Chapter 11

CHAPTER ELEVEN

JACE

That’s my cue to get the fuck out before I do something I’ll regret. I need to find a way to excuse myself, only Aidan wants me to stay for hot cocoa.

I drop my gaze to the stack of throws, telling myself to think about something else. Like cleaning out Bingo’s litter box.

“I can’t figure out what to do with those,” Mary says, noticing where my gaze has shifted. She walks over and squats next to the pile, straightening up a nonexistent mess. “Aidan likes having them here, but I don’t like leaving them draped over the back of the sofa.” She stands and shrugs, looking embarrassed again. “I know. First-world problems.”

So, she’s a neat freak, not that I’m surprised.

I hear the bathroom door open, and Aidan walks into the room. “Can we have our hot chocolate out here, Mom?”

Mary glances from her son to me, then back to her son. “Why don’t we sit at the table in the kitchen? It will be more comfortable there.”

“But I want Jace to see our tree,” he says.

“I saw it while we were playing our game,” I say. “And I think drinking our hot chocolate in the kitchen is a great idea. Then I can see a different part of your house.”

“You can see my room too,” he says, then turns and walks back down the hall. “Come on, Jace.”

“You don’t have to follow him,” Mary says, apologetically.

“I don’t mind.” I smile to reassure her, then trail after him. Mary tags along after me.

But we don’t find Aidan in his room. He’s standing inside the bathroom. “This is the bathroom. It doesn’t stink, because I didn’t poop.”

The room has pale cream walls, a dinosaur shower curtain, and a beige tile floor. Crisp white towels hang from the towel rod. I give the air a good sniff. “You’re right. No stink.”

Aidan gives me a look that suggests he thinks I’m crazy for trying to sniff poop. Then he reaches behind the shower curtain and pulls out a bottle. “This is my new shampoo. Mom got it after we moved to Asheville.”

He peers at the bottle as though he’s offended, although I suspect his grudge has more to do with the move than the hair product.

“I heard it’s good to change your shampoo every year or so,” I volunteer. “It’s better for your hair.”

His sour expression softens.

“I bet you could find something good to say about it,” I say. “Actually, let’s go big. Tell me three good things about your new shampoo.”

He hesitates. “It’s the kind that doesn’t hurt your eyes.”

“That’s important. Tell me two more.”

“It smells good.” He pauses, twisting up his mouth in thought. “And it makes lots of bubbles.”

“There you go,” I say. “The change wasn’t so bad.”

He puts the bottle back without comment, then walks past me, heading down the hall a few feet and into a bedroom.

I follow, not surprised to see the beige walls are covered with posters of dinosaurs.

“This wall is just for dinosaurs with armored bodies,” he says, pointing to the wall featuring posters of a variety of dinosaurs with scales and plates. Of course, the majority are devoted to ankylosauruses.

“The ankylosaurus had a beak. See?” he says, pointing to one of the posters. “Did you know that dinosaurs are related to birds?”

“I’d actually heard that,” I say with a smile as I turn to take in his room. He has a full-sized bed covered with a navy quilt. His pillowcases are covered in dinosaurs, and an enormous stuffed ankylosaurus has pride of placement next to his pillows. “Your dinosaur display is very impressive.”

He walks over to the dresser and opens a drawer, pulling out several pairs of underwear. “These are my underwear with dinosaurs. I have more, but Mom does laundry on Sundays, so a lot of them are dirty.”

“I do laundry on Sundays too.”

“I want more dinosaur underwear, but Mom says I’m getting ready to grow soon, so I have to wait until I grow a size.”

“That sounds very practical.” Very Mary.

“I have some dinosaur shirts, but most of them are dirty too.” He puts the underwear back, then opens another drawer and pulls out a shirt with a cartoon T. rex looking up. It says, Look out for asteroids . “I have this one from Aunt Maisie, but it’s a cartoon. Mikey says cartoons are for babies.”

Mikey again, huh? That kid’s definitely on the naughty list.

“Aidan,” Mary says sternly behind me.

“I think cartoons are pretty cool,” I say. “You know, plenty of adults watch cartoons.”

“And so do you,” Mary reminds him. “ Dinosaur Train is a cartoon.”

He shrugs and stuffs the shirt into the drawer.

