Page 21 of Stolen for Keeps
“Um…” My mind drew a blank. “Just over a year. I think.”
“Oh geez! Mommy won’t be too happy that Daddy doesn’t know.”
I huffed. “Ah, no. He’s Elia’s son.”
“Oh, I see. On babysitting duty?”
“Something like that.”
My fingers brushed against another snag.
I winced. “Sorry. A strand of your hair is stuck too. Apologies in advance if this hurts.”
Even with her hands holding it up, the ends still tumbled down in waves.
Holy hell…
The things I imagined doing with that hair…yeah, there was no redemption for me.
“Do what you have to do,” she said.
Carefully, I freed the strand, unwinding it from the zipper’s tiny teeth. Every second dragged out, and the space between us felt way too tight.
Then, finally, the zipper gave way.
“There we go,” I said, stepping back so fast that you’d think she was armed.
“Thank you.” She stayed still, her back to me, the dress loosening down her waist.
I spun on my heel. Fast.
“Nice to meet you,” I said, clumsy as hell, as I strode toward the exit. “Congratulations, by the way.”
She laughed loudly.
What was so funny?
“It’s not my goddamn wedding. Thank God!” she said, still laughing.
I exhaled.
So she wasn’t the bride.
It didn’t make a difference to my nerves. If anything, this was worse. A real test of self-control. A man had thoughts. Standing here, staring at temptation in real time? Well. God help me.
I barely made it to the tent flap before I threw out a warning: “Be careful. There’s a box of broken plates near the entrance. I’ll come back for it when you’re done.”
She let out a laugh. “Sure.”
I pushed through the flap, stepping into the cool air and dragging in a much-needed breath.
What. The. Hell. Was. That?
I walked toward the next tent like a man who had just seen things.
Which I had.
Dylan kept chirping as if he were coaching me for next time, while I tried to remember how to act like a functioning adult.
