The words echo in my head before disappearing when Aidan kisses me.
14
We eat breakfast at his place, then he follows me back home in his truck.
When we get to the house, he insists on going inside and checking everything out before letting me in. “Better safe than sorry,” he says, leaning in the open driver’s side window of my car. “Keys?”
I hand them to him. “I don’t know if I locked it, though. I ran out in a pretty big hurry.”
He nods, then straightens and walks up the path to the front door.
Watching him standing there trying the handle, I suffer a moment of cognitive dissonance.
Only last month, it would have been Michael standing in his place. My charming, outgoing husband with his starched white dress shirts, polished black oxfords, and slacks with the crisp leg seams. He was meticulous about his grooming, never leaving the house without a hair out of place or the faintest shadow of a beard on his jaw.
And forget about tattoos. The sight of needles made Michael queasy. Every single year when he went to get his flu shot, he nearly passed out in the doctor’s office.
Aidan is almost his exact opposite. I doubt I could’ve picked someone more different than Michael if I tried.
Aidan turns then and looks back at me, waiting anxiously in my car. He lifts his chin and disappears through the front door, leaving it open behind him.
Ten minutes later, he appears in the doorway and gestures for me to come in.
Apprehensive, I hurry up the path in my bare feet. At least it’s not pouring down rain today, but I’m still shivering from cold.
The sky overhead is the same dull gray of Michael’s coffin.
“Anything?” I ask when I reach Aidan.
“All clear. Come inside.”
I walk into the foyer, hugging my arms around myself. I’m wearing Aidan’s big black sweatshirt, the arms rolled halfway up so they’re even with my wrists. A pair of my shoes are under the console table. I shove my feet into them, not bothering to tie the laces.
Aidan says, “Everything was locked. No signs of a break in. I checked upstairs, too.”
I’m relieved but also feel silly, seeing how I ran from the house as if I were being chased by demons. My overactive imagination is getting the best of me.
“Great. Thank you.”
“No problem.”
“Why are you smiling like that?”
“Oh, nothing. I just think you’re really good at drawing, that’s all.”
I don’t know what he means for a moment. When it hits me, I roll my eyes. “You were in my office.”
“Had to check the windows.”
“You checked a few other things too, I guess.”
He reaches out and tugs on the sleeve of his sweatshirt, pulling me toward him. Then he wraps me in his arms and grins down at me. “I think that pet rabbit the little boy has is really cute.”
I smile. “Yeah, I bet you do.”
“So you’re an artist?”
“Illustrator. Children’s books mostly, though I do the occasional calendar and magazine piece.”
He leans down and gently presses his lips to mine. “You’re crazy fucking talented, Kayla.”
That compliment makes me feel as if gravity has ceased to exist, and the only reason I’m still tethered to the earth is that his arms are wrapped around my body. “Thank you.”
“Aw. Look at my bashful little bunny with her red cheeks.”
“Shut up before I kick you in the shin.”
Chuckling, he leans down and kisses me again. “Bashful and bitchy. My two favorite things.”
“Call me bitchy again and we’ll see how far you can walk with a ruptured spleen.”
He tries to muffle the sound of his laughter by pressing his face to the side of my neck.
I shove against his chest half-heartedly. “Jerk.”
“You don’t think I’m a jerk,” he says softly, then kisses me again, this time more deeply.
No, I admit to myself as his tongue delves into my mouth. No, sir, I do not.
We kiss until both of us are breathing hard and the little pulse of heat between my legs has grown into an ache. Then the guilt swamps me again, and I pull away, pressing my fingers to my lips.
Aidan searches my face. “You okay?”
“Yeah.”
When I refuse to meet his eyes, he takes my chin in his hand and tilts my head up so I’m forced to look at him.
“What is it?”
My mouth has turned dry. I moisten my lips and swallow. “I’m feeling a bit…” I clear my throat. “Uncomfortable.”