Page 75 of Three Pucking Words
I don’t know what prompts me to do it other than sheer stupidity and a minor obsession with her full bottom lip, but Ireach out and brush the pad of my thumb against the corner of it.
She sucks in a sharp breath and stares at me.
I swallow, feeling like an idiot over the impulse I couldn’t hold back from. “You had something,” I lie. I clear my hoarse throat and lower my hand. “I got it.”
Her blink is slow, her cheeks pink.
“I’m taking Gem to a pumpkin patch this weekend,” I tell her, regaining her full attention with the random statement that pulls her gaze away from my mouth. “Her grandparents are coming too. Maybe if you feel better by then, you can come with us. It’s in Queens. They’re going to do hayrides too.”
I don’t know why I’m nervous about what she’ll say or why I want her to go so badly. But I do. I want her there. With Gemma. With me. Hell, with Joe and Helen. I want her to be there when Gemma picks out her pumpkin, which will probably be twice the size of her if it’s like other years. I want to drink apple cider with her and put my jacket over her shoulders if she gets cold.
Simply put, I want Honor Erikson.
Bad.
“I can pick you up,” I add in a last-ditch effort to get her to say yes. “I’m sure Puck would love some fresh air and a good walk too.”
Her throat bobs as she stares at me. And just when I’ve given up hope, when I’ve convinced myself that she’s going to turn me down or give me an excuse, she says, “I think I’d like that.”
And for a man who has more money than I know what to do with, that response makes me feel like I just won a million fucking bucks.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Honor
The last timeI went to a pumpkin patch was when Mila’s parents brought us upstate to a relative’s farm with cute goats, a huge corn maze, and vendors that sold homemade apple cider and cinnamon donuts. Mila and I spent far too long within the stacks of haybales trying to figure our way out after loading up on sugar, before quickly realizing that my best friend was allergic to hay. Shortly after she started sneezing and snotting uncontrollably, I got stung by a yellow jacket and discovered thatI’mallergic to bees.
She sniffled and cried the entire way to the emergency room, swearing she’d never go to another fall festival again. To my knowledge, she’s never even so much as carved a pumpkin since that rueful weekend.
Then again, who am I to judge? I’m fairly certain this is the first time I’ve been back to one myself. And this time, I have Benadryl tablets, an EpiPen that cost way too much money, and a travel pack of tissues all stuffed into my purse when Bodhi pulls up to the guest house.
Thankfully, Sylvia and my father are out having a date day that consists of who knows what. I was too busy internally panicking about whatever this was between me and Bodhi to consider telling them where I was going, and who I was going with. It’s not a date. His daughter and her grandparents will be there. If anything, I’m fifth-wheeling their family time, and—
Oh my God.I’m fifth-wheeling family time.
I can’t do this.
Just as I’m about to turn and haul butt right back inside, tires roll to a stop in the guest house driveway and I hear, “You’re not about to chicken out on me, are you?”
Bodhi.His playful tone makes me stop mid-step. I can be honest with him. Tell him that I didn’t want to impose on their time together.
But I don’t tell him the truth.
“I was going to make sure I locked the front door,” I say weakly, walking to the entrance and wiggling the locked doorknob.
Bodhi doesn’t believe me. He’s leaning against the passenger side door of his truck, his arms crossed on his chest and a wistful smile on his face. “If I didn’t want you to come, I wouldn’t have invited you, Honor.”
There’s no “hi” or “how are you feeling”. He doesn’t need to greet me that way. We’ve been texting for the past two days. Well,he’sbeen textingmeto make sure I’m feeling better. I sent him enough replies for proof of life, and one very nerve-wracking “okay” when he told me he’d pick me up at noon today.
“I wasn’t—”
“Honey” he cuts me off, pushing off the truck and stepping up to me. He uses two of his fingers to tilt my chin up to meet his eyes. “I could feel your panic down the street. Saw it on your face as I pulled in. You were going to lock yourself inside and make up an excuse not to go with us.”
How does he know that? It’s unnerving.
What’s more unnerving is the “us” he refers to. Because I know for a fact when I look into the back seat, I’ll see a car seat with a child in it. The same child I’ll be spending time with today, along with her grandparents.
“Won’t it be weird?” I find myself asking, unable to look away from him no matter how much I want to. “For Joe and Helen.They were Inez’s parents, and you’re bringing some random girl to spend the day with them and your daughter.”
