Chapter 2

Jameson cleared his throat. "I love teaching."

I pushed the plate of spicy chicken and broccoli toward him. Then handed him a fork.

The brush of our fingers sent tingles through my hand. To cover my reaction, I asked, "Why don't you teach full-time? We could always use more men at this level. They make such good role models, and there's so few of them."

Jameson shook his head. "I like being a firefighter. And this allows me to do both."

I nodded. "I can understand that."

As if he could smell the food, Owen appeared, taking one of the warm plates to the round table in front of the window, and shoved a spoonful into his mouth.

I placed my hands on my hips. "Where are your manners? Please wait until we're all seated."

Owen gave me a sheepish look. "Sorry. I was hungry."

Jameson sat across from Owen.

Owen raised a brow but waited with his fork in the air for everyone's butt to hit the chair before he dove in a second time.

Jameson chuckled. "I was the same way as a kid. I was always hungry."

I shook my head. "Manners are important even when you're a growing boy."

We ate in silence. I couldn't believe that Jameson was here, eating at my table. Other than a friend or two, we hadn't had any guests over. We usually visited my parents at their house. They said this one was too small for all of us to gather.

I appreciated that Jameson didn't ask Owen a lot of questions to get him to talk. That's what Eric did when he was around. It was usually awkward and didn"t endear him to Owen.

Owen ate quickly, then asked to be excused.

I gave him a look. "Put your plate away. Then finish your homework."

Owen hurried to comply. "I already did it. Can I play football with Logan?"

"You don't have a test to study for?"

"We don't have one until next week," Owen said eagerly, his feet already moving toward the front door.

"Okay then," I said, but he was already gone. The door opened and shut a few seconds later. "I'm fortunate that we live in a neighborhood where he has friends to play with. He's an active kid, and I can get some work done while he expends some energy."

"You gotta take your breaks when you can get them."

We finished eating and cleared our dishes. I stacked the containers of leftovers neatly inside the fridge. I lingered over the task, wishing I had a reason for Jameson to stick around, but I didn't have a reason, and Owen was gone.

"I should get going. You probably have work to do," Jameson said.

I wouldn't see him again unless I ran into him at school or around town. I opened the front door. "Thanks for stopping by. I tried to talk to Owen, but I think he's more likely to listen to someone like you."

"I'm not his mom, right?" Jameson joked.

He turned to face me. His biceps filled out the soft gray Henley he wore, and it clung to what appeared to be a toned stomach. I bet he had to be in shape to be a firefighter. "Definitely not."

I had no reason to see him again. Yet I was reluctant for him to leave.

There was something about him that had me intrigued. I hadn't been interested in dating since the divorce. I was busy with work and Owen, and I never wanted my son to feel like he came second to my social life. I felt guilty enough that I couldn't make things work with his dad.

His father and I had been partners, roommates at best, coming and going but never truly connecting anymore. When I suggested a separation, Eric hadn't even protested. It was like we'd fallen out of love, and neither one of us wanted to acknowledge it. I wondered if he would have been happy staying together, never changing anything about our relationship.

"If you need any more help with fire prevention, call the fire department. Anyone will be happy to help."

I had to remember that his was a professional courtesy. Jameson wasn't interested in me, no matter how good he looked standing on my porch. I wanted to run my hand over the scruff on his jaw and through the silky strands on his head. Then I remembered that Jameson was waiting for me to say something. "I appreciate the house call."

I almost winced. I already thanked him several times.

"Anytime," Jameson said, flashing a smile that made my knees wobbly.

I had a feeling that Jameson was used to getting that reaction from women. He was a little too charming for his own good. He didn't act any different around me. I wasn't special. I was just a single mother he was helping. There was no way he was attracted to me.

Jameson turned and headed toward a blue truck that said Pine Valley Farms on the side.

"You work at the tree farm too?" I asked.

Jameson paused on the sidewalk. "It's my family's farm. I help during the season. All my brothers do."

My eyes widened. "I didn't realize."

Just then, I saw Owen returning from his friend's house, throwing the ball in the air and catching it. When he reached us, he said, "Logan had homework to do."

"You want to throw the football around?" Jameson asked him.

Owen raised a brow. "You play?"

"Sure do."

Owen tossed him the ball, and Jameson said, "Go long."

Owen grinned, then took off a few feet. Jameson easily threw the ball to him, and Owen caught it, jumping up and yelling, "Touchdown," while they both laughed.

My heart squeezed at the easy way they lobbed the ball back and forth. I couldn't remember a time that Eric played ball with him. He wasn't into sports.

