Page 45 of Kiss Me Tonight

It takes only a second for my surroundings to register. Urinals line one wall, and two stalls grace the other. The walls are painted a muted gray, the floors are a dull black tile, and there’s a guy tucking himself into his pants as he ambles over to the row of sinks.

Oh, God.

No more games. Time to go.

I attempt to sidestep Dominic, but he thwarts me off and I end up nose-to-nose with a full-body mirror.

Oh.God.

I’m not incompetent when it comes to makeup. I know all about proper blending and which setting sprays to use to lock the powders all in, but knowing any of that doesn’t take into account the fact that I decided to get ready at the new vanity I purchased. The lights in my bedroom aren’t nearly as illuminating as those in the bathroom, but I hadn’t thought anything of it. I put on some fun music, wearing nothing but a bra and underwear, and dolled myself up. Doing so made me feel like a pampered princess, and after years of feeling undesirable by my own husband, I wanted the chance to get ready in style.

And I had—only, I’d unknowingly applied my bronzer with a heavy hand. The woman staring back at me from the mirror looks like a Kardashian sister, circa the 2000s.

“I’m a raccoon,” I breathe out, staring at my reflection and wishing it was as easy to erase as mist on glass after a steamy shower. “A drunk raccoon that’s done Spring Break in Miami, Mardi Gras in New Orleans, and St. Patrick’s Day in Boston.”

“I’m surprised the raccoon is still alive after all that partying.”

Dominic’s big body brushes past me. I barely register him.

I’m not sure what to do first: wet a paper towel and do my best to scrub off the atrocity on my face or deliberate the probability of a scientist discovering a time-travel machine soon enough that I can restart this entire night.

As though the universe is peering down at me and asking,What? You aren’t having fun yet?It’s at that moment when the guy at the sink notices there’s a woman in the house. The mirror gives me the full, HD experience of watching his face pale as his hands dart to his crotch, fingers fumbling with the zipper. Once satisfied that he’s all put away, he scurries past us, mutters something beneath his breath, and lets the door slam shut behind him.

Only the sound of the door clanging closed joggles my brain enough to register his parting words:“Good to have you back in town, Levi.”

I drop my head on the mirror, ignoring the sting of my forehead meeting glass. “Please tell me he’s not one of the team dads.”

Dominic’s footfalls cue me into the fact that he’s moving around. There’s the soft electronic whir of the paper-towel machine, then water splashing from a faucet. Then more of those heavy footfalls coming closer and closer until a hand is nudging mine.

“He’s one of the team dads.”

Unwanted laughter unfurls in my chest before making a break for it. “You’re supposed to make me feel better.”

“I’m going to, once you stop feeling sorry for yourself.”

I snort, but begrudgingly roll my body so my back is flush with the mirror and my arms are down by my sides. “Good to know that pep talks are not your forte. You’re hereafter banned from giving them. The kids will thank me.”

“They gonna thank you for lying about that calendar too?”

Guilt slays me, even though the calendar was certainly not my idea. Opening my mouth, prepared to give it to him straight, I’m struck silent when big hands come into view. The one carrying a damp paper towel presses softly to my forehead while the other makes itself at home at the back of my skull, keeping me in place for his ministrations.

My heart, already on the fritz after a night of stress and embarrassment, loops into a fast rhythm. “What are you doing?” I whisper, almost fearful to speak too loudly and destroy whateverthisis.

Not that there is athis.

Dominic’s expression doesn’t show a hint of softness as he works diligently. “Cleaning you up.”

The paper towel drags down over my profile, skimming my hairline where the worst of the bronzer mishap is. “It’s makeup. Water . . . water alone won’t remove it.”

“I added soap.”

Three words that somehow gut me where I stand. He keeps the distance between us, our chests not even coming remotely close to touching. Neither do our feet. And yet, it feels as though we’re tethered together as one anyhow. I breathe in and he expels the breath for me, ruffling my baby hairs that never take to my natural curl. His fingers graze my skin, and mine twitch of their own volition.

His touch remains gentle but his eyes . . .

Cynicism stares back at me, so much so that I can’t help but wonder how he remains standing from the weight of it. Even after my divorce, I’ve retained a certain level of hope. Inner peace. Perhaps it’s the mom in me—as lost as I’ve felt over the years, I’ve always had Topher as my due north. Letting my baby boy see my turmoil has never, ever been an option. No matter how bad things got with Rick.

“You’re mad at me.”

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