Page 90 of Everlasting Promises

“I wouldn’t think so,” Hope tells him, brushing her hand over the top of his head. Her body sags with exhaustion—it’s been a long night—and I can’t begin to understand the worry she’s feeling about everything that happened here tonight.

Unconvinced, Evan looks up at me. “What do you think, Ben?”

I rest my hand on his shoulder. I don’t want to frighten them, but I need to be honest. “Sometimes they do. It depends why they broke in and what they were looking for.”

Hope’s shoulders stiffen, and a soft gasp punches from her lips.

“It depends on how determined they are to get whatever they were after in the first place—if they didn’t get it.” I shrug. “I think it would be a good idea if you guys stayed with me tonight. Just to be safe until we can get the security system installed tomorrow.”

Hope pulls Evan in close and nods her agreement before I finish speaking. “Okay.” She drops her eyes to her son. “That makes sense, if you don’t mind us invading your space.”

“You guys are always welcome.”

“Thanks, Ben. I’ll pack us an overnight bag. Won’t be long.” She disappears upstairs, leaving me and Evan alone.

Evan yawns. “Do you have enough beds at your house?”

I chuckle. “Yeah, buddy. You won’t have to sleep on the floor. Maybe Rex can sleep with you tonight?”

43

BEN

I almost swallowmy tongue when Hope pads into the kitchen wearing her sexy over-the-knee socks, my Foo Fighters T-shirt, and a long sweater draped over her slim shoulders.

Fuck!

As she climbs onto a stool at the island counter, I avert my gaze and clear my throat. “Feel better?”

“Much. Thank you.” From the corner of my eye, I see her lean forward on the counter. “I hope you don’t mind. I forgot to pack pajamas, so I borrowed one of your T-shirts.”

I glance at her, careful not to stare, but it’s damn hard not to when she’s wearing my favorite T-shirt. As she tugs her sweater around her body, it pulls down off one shoulder and I have to look away before I lose my self-control and kiss the naked expanse of skin. I clear my throat. “No problem. Anything I have is yours,” I tell her as I grab two glasses, then turn back for the bottle of wine.

Keeping my distance, I fill the glasses from the opposite side of the counter. Maybe if I keep a slab of granite and a bank ofcupboards between us, I’ll be able to keep my hands and mouth to myself.

She lifts the glass to her lips and takes a sip, closing her eyes when the fruity liquid hits her tongue. Slowly, she opens her eyes and tips her glass toward me. “This is just what I needed after tonight. Thank you.”

“No problem. We’ll have everything sorted tomorrow, and you guys will be back to normal.” Her expression shutters, so I rush to add, “But you guys are welcome to stay as long as you need until you feel safe going home.”

Her gorgeous sea-colored eyes lift back up to mine. “You’re already helping so much, and you don’t need us taking up your space more than necessary.”

“Don’t worry about it. I like having you guys here.” I’d have them move in with me if I thought she’d agree. She doesn’t look convinced, but there’s no way I’ll allow her to deal with this on her own. I know she’s fully capable, but she’s been doing it for too long already and it’s time she has someone she can lean on for support. And I plan on being that someone. “You wanna relax in the living room?”

“Sure.” She climbs from the stool, collects her glass, and leads the way to the living room. My eyes drop to the small sliver of exposed thigh, and I readjust my sweats, hoping she doesn’t notice what’s happening below the elastic band.

I grab the bottle of wine and follow behind. When I walk into the living room, she’s standing near the shelf looking at the photos of my friends and family. She picks one up and spins to face me, her perfectly shaped eyebrows halfway up her forehead.

I know exactly which photo she has as I place the bottle and my glass on the coffee table, then make my way toward her. She holds it up. Our gazes lock and hold and all the questions that want to tumble past her lips are plain to see.

“You’re married?” Her voice carries a little hurt.

I step closer, ensuring I hold her gaze. “Yes and no. Technically widowed.”

Her mouth drops open, and sadness fills her eyes. “This is Tahlia? You never said anything.”

“It’s a different situation from yours.” Looking at the photo, I trace my eyes over the young woman, dressed in white, standing by my side. “Tahlia had one dream in life. She wanted to be a bride. Even though she was a tomboy at heart, she wanted to wear white and walk down an aisle covered in pink rose petals. She wanted to carry a bouquet of pink roses and wear a veil.”

Hope’s hand flies up to her mouth and her eyes grow glassy.

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