Jameson's lip curled up on one side, making my heart flip-flop. "You don't mind if we play, do you?"

"Of course not," I managed to say even though my mouth was dry.

Jameson paused, the ball in his hands. "You can go do whatever you have to do. I've got this." Then to Owen, he yelled, "Go long again. This time to the right. Remember to run, then turn and look for the pass."

Owen took off down the sidewalk, and Jameson released the ball, looking so much like those quarterbacks on TV. Owen leaped in the air, caught the ball, and cradled it against his chest.

"Good catch. You play for a team?" Jameson asked him.

Owen looked away. "I'm thinking about it."

"You should. You have a natural talent."

My heart squeezed as I turned to go inside. I wanted Owen to have this moment with a male figure. I couldn't throw the ball like that or be the man in his life. When I played catch with him, I only lasted a few passes because the sting of the ball hurt when I caught it.

Jameson didn't seem to have that problem. I couldn't believe a single man wanted to spend his spare time throwing a ball with a random kid. But it meant a lot to me.

Inside, I went into my office that faced the front yard and tried to focus on the papers in front of me. I'd asked the students to write a letter to a friend, explaining how they'd survived the sinking of the Titanic. But it was difficult to get engrossed in any of them. I kept hearing the thud of the ball, the occasional yell, or laughter. My heart filled with longing.

What would it be like if Owen had a father who was home in the evenings and played catch with him? Instead, Eric worked a lot and had no shared interests with his son. But he didn't try to connect with him either.

I kept hoping it would change as they got older, but the divide only grew bigger. Eric didn't like the idea of Owen playing sports. He wanted him to focus on academics, but I knew kids needed an outlet for all the energy inside them.

I finally focused on the letters and was able to grade all of them before the front door opened. Owen came inside, his cheeks red from the cold. "I'm going to take a shower."

"Yeah, okay," I said a little surprised. He never took a shower unless I asked him to a million times.

Jameson came inside and shut the door.

Owen paused at the base of the stairs. "Will you throw with me again?"

Jameson inclined his head toward me. "If it's okay with your mother."

"I'm sure Jameson has other things to do."

"Please, Mom," Owen whined.

"I really don't mind. I love playing. Besides, I'm going to be coaching football this season, and I need to figure out what skills I need to work on."

"If you're sure?" I asked him, hesitant to request anything of him.

Jameson grinned, and my body flushed with heat. "Absolutely."

"Thanks, Mom," Owen said as he threw the ball at Jameson who caught it easily. Then he turned and jogged up the stairs two at a time.

I resisted reminding him to use soap on his body and his hair because I didn't want to embarrass him in front of Jameson.

Then we were alone. Jameson leaned one shoulder against the door jam, cradling the ball in one hand. I couldn't help but notice how big his hands were around the ball. There was something about him standing in the doorway, taking up all the space in the room.

"You don't have to play with him. I know you're busy between the fire department and teaching."

Jameson's lips quirked. "Seriously, you're doing me a favor. I'm supposed to coach a team of middle schoolers this year, and I have no idea what I'm doing. I've never coached before."

"You played football when you were younger?"

Jameson nodded. "In high school. I was scouted to play football in college but didn't bother pursuing it."

"Why not?" I would have thought someone like Jameson would have jumped at the chance to play in college and then professionally, if it was a possibility.

"It felt like too much pressure. I just wanted to have fun in school," Jameson said it lightly, but I had a feeling it was a heavier decision for him. But we'd only just met, and I didn't feel right asking more questions.

"I really appreciate you throwing the ball with him. His father isn't into that sort of thing."

His brow furrowed. "Is he around?"

"Eric sees him on weekends when he's not working. They'll play video games together."

"It's good he has him."

I nodded as I stood and moved around the desk. "Just because things didn't work out between us doesn't mean he shouldn't have a good relationship with his father. They're just different."

"I always played with my brothers growing up. I can't imagine not having any siblings."

"That's why I'm grateful we live in a neighborhood. There's usually someone who can throw around with him. And if not, I'll step in. But I know he prefers to play with kids his own age or someone who can catch the ball without complaining how much it hurts."

"You should get gloves." Jameson moved toward me, lifting my hand between us. He placed the football in my palm. "When you catch the ball, give a little in your arms. Like you're catching a baby or an egg and you don't want it to break." He pushed my arms back a little to demonstrate, and my breath caught in my throat at his proximity.

"That will take away the sting?" I asked, very aware of his hand cradling mine, sending tingles through my body.

