Never Too Hot

by Bella Andre

  "Not anymore."

  She seemed stunned by that.

  "They fired me. Called it early retirement, but those are just fancy words."

  "So that's why you're here."

  "Not having a job made it easier to come," he agreed, "but I already told you why I'm here. My son needed me."

  "Must be nice coming in and playing hero."

  Her words hit too close to home for Andrew's comfort and he opened his mouth to argue, but instead found himself saying, "I haven't done any manual labor in thirty years. My body is killing me. Working out five days a week at the gym does nothing to prepare you to hammer nails for eight hours straight."

  "You used to love hammering nails."

  It struck him, powerfully, that only Isabel knew that about him. "You're right. I did. And I'm learning to again." He nodded toward the Hobart. "I don't know if dish washing has quite the same magic, but just using my hands again is good. Regardless of what I'm using them for."

  She turned away quickly, but not before he saw the way her skin had started to flush, the way she'd quickly sucked in a breath. God, he wanted so badly to pull her into him. To run his hands through her hair, over her skin.

  But it was too soon. He could see the truth of it even through the force of his desire. He needed to leave before he did something stupid, but at the same time he had to make sure he could see her again.

  "Do you have anyone lined up for dinner?"

  He could tell she didn't want to answer, saw how much she hated saying, "No, I don't."

  "What time should I be here?"

  She picked up a knife, ran it under water, then wiped it off with a clean cloth. "Five thirty."

  He took the light glinting off the stainless steel blade as his cue to leave.

  "Don't be late. And don't think that just because I'm letting you wash my dishes means I've forgiven you."

  "I won't," he said to the first, even as he hoped he could change the second.

  Three hours later, after running a whole host of errands in town on foot, even though it was another cool and windy day, by the time Isabel got back to the restaurant she couldn't wait to get out of her sweater and coat. If her hot flashes got any worse she'd need to spend the entire afternoon in the walk-in refrigerator.

  No, she thought, as she laid out a half-dozen orange and yellow bell peppers, there really was no point in lying to herself.

  Andrew had done this to her. He had made her hot all over. That afternoon she'd actually wished for one stupid second that he'd just stop talking, stop letting her tell him to stay the hell away, and take her right there on the stainless steel counter.

  It shouldn't have softened her to see him standing at the dishwasher, wearing the thick plastic apron, the big yellow gloves, but it had. And knowing he'd be back any minute now to do it all again--to save her ass--only set her nerves more on edge.

  And filled her with sick anticipation.

  The only way she could protect herself was to keep being suspicious of his motives, to look for the real meaning behind his smooth words.

  Planning to grill the peppers, she turned on the gas on her stove and picked up her lighter, flicking it over the gas. The flames jumped higher than she expected and she was about to take a step back when strong hands wrapped around her waist, hoisting her out of the way.

  She'd know Andrew's touch anywhere. She'd never had such an intense reaction to anyone else, been covered in goose bumps at the same time her insides were burning up.

  She whirled out of his arms, even though everything in her wanted to lean in closer.

  "What the hell are you doing?"

  A muscle jumped in his jaw. "You need to be more careful."

  Well, he wasn't the only one who was angry. "This is my fucking restaurant. You don't think I know how to operate my own stove?"

  "Jesus, Isabel. Those flames were only an inch from your face. You could have gotten burned."

  She opened her mouth to tell him where he could stick it, when his words finally penetrated her brain.

  Burned. He'd been afraid she was going to get burned. Like his son.

  "Seeing your son get burned. I can't imagine what that must have felt like," she said before she could pull the words back.

  He blinked at her as if he'd only just realized how extreme his reaction had been to her lighting the gas ring.

  "I'm sorry. You're right. I overreacted."

  She started to reach out to him, and it was only at the last second that she stopped.

  One touch, a split second of skin on skin, wouldn't be enough.

  "It's just that ever since Connor's accident--"

  He swallowed hard and she saw all the love--all the fear he'd felt for his son--imprinted in the lines on his face.

  "I can't stand fires. Any kind of fire. Fireplaces. Fire pits. Even seeing people's campfires glowing across the lake gets to me."

  "That makes perfect sense."

  "I wasted so much time, Isabel. I should have come here with Connor and Sam when they were kids. Should have been out there teaching them to sail instead of leaving it to my parents to show them how great the lake was."

  She didn't know what to say, not when she'd been selfishly glad he hadn't come. How could she have possibly faced seeing Andrew every summer with a wife and kids?

  "You're here now."

  "I'm afraid it might already be too late, though."

  "Then try again. And keep trying. Because that's what parents do. Even when our kids act like they don't want or need our love, that's when they need it the most. So stop worrying about yourself, stop worrying about how you feel for once. And just do what you need to do for him."

  "Thank you for reminding me," he said softly and Isabel instantly saw that she'd just jumped in so much deeper than she should have.

  "I need to get ready to open."

  He nodded, moved back to the dishwashing station without another word. But she already knew it was only a temporary reprieve.

