offer, and don’t feel like you have to accept: I’m making dinner for Brady and me. Feel like joining us? Only if you don’t have any plans. I made myself stop typing at that point, because I knew if I didn’t, I’d just keep rambling on. I tapped send and set my phone aside to stir the green beans on the stove.
I heard the message received tone and made myself wait another thirty seconds before I went to see what Zeke had said. For that matter, I reminded myself, I didn’t even know that it was an answer from Zeke. For all I knew, it was from one of my other clients, looking to confirm a session on another day, or from Katie checking up on me.
Of course, the message was from Zeke after all. I’d love to come over! I’ll be there in about fifteen minutes—is that okay? I bit my bottom lip, considering; it would be more than okay from the perspective of the food I was preparing, but from the perspective of my state of mind, should I really go through with it? I could text him back and say that I changed my mind—couldn’t I? It wouldn’t exactly be professional, but then inviting him over to my hous
e wasn’t very professional, either. I took a deep breath and decided that I’d already committed by inviting him in the first place. It would be shitty of me to back out of it after he’d accepted. I wrote back that it would be fine and started clearing up the little bit of mess that Brady had managed to make in the house since he’d gotten home from the park, hoping that Zeke would keep things as platonic as possible and wishing that I didn’t feel like I was making a mistake.
Chapter Thirty Eight
Zeke
“You like mac and cheese?” I looked at Brady and grinned.
“It used to be my very favorite thing in the world,” I told the little boy. “I think your mom probably makes it better than mine did, though.” It was partially true. It was obvious to me that Natalie had doctored the boxed macaroni with real cheese, and probably with more ingredients that weren’t included in the container. My mom had done something similar, but with slightly less success.
“Thanks for coming over,” Natalie said. She looked almost flustered, and I couldn’t imagine why. I’d been in her house before, I’d been around Brady before, and it wasn’t like there were any real secrets between us on either front.
“It definitely beats eating dinner by myself,” I pointed out, taking a bite of the chicken that Natalie had made. It was the first home-cooked meal made by someone else I’d had in ages—and I was more than happy to enjoy it. “Besides, I never get a chance to eat like a regular, normal person.”
“What do you eat like, then?” Natalie grinned, and I thought to myself that if she had any idea of how her eyes lit up when she did, she’d use that expression more carefully.
“A bachelor.” I looked at Brady. “Let me give you some advice, Brady—one man to another.” I glanced in Natalie’s direction and saw the amusement on her face. “It really isn’t all that stylish to be a single man. Find yourself a woman to love as young as you can and treat her right so you don’t lose her.”
“Okay,” Brady said, looking at me in confusion. He turned to look askance at his mother.
“It’ll make sense when you get older,” Natalie informed her son, trying not to laugh. We kept eating, and I alternated between talking to Natalie about (kid safe) adult topics and asking Brady about his friends, his toys, his family members other than his mother. I cleaned my plate—and Brady cleaned his—before I helped Natalie clear the table, thinking to myself that it was the least that I could do after she went to the trouble of inviting me over. Brady ran into the living room once more once his particular chore of taking his plate and cup to the sink was finished, but Natalie and I stayed in the kitchen. She insisted on washing the dishes, and I stood there ready to dry them and put them away for her.
It was a weirdly comfortable and comforting thing, doing the dishes together. I watched Natalie wipe down the table with the kind of movements that told me she did it every night, and watched her wash the dishes as if there was something about doing the chore that she actually enjoyed. “You look like you’re actually having a good time cleaning,” I said, taking a dish from her hands to dry it with a towel.
“It’s one of the few times a day when I can just sort of let my mind wander,” she told me. “Brady always keeps himself busy in the living room—without the possibility of injuring himself, generally—and I just stand here and wash dishes, and think about the day.”
“That sounds weirdly peaceful,” I told her. She laughed.
“Well before Alex and I split up, I was basically a housewife,” she pointed out. “He wanted me to devote all the time to keeping the house and taking care of Brady, and so I sort of got used to doing it. Made it a lot easier to keep things tidy now that I’m single.”
“It’s good to see you’re already training Brady to do his part,” I said. Natalie grinned and shrugged, handing me another item.
“I want to eventually teach him to do the dishes, but he’s definitely too small right now—especially since there are knives to wash.”
“Oof, yeah that makes sense,” I agreed. “He’s too young to handle anything that sharp.”
“But getting him used to clearing his plate off the table seemed like a good step,” she said with a shrug. “I’m catching him when he can’t even really question why he needs to do it.” She snickered, and I put away the bowl she had handed me to dry.
“Make it an automatic thing and he’ll just keep doing it,” I said, nodding. I glanced at her. “You know, you probably don’t care all that much about my opinion—I’m not a real date or anything—but you’re an amazing mom.” Natalie nearly dropped the cup in her hands and looked at me sharply.