"Not entirely. But it helps. That's why I suggested the gloves. Most professionals wear them. Although theirs are sticky so it's easier to catch."

My eyes widened. "Wow. I had no idea."

I felt flush and a little overheated, like I was coming down with something. Except I didn't feel sick. Instead, I felt jittery.

There was something about him. He was quick to smile, and he was charming. But I sensed something deeper inside, something I didn't think he shared with many people. What other single man substitute taught in his spare time at a middle school because he enjoyed teaching kids? It was as intriguing as it was attractive.

Jameson finally took a step back. "Did you get your work done?"

I nodded. "I did. If you weren't here, I would have played with him and been up late grading, so thank you."

He flashed that easy-going smile, the one that never failed to make my knees go weak. "Anytime."

He was just being nice, but it warmed my chest anyway. I hoped we'd see him again. I hadn't been this intrigued by anyone since my divorce. There was a teacher last year that asked me out, and we went on a few dates, but I wasn't attracted to him. Not the way I was with Jameson.

Jameson inched toward the door. "I should head out. Let you get to bed."

I wasn't sure I'd go to sleep easily tonight. I'd be thinking about what it felt like to have Jameson touching me.

I followed him. "Thanks again for the instructions on the fire extinguisher and throwing the ball with Owen. I really appreciate it."

Jameson winked at me. "I had fun."

I flushed. I had to be careful with Jameson; he was so effortless with his charm. I wondered how many women fell for it, and whether it was just surface deep. The thing that intrigued me about him wasn't the easy-going attitude or the smiles; it was the hint at depth I saw every once in a while.

I wanted to get to know the real Jameson, the one underneath the charm and the smiles. But I wasn't sure anyone got to see that guy.

Jameson opened the door, and we stepped onto the porch. It was colder now. The wind had picked up, making the wind chimes hanging on my porch sound.

"Can I give you my number in case Owen wants to throw around?"

"That would be wonderful." I wasn't sure it was smart when I was the one who wanted Jameson to stop by, but I couldn't resist.

I unlocked my phone and handed it to him. He inputted his number, then handed it back to me. "I'll send a text to myself so I have it too."

I didn't think too hard about what it meant to exchange numbers. He said it was to play with Owen. Not to see me.

I enjoyed having Jameson around. He made me feel like I was ready to get back out there and date.

Jameson touched my shoulder briefly. "Have a good night."

"You too, Jameson."

I watched him get into his truck and pull away from the curb. What single man spent his free time helping homeowners with fire prevention, then stayed for dinner and to throw a ball with a kid? None that I'd ever met.

Despite the chill in the air, I sat on the rocking chair on the porch. I was resigned to most single men being recently divorced, which came with a whole host of issues: divorce proceedings, custody battles, and other drama from their ex.

I hadn't even thought about seeing someone who hadn't had kids before. I just assumed they wouldn't understand the demands of a single mother. But Jameson had mentioned that his sister had been.

He'd been so patient and kind with Owen. But I couldn't get too far ahead of myself. Jameson was here as part of his job, and he enjoyed kids. His being here had nothing to do with me. He'd asked for my number so he could see Owen, not me. I shouldn't read more into it than there was.

My body heated at the memory of his touch. I'd wanted to step closer, and feel his hard body pressed against mine. But I had no idea if he felt what I did.

Odds are that he could have any woman he wanted. He ran into people at his job and probably went out to bars with his brothers. A single guy wouldn't want anything to do with a mom and her middle-school-aged son.

I had to be practical. I'd believed in love and fairy tales before I'd married Eric. Then I realized the reality was a far cry from what I'd imagined of marriage. I was home with a fussy baby trying to take online classes and finish homework while Eric graduated then worked long hours at the office. It was nice that he was a few years older than me, graduated, and got a paying job. But it was long days with a child at home and even longer nights. I was alone.

Eric didn't do anything to hurt me; it was more of the inattention that did me in slowly over time. I felt alone, even when I was with a moms' group or started teaching. I'd come home to an empty house, and Eric would work past our bedtimes.

He didn't respond to my requests for more time. Just said that he was working hard to provide financially for us. He didn't seem to understand that we wanted more. We needed his time and attention. Not things.

Living by myself wasn't that much different than being with Eric. Except I truly was alone. Now my stupid heart was thinking about Jameson and what kind of father he'd be.

I had a feeling he'd be attentive. That he'd wake up with a crying baby and change diapers. It was a stupid fantasy because he hadn't given me any indication that he was interested in me.

Jameson was a handsome, charming guy, and he could have anyone he wanted. He wouldn't want to be tied down with a single mother and her kid.