“I guess it’s okay,” he says. “I do have a lot of dinosaur stuff, but I don’t have any models. The boxes say they’re for ages eight and up.”

“That’s only two more years,” I say.

“But I heard Mikey say he makes dinosaur models with his dad.” His forehead wrinkles with a frown. “He puts them on his dresser.” His gaze slides to the top of his dresser, which is bare except for an ankylosaurus-shaped piggy bank and a matching lamp. “Do you think my dad will help me make a dinosaur model when he comes to see me?”

The hope on his little face hits me deep. I wish I could hunt Glenn down and beat the shit out of him for abandoning his kid.

“Maybe we could make a dinosaur model,” I offer, then glance back at Mary, who is standing in the doorway. “If that’s okay with your mother.” She’s invited me to her house, let me play a game with her son mostly unsupervised (although I know she had to be listening from the other room), and is letting me check out his room. Surely this means she’s changed her mind about me spending time with him.

Her eyes widen slightly. “Uh…yeah. That would be great.”

“Great,” I say, holding her gaze.

“Great,” she says, not looking away.

“You guys said great three times.” Aidan walks past me and slips through the crack between his mother and the doorframe. “That’s too many.”

I grin at Mary. “Noted.”

“Come on, Jace,” Aidan says impatiently.

Mary cringes and starts to say something that I assume will be some sort of apology, but then her head jerks over her shoulder. “Where are you going, Aidan?”

“To your room.”

Her room. The thought of seeing where Mary sleeps heats up my blood.

“ Coming ,” I call out, and God help me, I hold her gaze as I say it, knowing full well that she’ll remember our conversation only minutes ago.

Her eyes widen in a panicked look.

“Come on, Mary,” I say, my voice low and deep. “Aidan’s giving me the tour.”

She backs up, and I walk past her into the hallway and through the open doorway at the end.

Aidan is standing next to his mother’s bed with his hands by his sides. “This Mom’s room.”

I stand just inside the threshold and take in the beige walls, the dark wood king-sized headboard, the plain beige comforter and pillows. There’s no artwork on the walls, and only a photo of Aidan on her nightstand next to a thick book and a large bottle of moisturizer with a pump. The room completely lacks personality and warmth.

“Okay,” Mary says behind me, her voice tight. “That’s the tour.”

As if his mom hadn’t spoken, Aidan walks over to the dresser and opens a drawer.

“Aidan,” Mary calls out in a panic.

He pulls out a pair of beige granny panties and holds them up. “Mom doesn’t have dinosaurs on her underwear. See?”

“Oh, dear God,” Mary murmurs, holding her fingers up to her lips.

“I don’t have dinosaurs on mine either,” I say, trying hard not to burst out laughing.

“But she does have some with flowers.” He pulls out a pair with magenta roses. These aren’t quite granny panties, but they were designed to cover quite a bit of skin.

“That’s enough, Aidan,” Mary pleads, trying to push past me, but I spread my feet apart and stand firm.

Aidan riffles through the drawer and pulls out a pair of Spanx, which he holds up in front of him. The high-waisted underwear with a few inches of fabric for her legs covers most of his body. “Mom wears these when she goes out to a party. But she hasn’t worn them for a long time.”

“No parties to go to?”

“Nope,” he says, putting them back and pulling out another pair, this time bikini-like panties. “She has cartoons on this pair.” They’re pale pink and covered with images of Hello Kitty.

“See?” I say in a lighthearted tone. “Cartoons aren’t just for babies.”

Aidan looks them over, shrugs, then puts them back in the drawer.

“Okay,” Mary says, still trying to get past me. “That’s enough.”

Aidan closes the drawer, only to immediately open another. “She has this cartoon shirt too.”

He pulls out a black tank top with a large eggplant emoji.

To be honest, I’m shocked. This doesn’t seem like Mary on so many levels.

She shoves me to the side and slips past me, snatching the shirt from her son. “That was a joke gift from Aunt Molly. How did you even know it was in my drawer?”

“I saw it when I put the laundry in the basket.”

This portion of the tour is apparently complete, because Aidan heads into her attached bathroom.

I start to follow but pause next to Mary. She’s gripping the shirt so tightly, it looks like she’s about to rip it in two.

“You look good clutching an eggplant,” I tease, gesturing to the shirt in her hand.

