Page 50 of Single Mom's Navy Seals
Ava hesitates, her pencil stilling on the page. Her cheeks flush, but after a beat, she turns the sketchpad toward me. My breath catches as I take in her drawing. Even unfinished, it’s breathtakingly realistic, capturing Eli perfectly. He lies on a half-shaded blanket, pencil in hand, smiling brightly. It’s incredibly detailed for a half-completed sketch, each stroke deliberate and precise.
“Ava, this is incredible,” I breathe, genuinely awed. “How long have you been an artist?”
She blushes deeper, fingers tracing along the edge of the paper.
“I’ve loved drawing since I was a kid,” she admits quietly. Her expression turns bittersweet. “After my mom passed, though, my father didn’t support it. He thought it was frivolous, a waste of time.”
I frown, anger tightening my chest. “That’s awful. You’re incredibly talented.”
She shrugs, a small smile tugging at her lips despite the sadness in her eyes. “I took classes secretly after we went into witness protection. Eventually, I started taking commissions online. It wasn’t much, but it helped pay bills and gave me a sense of purpose. Witness Protection stops supporting you financially after the first few months, so I had to come up with something.”
Her smile fades, eyes distant. “Not that it matters now. My business is completely falling apart since we’ve been on the run. I had several active clients, but after this, they’re gone. My business is completely tanked.”
“You’ll rebuild,” I say firmly, confidence clear in my voice. “Once this is over, you can finally claim your talent under your real name, too. People will line up for your art.”
She looks surprised by my conviction, cheeks still pink but her expression hopeful. Before she can respond, Eli comes racing back toward us, excitement lighting his small face.
“Mama, I gotta potty!”
“Okay, baby, do you need help?” Ava asks with a soft smile.
“Nope, I’m a big boy now. I don’t need any help!” With that, Eli takes off proudly, disappearing around the corner of the house.
The second he’s gone, the quiet settles again—thick, electric.
Ava exhales a little laugh, brushing a curl from her cheek. When our eyes meet, the warmth in her gaze lingers. There’s no one else here. No distractions. Just us, sitting on a sun-bleached blanket, the low buzz of cicadas in the background, and the pull between us stronger than it's ever been.
My heart hammers. I shift toward her, just enough that our knees bump. She doesn’t flinch.
“Ava...” I say quietly, the weight of everything I feel in her name.
She lifts her chin slightly, searching my face. “Yeah?”
I don’t answer with words. I reach up and gently tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear, letting my fingers trail down her jaw. Her skin is warm, flushed, and soft under my touch.
When I lean in, she meets me halfway.
The kiss starts slow, tentative. Testing. But it doesn’t stay that way.
She leans into me, her hand slipping around the back of my neck, pulling me closer. I deepen the kiss, savoring the small, desperate sound she makes in the back of her throat. I shift, bracing one arm behind her on the blanket, the other hand finding her waist and sliding up beneath her shirt, fingers skimming bare skin.
She’s already in my lap before I realize I pulled her there—her thighs cradling mine, chest pressed to my front, her breath hot against my cheek. Her hands explore me in return, dragging across the planes of my chest, under the hem of my shirt. When her palms flatten against my stomach, I curse softly, tilting my head to kiss her deeper, hungrier.
She gasps into my mouth as I nip her lower lip, then soothe it with my tongue. I feel her fingers curl tightly into the fabric of my shirt like she needs something to anchor her. My hand strokes her back, sliding along the slope of her spine until I reach the clasp of her bra, pausing.
She stiffens, just barely. I freeze with her, lifting my forehead to hers, both of us breathing hard.
“I won’t rush you,” I whisper, brushing my thumb along her side. “You tell me where the line is.”
Ava’s hands stay in my shirt, fingers splayed against my skin. “I don’t know where the line is anymore,” she murmurs, voice trembling slightly. “But I don’t want to stop yet.”
That’s all I need.
I kiss her again, slower this time. Deeper. Like we have all the time in the world. My hands explore cautiously—up her ribs, over her back, just beneath her bra line. I don’t unclasp it, but I let my fingers drift under the band, marveling at the heat of her skin, the way she arches into me.
She rolls her hips once against mine, and I groan, biting down on a curse. My hands tighten on her waist.
We’re both shaking a little now.