“Thank you,” she said after a moment. “I actually appreciate that a lot. There are tons of people out there who want to tell women how they should parent their children—and some of them are even in my family!”
“You’re doing an amazing job,” I told her again. “Brady is healthy, happy, bright, and kind.”
“All the things I hoped I could either have built into him or developed in him over time,” she said with a smile.
We went into the living room when the cleanup was finished and found Brady pretending to shoot at the car I had given him with the water gun that his mom had bought for our date in the dark together—fortunately the water gun was empty. Natalie checked the time and told Brady that he had thirty minutes before it was his bedtime. I expected to hear Brady whine and work himself up to a tantrum at the news.
Instead, he was perfectly calm. “Bedtime story?” he looked from me to Natalie.
“Of course,” Natalie replied. “We always have bedtime stories.”
“With Mr. Zeke?” Brady looked at me again.
“Do you want to be a part of bedtime stories?” Natalie raised an eyebrow and I knew that she wanted me to say yes. I would have said yes anyway, but the interest—the almost-fear—in her eyes at the prospect of me just leaving without helping put Brady to bed made my heart even warmer. She might actually like me, I thought. Not just as a client, but as a person. She might actually… I pushed the thought out of my head and decided to see how things played out.
“I like a good bedtime story,” I said, nodding.
I waited for Natalie to give Brady a quick bath and get him into his pajamas; even as personal as we’d gotten, I didn’t think that it would be right for me to be part of that aspect of getting the toddler ready for bed—at least, not yet. I was surprised at the fact that Brady made no fuss whatsoever about the going to bed process. Natalie told me quietly as Brady brushed his teeth that it was because they’d always done it that way, and after about a week of tantrums, Brady had learned that it wasn’t going to avail him to throw a fit.
The story of choice for that evening was The Poky Little Puppy, and Natalie and I took turns reading it, while Brady’s gaze switched from one to the other of us, his eyelids drooping as he got sleepier and sleepier. “All right, bub,” Natalie said quietly as we both stood. “You’ve got your water, you’ve had your story, and now it’s time for dreamland, right?” He nodded drowsily.
“Night-night,” he mumbled.
“Sleep tight,” Natalie replied, and I fought back the urge to smile at what was obviously a ritual between the two of them. “Don’t let the bed bugs bite,”
“Sweet dream,” he continued.
“See you in the morning,” she finished. She crept out of the room and I followed her, watching as she closed the door almost all the way.
In the living room, I sat down on the couch and Natalie followed suit, briefly looking lost. Obviously, she had a normal post-bedtime routine, and I was interrupting it just by being there. “Should I go?” I started to stand up.
“No!” She looked sharply in the direction of Brady’s room, blushing slightly at the tone of her voice. “No, you don’t have to leave.”
Chapter Thirty Nine
Natalie
When I told Zeke that he didn’t have to leave, I was already nervous. I’d been nervous ever since he’d sat down to eat din
ner with Brady and me. If I was really honest with myself, I was nervous as soon as he came into the apartment: flustered, worried, waiting for Brady to act up or for Zeke to make a move or for an awkward question to come up.
But when Zeke sat back down, I felt some of my nervousness starting to lift. I swallowed against the dry feeling in my throat and took a deep breath. “I really just… I guess I wanted company,” I said, smiling awkwardly.
“I’m happy to provide it,” Zeke told me. For a moment, I had no idea what to do or say; all I could do was look at him. Then, he began to lean in, and I had a second where I knew I had to make a choice—let him kiss me, or tell him not to. The second passed, and Zeke’s lips brushed against mine, almost tentative. I reached out blindly, closing my eyes and wrapping my arms around his shoulders, and he took the signal to deepen the kiss between us. I knew that I had let another boundary be crossed—I could have stopped him—but I couldn’t make myself do the right thing. He kissed me hungrily, his hands wandering slowly over my body, barely grazing my breasts, drifting down to my hips, tickling my waist. My heart beat faster in my chest in a way that had nothing to do with being nervous, and I leaned into Zeke’s touches, already starting to get turned on, already hungry for more—just like I had been when he’d driven me home after the attack a few days before.
Somehow we slid down onto the couch together, kissing each other and groping at each other like horny teenagers, and I felt my body heating up. I could remember exactly how good Zeke had been the first time we’d had sex together—it was right at the front of my mind in fact. I pressed my body up against his, feeling the heat of him, feeling the muscles under his tee shirt and jeans, and thinking of just how good he’d looked naked weeks before, how good he’d felt inside of me. I knew that there was no going back at all; I couldn’t do anything other than move forward, even if I knew it was professionally wrong.