Learning at 40 (Lakeside Cottage Book 2)

by L. B. Dunbar

  “Okay, beach time,” I mutter. “Later, we can ask Miss River if there’s a time you can play in her tree fort.”

  “Maybe she’ll give Daddy a private tour of her tree fort.” Mason chuckles as tree fort has taken on a new meaning. Pinning him with another warning glare, he laughs harder and thrusts his hips toward the counter, imitating what he thinks I should do with Miss River and her tree fort.

  He’s such a child.

  + + +

  To my surprise, I don’t need to find River because she comes down to the beach in the early afternoon. She’s wearing another loose flowing dress, reminding me of a picture of hippies from an era of free love, racing through meadows, and passing peace signs to others. She’s too young to be from that time, but she pulls off the hippie look with her long golden hair and lightly tanned skin.

  When the twins see her, they race toward her, and I stand from my chair, knowing my boys are begging her to allow them to come over. As I approach, she’s speaking to them collectively.

  “Before you play in there again, I think we should inspect the wood.” I nearly fall over at River’s suggestion and hear Mason chuckling behind me when I didn’t realize he’d followed me.

  “Hey, River,” Mason calls out, and she offers him a wide smile.

  “Hi yourself, handsome.”

  Handsome? Fuck. No need to feed Mason’s already enormous ego.

  “I see you’ve met my little friends and their dad.” Mason claps my shoulder like I’m a child myself, and I shake off his touch.

  “We’re well acquainted,” River says, glancing at me with brilliant blue eyes. I noticed them last night as we sat on the lounger. They sparkled and danced while she spoke as if she was constantly on the verge of laughter. Even when they softened as she mentioned her husband or offered sympathy for Ben’s passing, her eyes still sparked. Crackle. Pop. Snap. I could get lost in those eyes. I wanted to get lost in them. I also wanted to taste her lips and lick her everywhere.

  “Interesting,” Mason mumbles. “You should join us.”

  River hesitates, glancing over at our collection of Adirondack chairs and other shit—coolers, towels, bags, and toys.

  “I don’t—”

  She doesn’t have time to finish before Mason has his arm around River’s shoulders, guiding her to our group. Logan has joined us again as we agreed we wouldn’t work much during these two weeks, giving our attention to Anna and our memories to Ben. Autumn had to work today, so Logan holds his sleeping son while his daughter, Lorna, digs in the sand with Mila.

  My boys hover behind River until I tell them to go play. Trevor groans, but Oliver pulls his brother away from our cluster.

  Mason handles introductions while Logan offers River a beer, which she declines.

  “So I heard the little hellions commandeered your tree fort,” Logan states after River takes a seat next to me.

  “Hellions?” River questions, lifting a brow in his direction.

  “Zack’s boys,” he clarifies.

  River peers over at Trevor and Oliver throwing sand at each other before turning back to Logan. “Do you want someone calling your boy a hellion?” Her mama-bear tone is teasing, but the offense is evident. Mason chokes on a swallow of beer, and Anna slowly smiles while my mouth falls open. No one ever defends my children. Hell, even I don’t always stand up for them when I know I should. My gaze finds my boys still torturing one another with fists full of sand. I shift back to River, still shocked by her soft expression but protective words. I don’t know what to say.

  “Zack mentioned that you and I have a lot in common,” Anna says, and I tip back my beer. Shit.

  River glances at me before addressing Anna. “I think we might both like gardening.” The comment is a decent save from an awkward topic, and for the second time in a minute, River covers for me. Anna looks in my direction.

  “Maybe,” Anna mutters. Ben was the gardener, but she occasionally helped in their yard.

  “The tree fort,” Mason interjects. “I’m in construction. I’d be happy to come inspect your wood.”

  Next, I’m choking. I don’t want River anywhere near Mason’s wood, or rather, Mason near River’s wood, or Mason near her tree fort. River gazes at me, a questioning look on her face, before glancing back at Mason.