  Fortunately, the diner had been incredibly busy and Isabel had no choice but to keep on task. The only problem was that she couldn't possibly tell Andrew to go home early. But even though she wasn't alone in the kitchen with him--Caitlyn and Scott plus two of her waitstaff were all there--he remained far too close for her comfort.

  After plating her final order, she pushed out the back door, desperate for some air. The wind had picked up and she was wearing only a T-shirt, but she welcomed the chill.

  Walking through the parking lot toward the water, she saw a young couple kissing and stopped cold. That was her son. And the blond girl he'd gone off to the movies with just a few days ago.

  She didn't notice Andrew was beside her until he said, "Can you believe that's how young we were when we met?"

  "That's my son. I didn't realize he had a girlfriend."

  "We didn't want our parents to know about us either. We thought we were so grown-up," he said softly. "But looking at the two of them now ..." He shook his head. "We were just kids, weren't we?"

  Looking back at her son tentatively embracing his girlfriend, she suddenly saw just how right Andrew was. Her son wasn't even close to being an adult. He would, inevitably, make many mistakes over the next few years as he grew and changed.

  For the first time in thirty years, her past with Andrew was painted with a different sheen, the black haze that it had been buried under for so long suddenly peeling up at the corners.

  She turned to look at him, taking in the lines on his face, the gray streaks of hair, and realizing that, even so, he was more beautiful than he'd been as a perfect nineteen-year-old.

  "We didn't have a clue what we were doing, did we?" she said softly.

  "No, we didn't," he agreed. "Especially me."

  The way the rough timbre of his voice reached down into her chest scared her. "I need to get back inside."

  She half expected him to reach out and stop her. Instead he simply said,
"Fine. Go. But one day you won't be able to find a reason to run away from me."

  That got her back up, just as he must have known it would. Still, she couldn't swallow the words, "I'm not running."

  "You sure about that?"

  A swift rush of anger had her moving closer to him. "I have no reason to run from you."

  "How about I give you one, then?"

  And then his lips were on hers and a rocket ship was launching inside her belly.

  Oh God, how could she have ever forgotten how incredible his mouth was, how sweet his kisses?

  His hands came around her next, one on her waist, the other in her hair, pulling her closer, and soon it wasn't just their lips that were touching, but their tongues, swirling together in a dance that was so natural, so perfect, she found herself moaning with pleasure as she leaned closer.

  He leaned her against the hood of a car, pressing himself hard against her, and she gladly went with him, wanting more of his heat, more of the sweet rush that only Andrew could bring her.

  Sex with her husband had been good, but now that she was back in Andrew's arms she had to wonder how she could have possibly settled for anything less than this all-consuming passion. How could she have accepted anything less than the need to take her lover's next breath as her own?

  Her hands were on him now, just as hungry, just as full of need. His arousal pressed into her and she couldn't help but rub herself against him. She ached to give herself over completely to this moment, to let Andrew take her as far she could go.

  He reached up under her shirt, his fingers skimming her rib cage before he pressed both of his palms over her breasts, her heart beating against his hands.

  And then, through the thick haze of desire, she heard, "Mom?"

  She was too far under to process the voice as her son's until he said, "Fuck. That's my mom. Making out on the car with some guy."

  Oh God. Josh.

  Andrew moved first, pulled his hands out from under her shirt before her son could see. She moved as quickly as she could with limbs that felt like melted butter, tried to stand up to go after her son, but before she could he said, "You make me sick," and was gone.

  Andrew tried to put a hand on her back to comfort her and she flinched at his touch.

  How could she have done that? How could she have kissed Andrew? And if her son hadn't found them there, how much further would she have gone?

  But she already knew the answer to that. Andrew had always been the one person who could make her lose control. And yet, even though he was the one who'd kissed her first, none of that was his fault. She'd wanted it just as much as he had. Had been more than willing to pull him down hard over her in the middle of a parking lot.

  "He'll get over it, you know. Seeing you kiss me."

  "I just don't know what I'm doing anymore. He used to say I was the best mom in the whole wide world. We were friends. We had a good a time together."

  She wanted to cry. Scream. Sleep for a week.

  Kiss Andrew again.

  "But now it seems that I can't say or do anything right. I feel like I'm losing him. And it's killing me."

  "He's trying to figure out how to be a man. I know from firsthand experience how hard that is."

  Andrew was the last person on earth she should be spilling her guts to, and yet it felt so natural. As if, despite everything that had come between them, he was still the person who understood her best.

  "Did your sons go through this?"

  Pain flashed across his face in the moonlight. "I don't know," he said, and she was stunned by the heavy emotion in his words. "I was always working, always on a business trip. One day I left and they were boys, came home and they were men. Men who wanted nothing to do with their father."

  "I'm sorry."

  "I am too. But you were right this morning. I can't go back and change the past, but if I'm lucky, if I don't wimp out, I might be able to work on the future. Here. Now. With Connor. I want them to know how much I care about them." His eyes met hers, held them. "But I'll also understand if they don't see it. If they can't see it. Because sometimes if you screw up bad enough, there isn't any way to fix what you've done."

  It all came back around to them. Every single time.

