Page 49 of That Reunited Feeling

But maybe Mags did me a favor. I want this to be perfect. To be everything Hannah could ever want it to be. And that means not rushing it, like I was absolutely on the verge of doing.

Turning to face her, I put my hand on her knee. “Look, I have to leave for New York in an hour or so. I’m going to stay with Walker for a couple nights. Tomorrow evening we’re getting together with the rest of the guys. But when I get back on Tuesday, can I take you out?”

She picks up the strand of hair that always falls across my face and twirls it in her fingers. My stomach flutters with relief—and also at how sexy it is to have Hannah twirling my hair.

Her perfect lips turn up at the corners as a flirtatious glint forms in her sparkling eyes. “You mean, like adate?”

I drag my hand up her thigh. “Exactly like a date.”

“What would we do?” she asks.

“Leave it to me.” I plant a soft kiss on her forehead and inhale her one more time.

She chuckles softly. “And end up going for dinner at a restaurant that isn’t built yet? Or show up in the wrong town?”

I pull back and give her a playful slap on the thigh. “I’ll do a good job. Just you wait and see.”

“Okay,” she says, running her fingers along my stubbled jawline. “In the meantime, I’d better go apologize to Dylan.” She flicks her eyes to the shelves above us. “After I’ve alphabetized these books.”

“And after I’ve done this.” I press my lips against hers.

It’s impossible to resist going deeper, rediscovering everything old and new all at once. As I scoop my arm around her waist and draw her closer, she wraps her legs around me and holds on to me as tight as I hold onto her.

Bridge Person?

Yeah. That could work.

14

HANNAH

“H

ow’s the homework going?”

Dylan squirms as I rub his head. “Get off, Mom.”

“Spoilsport.” My body is still all abuzz from Tom as I sit opposite my son at the table for two in our little kitchenette.

“Why are you suddenly so happy?” Dylan asks, putting down his protractor and pencil.

Shit, he’s right. I’m grinning.

I have to get what Tom’s mouth and hands were just doing to me out of my head and flip the switch to being Mom again.

“Look, I’m sorry about the guitar thing.” I ignore his question and take his hand. Thankfully he doesn’t writhe away this time. “I love you. And I worry about you. That’s all.”

“He was only teaching me how to play a C chord. There was no need to freak out.”

“I was just a bit concerned, but let me tell you why.” Dylan’s old enough for me to be honest with him. And it’s best that he understands why I worry and doesn’t just see it as an irrationaloverreaction. “Tom’s only here for a couple months. He lives in London.”

“I know. That’s why he has a funny accent.”

“Yeah, it is kind of funny now.” And hot. That semi-British thing is incredibly fucking sexy. “Anyway, if you get attached to him, you’ll just be upset when he leaves. And I don’t want you to be upset.”

“If I know he’s leaving, I won’t be upset, will I?” Dylan says, like he wonders how I manage to tie my own shoes if I can’t understand a concept as simple as that one.

And I mean, who am I to talk? It’s the exact basis on which I’ve just made the Bridge Person arrangement with Tom.

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