  “I can handle my own tree fort, thank you.” Her sly smile suggests she’s on to him and his innuendos, and the comment has me choking once more. She’s more than capable of taking care of herself, but I’d really love to be the one to take care of her. “I’m going to have the boys help me. It will be a fun project for them.”

  “What?” The word rushes out loud and sharp. I’m not certain seven-year-olds should be dismantling and rebuilding a tree fort. Suddenly, I recall my own father building the platform as I scrambled around the yard, probably offering to help while being more of a nuisance. River shouldn’t be tackling such a project with my boys. Deep down, I know it should be me building a tree fort with my sons.

  “Sounds like a wonderful idea. The boys could use something constructive to do,” Anna interjects, smiling in agreement with River’s plan. “I’m so sorry I haven’t gotten over to your house to introduce myself.”

  River waves a dismissive hand. “Life gets in the way.”

  Anna’s smile falters a bit. In her case, it’s been death, and I swallow back the reminder.

  “But we’ve met now, and I’d love for you to come over for wine some night. I could use some decorating advice on the interior of the house.”

  “Oh, I’m not a decorator. I’m a teacher.”

  “Even better,” River adds with a wink. “I’m a nurse. I’m sure we have stories to share.”

  The reassuring smile River offers Anna puts my old friend at ease, and I could seriously kiss River for making our sad friend grin in return.

  Then again, who am I kidding? I just want to kiss River, period.

  7

  [River]

  After a barrage of questions with Zack’s friends, I now understand the dynamic. Mason, Logan, and Zack were roommates in one form or another during college. Anna and Ben were high school sweethearts, and she went to college with the boys. Mason has been living at the house, and I can only imagine his bedside manner. To his credit, I’ve learned he’s given up a year of his life to stay with them.

  I hang with the friends for longer than I expected before excusing myself. Being with the group was fun but also a reminder of how alone I am. I wasn’t someone who had many friends. My grandfather would say I could make friends with a stinkbug. My mother would say I had many, but none of them were close. Nothing like this group. I haven’t broken out to make friends in the community. I’ve heard the rumors. I don’t wish to propagate them, so I keep to myself other than a yoga class and my job at the local hospital.

  Later, as I’m getting ready to turn off the lower-level lights in my house and head to bed because I’m on the early shift tomorrow, I hear a knock on the sliding glass door off my kitchen. A short, sharp rap hits the glass a second time. Wandering through the dark kitchen, I glance out the window over the sink to see what it was, assuming it could have been a wayward bird or a falling twig.

  Instead, Zack stands outside the double doors. His head lowered. His stance hesitant. He’s a puzzle to me. There’s no doubt I find him physically attractive. He’s not as vivacious as Mason or sweet like Logan, but there’s still something about him. He has a serious edge to him, but he also looks like he’s on the verge of snapping.

  I head to the door and flip on the patio light, which causes him to look up at it first before noticing me opening the slider.

  “And to what do I owe tonight’s honor?” I tease, assuming there’s no apology necessary this evening. “I kept my clothes on all day,” I proudly jest.

  Zack slowly smiles and then bites his lower lip like he did last night. That smirk. It’s like a fire hydrant to my panties. He’s so damn good-looking. Those silvery eyes sparkle like his son Oliver, and I r
ecognize a hint of mischief behind them. A hint of where the boys might get their wild streak, other than being seven-year-olds, of course.

  Holding up a bottle of wine, Zack says, “I thought I’d repay the wine from last night. I even brought two glasses.” He shows me two goblets trapped between his long fingers. When I don’t move at first, Zack adds, “You called me a wine stealer last night. I want to be clear. I’ve never stolen anything in my life.” He turns serious, guarded even. “And I always repay my debts.”

  His somber tone puzzles me. Taking my wineglass and drinking my wine doesn’t constitute a debt. Still, he seems eager to repay me.

  “Noted,” I state. “But I have an early shift,” I tell him next, reminding him I’m a nurse. When the group asked what I did for a living, I stuck to the most basic answer.

  “Just one glass.” He pouts at me, jutting out those lush lips, and I laugh. It’s the first funny expression he’s made, and it’s definitely dazzling.