Her gaze drops, and she realizes her right hand is squeezing the middle of the image. Panicking, she shoves it back into the drawer. “Molly gave it to me.”

“So you said.”

“I would have thrown it away, but I know she’ll look for it.”

“Methinks the lady doth protest too much,” I say with a grin. “Maybe you want to keep it, Mary.”

Her face is scarlet, and I turn and head into the bathroom to give her a moment.

It’s pristine, of course, with a plain white rug in front of the sink. Nothing on the walls. Fluffy white towels.

Aidan is holding up a bottle of what looks like shampoo. “Mom didn’t change her shampoo when we moved. But it makes her smell good.”

Leaning in, I read the label on the bottle, taking note. I’m a little baffled to find myself doing it, but I love the way she smells, and I guess I’d like to confirm the source.

He puts it back in the shower and picks up a razor. “Mom uses this to shave her legs and her armpits. But Aunt Molly once asked if she used it to shave her mustache.” He makes a face. “Women don’t have mustaches.”

“Some do,” I say. “But you should put that back. It has a sharp blade that might cut you.”

“We should go drink that hot chocolate now,” Mary says from the doorway, sounding like she’s choking.

“Okay.” Aidan puts the pink-handled razor back, then rushes for the door, slipping past Mary.

“I don’t shave my mustache,” she grumbles, unable to look at me. “That was a stupid joke.”

“I never thought you did, but if you did…” I grin. “There’s no shame in that either.”

She gapes at me like I’ve grown another head.

Closing the gap between us, I stop within arm’s reach of her. “I see parts of Aidan all over his room and bathroom, but where are you in your room, Mary?”

Her eyes flash with surprise, and if I’m honest, I’m surprised too.

“I have a photo of Aidan.”

Aidan is her world, but there’s more to her than that.

If only she could see it.

“Come on, Jace,” Aidan calls out, his voice muffled. “Mom put out a snack too!”

Mary is still blocking the doorway. I gently grab her shoulders and nudge her sideways, then turn sideways myself and start to slip past her through the doorway. Our backs are to the doorjambs, with barely an inch between us. The air feels electrified, and the hairs on my arms stand on end.

I stare down at her shocked face, and I know she feels this attraction too. She admitted as much at Tea of Fortune. I’m used to women being attracted to me, but there’s something about Mary’s interest that makes my blood run hot. She’s sexy as hell, and the thought that she wants me too only makes me want her more.

Her breath catches, and I let my hand drift from her shoulder to slowly slide up the side of her neck. I want to see if it’s as soft as it looks. My callused fingertips brush along her silky skin.

She shivers.

I wait for her to push my hand away, to tell me to go to hell, but instead she stares up at me with parted lips and slightly hooded eyes.

Jesus. I need to take my hands off her. I need to walk away, because the need to kiss her is rising and growing more potent. And now that the thought has popped into my head, it’s like there’s a magnetic pull from my lips to hers. I lean over her slightly, and she tilts her head up to look at me.

She wants me to kiss her, and I want it too, but something stops me. Namely, the little boy in the hall calling out my name.

“Jace. The hot chocolate’s going to get cold.”

Mary is still watching me like she’s in a trance, but I reluctantly drop my hands to my sides and say, “The hot chocolate’s getting cold.”

She blinks, and her cheeks flame again. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone flush so much in such a short period of time, and while I think it’s adorable on her, the look of shame in her eyes is painful to behold.

“Mary.”

She averts her gaze and forces a smile. “The hot chocolate’s getting cold,” she echoes, then backs up a few steps into her bedroom.

I can’t stand the fact that she thinks I’ve rejected her. That she doesn’t realize what she does to me. How can I even think with Mary looking so downtrodden? So I don’t. I simply feel, and do, and the words just come flying out of my mouth.

“You should get a pair of sexy underwear, Mary.”

She blinks up at me. “What?”

I should shut the fuck up, but I can’t seem to help myself. “With your creamy skin, you’d look sexy as sin in something black. Maybe lace.” My gaze drops to her chest, then back up to her face. “You’re a beautiful, sexy woman, Mary O’Shea. Glenn is a fucking asshole for ever letting you think otherwise.”

Then, before I can do something I’ll regret, like push her up against the wall and consume her like she’s a lavish meal after a three-day fast, I head to the kitchen, looking for our six-year-old chaperone.