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“Because,” I stood up, trying not to laugh with her. “I thought after whatever Rory had said to put that scowl on your face, you would take what Theo said just as badly. He meant no harm, but the whole phrase could be taken the wrong way if not explained.”

“I get it,” she laughed again. “I get it.”

“Good,” I sighed in relief. “And I also want to know what Rory said to you in the garage.”

“Oh she didn’t say anything that I’m sure she hasn’t said before. Her words didn’t bother me, but her assumption of me sure did.”

“I’ll talk to her,” I promised, my hands on my hips as I looked down at where she remained sitting on my bed.

“Don’t bother,” she stood up, the top of her head coming just below my chin. She placed a hand on my shoulder and spoke softly. “Whatever she said doesn’t matter.”

“It does to me. Especially if it upsets you.”

“I don’t need a hero, Easton. I just wanted to give this experience to Max.” Her hand fell from my body and she squatted down to help Max out of my jacket. He hadn’t gone back to coloring after Jesse’s laughter had subsided. He had started paying attention to every word we said, and I knew our time was up, even without me asking my questions.

Quietly, I escorted Jesse and Max back to their car. Max was still beaming with excitement, but I could tell his energy was waning. Jesse was determined to get him home for a nap, but I just couldn’t seem to let her go without trying one more time.

“How about–?”

“No.” Her tone was soft, almost sad, as if she didn’t like her response any more than I had. “I was never married. Max’s dad left the second I told him I was pregnant. He comes around a few times a year to try and winmeback, but he acts like Max doesn’t exist. So we moved from Atlanta for a fresh start. My parents have passed away. No siblings. No aunts and uncles or cousins. Just Max and me, and being a single mom is hard. Extremely hard. I moved here to make things easier, and if I keep hanging around with, ‘the kinda guy that breaks the heart of every woman he walks past,’ then it'll only be that much harder.”

Chapter Eleven

SUNDAY DINNER

EASTON

“She even used air quotes,”I moaned, laying my head down on the table in the kitchen while I spilled my guts to my grandparents. “Rory probably told her that’s who I was, and she believed her because why wouldn’t she?”

“Did you talk to Rory?”

“No, she left the station before Jesse and I haven’t seen her since.”

“Why did you let Jesse leave without explaining things?” Grams shook her head as she stirred dinner on the stove. I had gotten there early, wanting to get some advice from my Gramps, but his nose was behind the Sunday paper across the table from me and had only offered small huffs and grunts as I told them about Jesse and Max.

“I had to,” I lifted my head and raised my arms in the air in defense. “She knowingly answered every question I had before I could ask it and then politely put me in my place. She wasn’t wrong, Grams. I have a history of…well…” How did I find the right way to tell Grams that I was basically one big walking onenight stand? “I just don’t get attached, and she’s right, it's not fair to make things harder on her just because I feel the need to know everything about her. And it'snotbecause I saw her naked.”

“Who did you see naked?” West asked, coming in from the kitchen door at precisely the wrong time.

“The woman who lives in your house.”

“Please don’t bother my tenant,” he groaned, as if he actually cared. He started loosening his tie and taking off his jacket. Unlike Miles and me, West was always in a suit. It was hisuniform, and also unlike Miles and me being on and off duty, West was always ready to work.

Even on a Sunday.

“I didn’t hear your helicopter, Rich Boy. Did you actually drive here?”

“Yeah,” West sighed, “I needed the time alone. It's been one hell of a week.”

“Let’s talk aboutyourproblems then,” I suggested.

“Let’s not. Is Miles coming today, or is he on duty? Maybe he has some problems we can talk about.”

“Nope and nope,” Miles popped in, just like West had. “I’m not on duty and I have no problems to talk about.”

“Good,” Gramps grumbled, finally acknowledging my presence with more than a grunt. “I need you three to grab those buckets of butter beans from the porch and start shelling until dinner’s ready.”

We never had to be told twice to do something. If Gramps and Grams needed it done, we did it, and without complaint. So for the next hour, the three of us shelled enough beans to last them a whole winter while talking about the daily grind of our jobs. Except for West, he just shrugged and said work was work since we insisted the daily ins and outs of his job bored us.

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