Page 29 of Too Good for Words (Silverberry Seduction Seasoned Romance)

He rolled up her driveway with regret. When he cut the engine, the whine of an out-of-sight power tool reached his ears. Three houses up, two small children drew with chalk on the driveway, watched over by a woman holding a baby and sitting in a lawn chair. Across the street, a man washed a bright blue SUV, soapy water trickling into the gutter.

It was all very suburban. Very pleasant. And very different from the way Cash had grown up.

Penta swung a leg over and slid off the bike. “Thank you so much for the ride.” She unbuckled her helmet and handed it to him.

He twisted to clip it to the hook under the passenger seat. “You’re welcome.”

“Do you want to come in? The kids won’t be home for a couple of hours yet.” Her cheeks, already rosy from the whip of wind on their journey, brightened. “That wasn’t supposed to sound like a proposition.”

He wanted to say yes, very badly. He enjoyed spending time with her, no matter what they were doing. But he hadn’t screwed up the afternoon yet and didn’t want to tempt fate. “Maybe next time.”

“Of course.” She sounded a little relieved.

“We’re good, right?” He stripped off one riding glove and took her hand. Her chilly fingers curled around his.

“More than good.” She bussed his cheek in a quick kiss. “I’m glad we talked things out.”

“Me too.” He gave a gentle squeeze and let go with reluctance. “Now I think it’s time I talked things out with Elle.”

Her expression softened. “Don’t be too hurt if she doesn’t forgive you just yet. But don’t give her the chance to walk away, either. Let her know you’ll be ready to discuss things whenever she is. Just being there is half the battle as a parent.”

“Thanks.” He fired up the engine.

She patted his shoulder. “Good luck.”

He nodded as he let the bike roll backward down the drive and into the street. He was going to need it.

Chapter Fourteen

Despite the mutual decision to escalate their fake relationship to something more, Penta knew it didn’t give her the right to pester Cash about his reconciliation with Elle. She would have to wait until he was ready to share the news. By the time she went to her father’s on Monday, she had heard nothing and was itching with curiosity, which she buried under loads of laundry and other household chores.

“Lift your feet, Dad.” She ran the vacuum under his raised legs and wondered when she’d become this caricature of a 1950s housewife.

Not that it was really a mystery. It had happened when her mother passed away. In the first weeks after his wife’s death, Jeremy Wicken had been inconsolable, lost in a fog of grief. Battling her own sorrow, she succumbed to his need and stepped in—preparing his favourite meals, cleaning the house—even taking over the laundry after she found him standing motionless in front of the machines as if they were alien life forms.

He lowered his legs, never shifting his attention from the World War II history book he was reading. After retiring from his role as a high school mathematics teacher, he’d been able to fully indulge his passion for the various military conflicts of the twentieth century.

She used to be interested in topics other than what meal to make for dinner or the best way to get stains out of a soccer jersey. In high school, she’d won the Senior Science Award and received a partial scholarship to the brand-new University of Northern British Columbia. She had dreamed of a career making amazing discoveries that would improve the world. What had happened to that girl?

The answer to that question was easy too. She’d become a mom. And while she might be restless and uncertain about her future, she didn’t regret one instant of her past. Her children were her everything.

She continued down the hall toward the bedrooms, accompanied by the vacuum canister and an aura of vague exasperation.

During the divorce discussions, she’d welcomed Mark’s child support payments as the least he could do after shattering their family. But negotiating for spousal support had made her skin crawl. Her lawyer hadn’t let her refuse the money, so she’d set up a separate bank account and vowed not to touch it. Then she’d dusted off her resume and started searching for work.

Unfortunately, she’d been a stay-at-home mom since Felix had been born. A half-completed Science degree almost twenty years ago didn’t qualify her for much and she couldn’t bear the thought of working evenings or weekends, stealing precious hours from her children outside of school.

In the end, she’d decided they were worth swallowing her pride. The older they grew, though, the more she wondered what she would do when they all left home. Abra was graduating from Grade Seven in a couple of weeks, and her high school years would go by in a blink. Where would Penta be then?

She stored the vacuum cleaner in the closet and went back to the living room. “Dad? Can we talk a minute?”

He closed his book, tucking a finger between the pages to mark his place. “Of course.”

She perched on the edge of her mother’s upholstered rocker. Though she’d finally convinced her father to donate his wife’s clothes to charity, very little else in the house had changed. The clay coaster Cyril had made in kindergarten still waited for her next cup of tea on the table between the two chairs.

“I was thinking it might be time to get a job.” The words felt alien in her mouth. She had a job, taking care of her family.

“Good for you.” His smile was pleased, proud...and relieved?

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