  "So that firsthand experience about boys trying so hard to become men that I was talking about is mine alone." Her breath caught in her throat as he continued with, "I know you don't want to hear me say this again, Isabel, but I was a stupid kid who didn't know which way was up."

  She didn't know what to say to him anymore. They were past yelling. Past her frantic attempts to hold him back with anger, with sarcasm. Past her up and walking away when she didn't know what else to do.

  But not past forgiveness.

  Clearing his throat, he said, "I should go, shouldn't I?"

  She didn't look at him, couldn't look at him. "Yes, you should."

  "What's wrong with you?"

  Josh realized Hannah was practically running to keep up with him on the beach. He couldn't believe what he'd just seen, couldn't stop playing it over in his head, that guy practically humping his mom on the hood of a car.

  He felt sick to his stomach.

  "My mom shouldn't be doing that. Out in public." Or anywhere. Ever.

  "I thought it was kind of romantic, actually. Your mom's been single a long time, right? Don't you think it'd be nice if she could find someone?"

  "It wasn't romantic. It was disgusting."

  Hannah stopped walking. "Why?"

  Something was in her voice, a warning to watch how he answered her question, but he was too pissed off to care.

  "She's my mom. She shouldn't need to do ... that."

  "But you told me your dad dates all the time."

  "It's okay for him."

  "How? Because he's a guy? Whereas she's just supposed to be happy and fulfilled being your mother for the rest of your life? You're the one who keeps saying how you wish she'd get a life and leave you alone. And then when she does you act like a complete jerk."

  She turned and started walking away.

  "Hannah, why are you mad at me?"

  She barely stopped, only turned her face halfway to say, "Because you just treated your mom like garbage. And I don't want to be with a spoiled brat."

  Isabel was waiting up for Josh when he got home.

  "What you saw tonight. It's not what you think."

  "Of course it is." He scowled. "You were practically doing it on a car with some random guy."

  Bile rose in her throat at what her son had seen. At the same time, it didn't feel right to apologize to him for being a normal human being with normal sexual needs.

  Still, she wanted him to know she hadn't picked some random guy to go to town with.

  "I knew him. A long time ago. Andrew grew up next door. At Poplar Cove. We dated." The words, "I was your age and I loved him," fell out of her mouth before she could think better of who she was saying them to.

  She watched in horror as Josh's expression changed from angry and disgusted to just plain crushed.

  "Dad was the only guy you've ever loved."

  Oh no. She hadn't thought of how hard it would be for him to hear that she'd had a life before him, before his father.

  "I did love your father. And even though we're not together anymore I'll always love him for giving me you."

  But Josh wasn't listening. "I saw you tonight. I saw what you were letting that guy do to you. The only person you should be in love with is my dad, not some asshole who used to live next door. And now Hannah hates me because of you."

  She reeled from what her son had said, that she wouldn't have been doing those things with Andrew if she didn't still love him.

  "I don't love him," she said almost to herself, even as the last part of his sentence finally registered. "Hannah? Your girlfriend, you mean? How come she hates you?"

  But he was done with her. "Why don't you just go back to lo
ver boy and forget all about me. Since it's obvious that he's the only one you really give a shit about."

  The last thing she heard was his bedroom door slamming and the music kicking in.

  It occurred to her, then, that everything she'd said to Andrew about Connor pushing him away right when he needed his father most was also true for her and Josh. The more he pulled away, the more he told her he hated her, the more he needed her to be there for him.

  Yes, she understood his growing pains, remembered only too well how hard it was to be fifteen and feel like your whole world was turning inside out. But even though she knew she needed to pull back a bit to let him find his way, that didn't mean she couldn't be there for him if he fell along the way.

  Which he would. Because they all did.

  Every single one of them.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  DURING EXTREME wildfires, Connor sometimes went up to seventy-two hours with little to no sleep. He'd keep running on nothing more than adrenaline and fistfuls of high-calorie food, with the knowledge that when it was all over he could crash, satisfied over a job well done.

  This past week he'd had just as little sleep, but there was no satisfaction coming on the back end.

  All day, every day, as he worked on refinishing the logs, Ginger wasn't just a room away, she was there in his head with him every second, her words "I want a husband and a partner. I want a man ... who loves me as much as I love him," on constant repeat.

  He never thought he'd be so glad to have his father around. The days were easier, with Andrew a silent buffer between them. But after his father left, as soon as the sun gave way to darkness, Connor's resolve would slip into dangerous territory.

  He hadn't even tried to sleep in the cabin. Not when all it would take was one weak moment and he'd be upstairs, kicking open Ginger's door to steal another few minutes with her, doing anything he could to convince her to be with him one more time, and then one more after that.

  Each night he'd gone out to the workshop as soon as the sun had set. That first night he'd done push-ups, sit-ups, pull-ups until he was dripping sweat all over the cold concrete floor. But it hadn't done a damn thing to clear his head. So he'd gone for a run. The first mile, his body felt sluggish. Heavy. As if he'd tied lead weights onto his limbs. Which only made him more determined to push through the pain, to run faster. Mile after mile passed as he ran away from Poplar Cove, his pace picking up with each new stretch of ground that he covered.