Page 12 of Fire

“Are you going to watch Nemo with me?”

“Nemo?” I ask, glancing up at Grace.

“It’s Asher’s favorite movie,” she explains.

“Oh,” I answer. “I’d love to watch your movie with you and your momma, if that’s okay?”

“Sure!” he exclaims, so excited there’s a blush to his cute, chubby little cheeks. He shocks me by taking my hand. “C’mon! It’s starting.”

I stand up, looking at Grace. I get my second surprise of the night when I find her smiling.

“Looks like I’m watching Nemo,” I tell her.

“I guess you are,” she responds. I don’t know why that makes her so happy, but damn, I want to see this exact look on her face all the time. She steps back, letting me get inside, which is good since Asher still has a death grip on my hand. The change in her is startling. This woman’s ex has to be the biggest dumbass on the face of the earth. I’m glad he’s out of the picture. He was too stupid to realize what he had. His loss will become my gain, though.

I won’t rest until Grace is mine.

9

GRACE

I know this is a terrible idea. I have to be insane. Even knowing that, I can’t bring myself to close the door on him. I wish I understood this need I seem to have to be around Ford. I don’t. There’s just something inside of me that longs to be close to him when I see him. I’m going to have to figure out a way to stop it. I came close tonight to insisting he leave. Then Asher came looking for me and watching this sexy—but freaking huge—biker get down to eye level with my son and be so gentle with him made me melt.

I put the pizza on the coffee table, watching as my pint-sized dynamo, five-year-old son leads Ford to the sofa and it makes me want to giggle. “You sit here, Ford,” he orders. I see Ford’s lips twitch, but he does it without complaint. Once he sits down, my son—who is normally very shy around other men—jumps up and sits right beside Ford.

“Do you like fishes?” Asher asks.

“Fish?” Ford asks.

“Yeah! Like Nemo. He’s my favorite. He’s cooler than Oscar from the other movie,” Asher says, sounding very adult as hegoes over his two favorite movies, Finding Nemo and Shark Tales. Really, anything to do with fish my son loves.

“I like Nemo best, too,” Ford answers, making my son ecstatic. I know he’s lying through his teeth. He has no idea who Oscar or Nemo are. For some reason, the fact that he’s being so nice to my son puts me more at ease. If it were anyone else, I’d accuse them of using my son to get close to me. I don’t think that’s true here. Since my son took Ford’s hand, Ford has been focusing solely on him. He’s not looking at me to try to see how I’m reacting. He’s not worried about impressing me, and some of the tension I felt about tonight leaves.

“I’ll go get us some drinks. Is soda okay? That, juice, or water is about all I have. I don’t really drink, so I don’t keep beer or anything here,” I explain, interrupting my son cheering for joy because Ford likes the same movie.

“Soda’s fine,” he assures me.

“I want strawberry milk, Mommy.”

“Like I didn’t know that,” I laugh. “You’re going to turn into a strawberry if you keep it up.”

“Nu uh,” Asher denies.

“Whatever, little man,” I laugh, ruffling his hair.

“Mom!” he whines, and I hide my grin.

“Strawberry milk,” I murmur, walking toward the kitchen. As I get to the open archway that leads to the kitchen, I can’t help looking back. Ford isn’t looking at me at all. He’s giving my son his complete attention. Asher’s face is alight with happiness. My heart squeezes in my chest. I’m torn between thanking Ford for easily giving him attention and demanding he leave so that Asher can’t be hurt when Ford finally gives up.

My brain feels like fried mush. This wasn’t something I ever thought I’d have to face again. Having feelings for a man has never brought me anything but pain. I never loved Benny, but he was good to me before we married. I knew I was justlooking for someone—anyone—to care after Andrew ghosted me. Still, I wanted to make my marriage work. The complete hell that happened after that completely broke me. Because of everything, I’m not sure I’m in the frame of mind to even date.

Heck, to be honest, I can’t figure out why Ford seems to be pushing things. He’s hot. There’s no other way to say that. He could have his pick of any woman—from any age. I’ve seen how all the younger women in the diner look at him when he walks in. There’s no way he should even look twice at me. I’m thirty now. My body is definitely not young, energetic, and perky anymore. Most nights, it’s all I can do to crawl into bed. I realize thirty isn’t old, but when you’ve lived the hell I have, it’s not young either. I have a kid who will always come first—no matter what. I don’t have a career. I’m barely making ends meet. Plus, I have credit card debt out the ass.

I shake my head. I’m worrying about crap that I shouldn’t. If anything, by the time tonight is through, Ford will see that I’m not the kind of woman he’s looking for—or even used to. I walk over to the pantry, and down on the bottom shelf beside my crock-pot is the rolled blue blanket that Andrew bought me when we first started dating. We did a lot of picnic dates. I loved them. I’m not exactly the fancy restaurant kind of girl. Andrew understood that about me—or at least I thought he did. Then again, the man I thought he was would have never just cut me out of his life without a word. I think maybe I fooled myself the entire time we dated that it was more serious than it was. How many times did my grandmother tell me men will say and do anything to get into your pants?

I should have freaking listened.

I can’t explain why I kept the blanket. Benny hated the thing. Benny was never the picnic type. He was a snake that enjoyed crawling around in the grass, though. I think I mostly held onto the silly thing as proof to never trust a man again. I grab theblanket from the shelf and then the paper plates. I walk into the living room and Ford and Asher are still on the sofa, but this time Asher is in Ford’s lap. It takes effort not to let my jaw drop to the floor. My son is never this free with anyone. I am having trouble processing the fact that he crawled into a man’s lap—especially one that he had never met before tonight.

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