Page 49 of Every Beat of My Heart

“You know he needs to do it soon, or it will be an issue going forward.”

Claire grimaced. “I know.”

“We can start with the grill tonight. It’s different enough that it might not trigger him. He’ll gain some confidence. Then you can try the stove at home. When you’re there, of course.”

Claire shuddered. “I don’t think I could handle him cooking without me present. At least not until he’s older. I think I lost several years of my life that day.”

“You have to push him, or he’ll never cook again. You don’t want him to be traumatized forever,” I said gently.

Claire scowled. “Of course I don’t want that. Sometimes being a parent is hard. You want to protect them, but you have to push them out of their comfort zone, and mine.”

“If you want, I can be there the first few times you give it a try.”

Her expression relaxed. “It would make me feel better if I had my own firefighter in the kitchen with us.”

“I aim to please,” I said, giving her a winning smile.

Her eyes darkened, and she mumbled, “I bet you do.”

But before I could ask her what she meant by that comment, she opened the front door and slipped inside. I hadn’t meant the comment as a double entendre, but had she taken it as one?

Feeling energized and filled with more hope than I cared to admit to, I opened the door and followed her inside. Had I misread Claire? Did she see me as more than her son’s mentor and football coach?

My heart fluttered as I approached her where she stood in the kitchen, staring out the slider where Owen was with my dad and Teddy.

“He’s in good hands.”

“I know he is. It’s hard to let go sometimes.”

“I’ve seen my sister struggle with it too. Especially when Cole and she tried to share their lives. She’d done it all with Izzy for so long; I think it was hard for her to let Cole help.”

“I was with Eric for the first eleven years of his life, but he didn’t help with Owen. He wasn’t there for breakfast or bedtime or his activities.”

“That sucks.”

“He wasn’t a bad dad. He just wasn’t there.”

“At the end of your life, no one will remember how much time you spent at work. Your kids will remember whether you were present.” That’s what I remembered about my mom: her cooking for us in the kitchen, reading us a story at bedtime.

Claire turned, and that’s when I realized how close we’d been standing. Close enough I could reach out and touch her.

I rested my hand on her upper arm, wishing I could pull her against me. My breath hitched when she looked up at me with desire in her eyes.

The slider opened, and Claire startled. I stepped back.

It was Teddy with a platter full of hamburger meat. Thankfully, he hadn’t seen what we’d been doing. We’d been partially blocked by the curtain, and he was preoccupied with balancing the food.

“Come outside. It’s nice out. I threw on one of the heaters if you want to sit on the couch,” Teddy said to Claire.

“That sounds lovely.” Then she ducked out, leaving me alone with Teddy.

“The potatoes are taking longer,” Teddy said.

“They always do.”

Teddy held my gaze. “Owen’s a good kid.”

“A little gun-shy around fire. But that’s to be expected with what happened.”

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