“Wow.”
I looked over my shoulder to see Ray standing on her porch in a fuzzy pink robe and matching slippers, a steaming cup of coffee clutched between her hands.
“What?” I asked, my lips lifting into a hesitant smile.
She studied me for a moment, wetting her lips with the tip of her tongue. “It’s just not every day I get to stand outside on a beautiful spring day and see something that looks like”—she gestured toward me with the mug—“that.”
I laughed, all too aware of the heat rising in my cheeks as I shook my head before returning my attention to the tiller in my hands, jabbing the blades into the ground, using my foot for leverage, and pressing on the handles to loosen the hardened soil. It was a small patch of land, roughly ten feet by ten feet, and the job of cultivating the soil would be done in no time. But it was hot for the beginning of May. The sun was beating down on me with its relentless rays, and even without my shirt, my back and brow glistened with sweat.
It was uncomfortable—I had never been a fan of the heat—but at least Ray seemed to be enjoying the show. And even if her compliments made me blush—I just wasn’t used to being admired, I guessed—it was nice.
“Have I ever told you that you have really nice arms?” she asked, and I glanced over my shoulder again to watch her slowly take a sip from her mug, her eyes never diverting from me and my apparently nice arms.
“No, you’ve never mentioned that before,” I said. Resigned to the fact that I wouldn’t get much work done in her presence, I leaned against the tiller.
“Well, you do.”
Nobody had ever complimented me the way she did. Lust-filled but otherwise pure. I sometimes wondered what to say while my tongue fumbled stupidly around the words, but today, I thought maybe I could test the waters of my own flirting ability a little.
“How nice would you say they are?”
“Like”—she tipped her head back and pursed her lips with consideration—”they’re so nice that it is taking everything in me right now not to say fuck this coffee and enjoy you instead.”
I had to look away and chuckle, unable to fight my stupid grin. This thing between us was new—only a couple of weeks old, give or take—and it had started off nice, easy, and comfortable. No pressure. Not to mention, I didn’t want to push her into anything before she was ready. Especially knowing what I knew now about her life and history with the opposite sex. I wanted to keep everything on her terms. So, we flirted and kissed when the mood struck, exchanging little glances and soft touches every so often. And I was happy, genuinely content for maybe the first time in my life, and from what Ray repeatedly told me, she was too.
I wasn’t sure Noah had caught on yet or if he thought his mom and I had started to just spend a little more time together. But whichever it was, he seemed content, too, and for that, I was even happier.
“What’s the kid doing today?” I asked, turning my eyes back on the land to assess what I’d already accomplished.
Half of the yard had been tilled. Not bad for a little over an hour of work.
“Right now, checking out the new game my mom bought him.” She walked down her steps and came to stand closer to my little yard. “Do you need help? I can send him over.”
“No, I’m good.” I grunted as I jabbed the blades into the next tough spot in the row I was working on. “Just thought he’d like to get his hands dirty if he wasn’t doing anything else.”
“I’ll ask him.”
She watched me through a couple more jabs of the tiller into the ground, sipping her coffee and keeping an arm wrapped tightly around her middle. There was something so normal about it, something that said we could have this all the time—maybe even forever—and I liked it a lot.
It was funny. For years, I’d never thought forever with another person could exist in my world. Yet there I was, envisioning her walking down the aisle in a premature daydream.
“Where did you learn to do this stuff?” she asked after another sip of coffee.
“What, dig in the dirt?”
She laughed. “No, I mean, gardening and … whatever it is you’re doing right now.”
“Well”—another grunt with another jab—“my grandfather had a huge garden that I helped him with. That’s where I learned most of what I know”—jab, push, till—“and that continued while I was at Wayward.”
“You gardened at Wayward?”
I nodded as I gritted my teeth for another stab of the blades through the dirt. “I did a lot of stuff there. Learned a lot. Most productive time of my life, to be honest. I probably wouldn’t know how to survive right now if it wasn’t for that place.”
Ray softly bobbed her head, humming contemplatively. I didn’t need to ask what she was thinking—I already knew.
How could a guy speak so fondly of prison?
How could I stoop so low to make out with him on a nearly nightly basis, knowing he’s an ex-con?
“Anyway”—she cleared her throat—“I have laundry to do, but I’ll let Noah know you asked for him to come outside and play.”
I chuckled heartily, trying not to think too much about her abrupt change in subject. “Let me know if you need help with the laundry. I have a lot of experience with doing that too.”
She smiled, looking up to my eyes fondly before stepping toward me and tipping her head back.
I bent to kiss her softly, barely brushing my lips against hers, as I thought, This is nice. I could get used to it. I just hope I get to keep it for a while.
***
“We should go on a date,” she announced during her weekly shopping trip.
Noah wasn’t with her today. I wondered if he was with her mom and was going to ask when she abruptly made a suggestion I hadn’t expected but probably should’ve. I mean, that was what people who liked each other did, right? They went on dates. They made things official. They had dinner together and watched movies and … other normal coupley things that I had never done before in my life.
“A date?” I asked, looking up from my sweeping and promptly smacking my head on the damn Produce sign.
Howard chuckled beneath his breath before wincing apologetically. “I’ll move it, I promise.”
He walked away, his laughter following him as he went, as I muttered, “He’s full of shit. He’s been saying he’ll move that fuckin’ thing for months.”
“Yeah, a date,” Ray replied while watching me rub my hand against the back of my head.
“Like”—my forehead crumpled with the thought—“what kind of date?”
I wished I didn’t seem so stupid. And I hated that she knew it, too, as she laughed lightly at my expense and playfully rolled her eyes.
“You know, like, a normal date. Dinner, maybe go for a walk or go to the movies or something …” She folded her arms against the handle of her shopping cart and shrugged like it all should’ve been obvious. “A normal date.”
“I’ve never been on a date,” I admitted point-blank, then quickly wondered what she would think of me, now knowing that at thirty-one, I hadn’t done something most people did in their teens.