  “Okay.” I give him a soft smile before stepping out into the yard. I should invite him inside, but I’m afraid that might send the wrong message, and I’m still uncertain what message I want to send this man.

  “Where are your boys?” I ask, closing the sliding door behind me.

  “I earned the night off. They’re having a video game marathon with Anna’s son Bryce.”

  We cross the lawn, and I wave a hand at the lounger. While Zack takes a seat on it, I choose to sit in one of the individual chairs near the foot instead of next to him. I don’t trust myself. Last night, we sat so intimately close, but he didn’t end up kissing me when I thought he might, and I don’t need to put myself in that kind of position if he’s only trying to be neighborly. Repaying his debt as he incorrectly thinks. Maybe he just wants a friend, and I can be one of those. Quincy had turned out to be one of my best friends.

  Zack frowns as I sit, and he scoots to the end of the lounger. Hooking his foot around my chair, it doesn’t slide easily through the grass, so he cups the base of the lounger with his hand and tugs it closer to me. When he sits again, his knees bracket mine. With our legs touching, I’m trapped within the space, and it’s just as intimate as when we were rubbing arms and holding hands last night.

  “You were too far away,” he offers as an explanation. The wine bottle in his hand has already been uncorked, so he easily pours two glasses. After handing one to me, he then lifts his to tap the edge of mine. Silently, I make my own toast, hoping he won’t be a disappointment. I follow his lead and drink but remain quiet.

  “Tonight, I owe you gratitude,” he says.

  “You don’t owe me anything,” I murmur, slowly shaking my head.

  “You defended my boys today. No one ever does that.” He stares at me, firm in his statement while soft in the eyes. The tenderness and confusion in them stop my heart.

  “You should be doing that,” I gently suggest. Zack should be proud of his boys, and I worry he underappreciates what he has in his healthy, rambunctious sons. He should be thankful for what he has. I’m a single woman nearing forty with no prospect in sight of having children. Not to mention, the parents I’ve worked with would give anything for their children to be a little bit wild and a tad bit reckless like his boys.

  “I know.” He sighs heavily. “Like I said last night, I just don’t know how to relate to them or even where to start. I mostly worry I’m too late.”

  My brows pinch at his self-deprecating words. He’s not too late. He has potential. He’s just . . . lost, but the fact he recognizes his faults and wants to improve is half the battle. Earlier today, I was able to watch him with his sons. It’s like he’s on the edge of interacting with them yet not certain how.

  “You aren’t too late.” I smile to reassure him. I actually want to hug him. A smile is as good as a hug sometimes, my grandfather would say. “You just need to remember how to play.”

  “Play?” he questions.

  “You know, remember what it was like to be a boy again.” Isn’t it that men never really grow up? The little boy is still inside them even when they’re over twenty, forty, sixty.

  He’s silent a moment, pondering perhaps before he says, “I also want to thank you for making Anna smile.” I’d learned earlier that Ben, the friend who passed away, was Anna’s husband. Also, Anna and Zack’s mothers were best friends, and it’s another connection between the couples. In addition, Ben’s younger sister recently married Logan, one of the friends. Their friendships interweave in so many ways, it could make a person envious.

  “It was nothing, handsome,” I say, uncomfortable with so much gratitude.

  “You called Mason handsome earlier today.” He pauses, directing those silvery eyes at me. “I didn’t like it.”

  Oh. Oh! “Is that why you’re really here?” He can’t possibly be jealous of me giving his flirtatious friend a nickname. Mason’s face might be handsome, but his ego is big enough to fill the lake.

  “I’m really here because I’d like to make up the other night to you. The one when I watch—”

  I hold up a hand to stop him. “Are we really going there again?”

  Zack swipes a hand through his hair while the other dangles his wineglass outside his leg. He averts his eyes. “I’m a bit out of practice at this.”

  “Out of practice with what?” I tilt my head.

  “Flirting.” His eyes quickly shift to mine and away before he lifts his wineglass and takes a hasty drink.

  “Oh, are you flirting with me?” I tease, arching a brow and fighting a grin. He’s so flustered, and it’s kind of cute although cute does not do him justice. With his finger-combed hair and shifting silver eyes, his frustration flatters me.

  “See, I’m shit if you can’t tell.” He softly chuckles and turns his head in the direction of the lake. His eyes pinch. Vulnerability vibrates just beneath his overwhelming sense of confidence, and that hint plucks at my heartstrings.

  “What exactly is it you think you need to make up to me from that night?” He has no idea I didn’t complete my mission in the yard.

  “You shouldn’t have been alone.” His eyes narrow in on mine. “You deserve to have someone between those thighs, worshipping you with fingers and lips and tongue.”

  Oh my. I pull at the collar of my dress. “You might be better at this than you think.”

  A gleam sparkles in his eyes as his hand lands on my thigh and strokes upward, massaging the top of my leg. Instantly, my skin hums. My center pulses.

  “How long will you be in town?” I ask, surprising myself. Where am I going with this thought?

  “Two weeks from last Sunday.” He’s already a few days into his stay. “I could offer a ten-day fling.” His fingers squeeze tighter on my leg, but it’s his voice that throws me off. He’s too monotone to sound flirtatious.

  “Are we negotiating something?” My voice rises before I bite the inside of my cheek and lean forward. His knees tap the outsides of my thighs, and he takes another sip of his wine. Could I do this with him? Could I accept the terms of ten days? I study him as he swallows. The roll of his Adam’s apple. His sculpted cheekbones. The artful scruff on his jaw. Another question comes to mind.

  “Don’t you think you should kiss me before you decide you want a fling?” I’m teasing him. Maybe flirting with him. Definitely encouraging him to take the first step.

  He stares at me, his gaze dropping to my mouth where I lick my lower lip, and he mimics the motion as if he can already taste the moisture from mine on his.

  “My grandfather used to say if you want something, you should ask for it.” My voice drops as I speak. I don’t think Grandpa was implying kisses exactly.

  “I thought I just did,” he counters.

  “Let’s be specific.”

  “I don’t like confrontation.”

  Are we arguing? “Aren’t you a lawyer?” I learned earlier today he’s a prominent attorney in Detroit as well as a business partner in a new venture with his friends. Tipping up my wineglas
s, I take a fortifying drink while I wait on his answer.

  “I am, but I don’t like to argue outside the courtroom.”

  “This is a negotiation then. Or a compromise, perhaps.” My heart beats faster. What am I doing? I am not supposed to be flirting with him.

  “I don’t want to have to think.” His directness doesn’t surprise me. Blunt could almost be his middle name. He continues to stare at me. His gaze is hard while hesitant in one searing look.

  “Kiss me,” I whisper, leaning closer to him. Zack leans toward me as well, and his mouth touches mine. His lips are soft, cautious even, as he takes his time to explore. It’s a front porch kiss after a first date that hasn’t gone well. For a man who just spoke of fingers, lips, and tongue between my thighs, I’m underwhelmed. I don’t want to hurt his feelings, but I didn’t think he’d kiss like this. And I’d been thinking about his kisses since he showed up in my yard last night. Adding fuel to my desire for him was spending time on the beach with his friends. He was more relaxed around them, more carefree than closed off. He was starting to dazzle me.

  Soon enough, he pulls back, and even he looks dissatisfied. Maybe it can only be friendship between us, and that’s fine. We stare at one another for a few seconds, and that intense gaze of his speaks volumes.

  “You were holding back,” I whisper, reading it in the tight expression on his face. It’s like watching him with his boys. He’s on the cusp, on the verge of something, but he’s holding it all back. He’s a branch on a tree ready to snap in a fierce wind. He’s too controlled, and for someone in want of not thinking, that kiss was not one to lose his mind in.

  He lowers his wineglass to the side of the chaise and then reaches for mine, placing it next to his. He watches me for another moment, and I swallow under his searching gaze. The tension builds between us, and that magnetic sensation occurs, the pull like powerful steel in a room full of soft metal shavings. The intensity of his eyes has me anxious and questioning if I’ve underestimated him.