Unravel Me (Playing For Keeps Book 3)

“She went with the tinted balm. Nice choice.”

“I didn’t give her a choice.”

“And the sundress? Was that you too?”

Archie hums, watching me in the mirror. “That one was Rosie, actually.”

Marco slings his arms around Archie’s neck from behind, chin on his shoulder. He kisses the tips of his fingers. “Chef’s kiss, Ro. Easy access too.”

Heat seeps into my cheeks as I check out my reflection. My hair isn’t behaving today, and the flower barrettes I’ve used to pin my hair back aren’t doing much to hide it. I run my hands down my dress. “Do I look okay? Should I change? I nicked my knee shaving. My hair’s not right. What if—”

Archie shrugs off his boyfriend and pulls me into a hug. “You look beautiful, Ro.”

“Very fuckable,” Marco adds.

“What if he doesn’t like me?” I whisper against Archie’s chest.

His expression twists with disgust. “What’s not to like?”

I shrug, fiddling with my fingers. “People seem to find enough reasons.”

“We’re never good enough for the wrong people. But you’re just right for us, and we love everything about you. Don’t be nervous. Just be yourself.” He cradles my face, smiling. “Now what do we say?”

I take a deep breath before reciting the words these two work so hard at ingraining. “I am kind. I am strong. I am beautiful. The people who are meant to be in my life will find me.”

“Damn right.” Marco ushers me down the hall, swatting my butt. “Now get outta here!” When I start stepping into my sneakers, he screeches. “No ! Not the Nikes, Rosie, please , for the love of God. You’re ruining a perfectly good outfit!”

I look down at my shoes, the white flowers decorating the light blue swoosh. They’re cute, and they match my dress. “I don’t have a car,” I remind him. “These are practical for walking.”

His stare begs me to reconsider, so I keep going before he can argue.

“You can force the tinted lip balm on me, but it’s sneakers or bare feet.” I point at Archie. Besides the years we’ve spent as classmates and coworkers, we’ve also been roommates for three years. Our routine is second nature, but I have a bit of a controlling streak a mile wide about certain things. “Connor is getting dropped off at—”

“Five.”

“And bath—”

“Is at six-fifteen.”

“And—”

“Yes , Rosie, I know. I’m not new.” He stuffs my wide-brim hat on my head. “Get outta here, or I’ll hold you down so Marco can change your shoes.” He throws a pointed look at the hallway closet, where a pair of four-inch heels wait to ruin my feet.

Any hint of humor dissipates, and I dash out the door before they can make good on their threats.

It’s a beautiful, sunny evening, and I’m running early, so I get off the bus two stops early so I can entertain the thoughts that are about to send me spiraling about how horribly this date is bound to go, just like the rest of them. I waffle between being content in knowing we don’t need someone in our lives who doesn’t want to be here, and worrying that Adam won’t want me, not all of me. It’s a disappointment that already feels so heavy, one I don’t want to carry with me.

I hate that I’m getting ahead of myself, living in the future instead of soaking in the now. So as the secluded park comes into view, I smooth my hands down my dress one last time and commit to giving this a fighting chance.

Adam’s last message told me to call when I arrived so he could come meet me, but it’s impossible to miss the huge spread laid out beneath an overgrown oak tree. My heart patters a quick, steady beat that races down to the tips of my fingers, curling anxiously into my palms. A plaid blanket lays beneath the shade of the branches, a basket in one corner, an array of meats, cheeses, crackers, bread, and fruits spread over a wooden board in the center. A stack of pillows in the corner completes the aesthetic, because Adam Lockwood is totally freaking Pinterest-worthy.

“Didn’t I tell you to call me when you got here?”

My heart leaps to my throat, and when I spin around, it skids to a stop altogether. Adam is the picture of effortless perfection, someone blessed beyond belief with impeccable looks, finished with style in his crisp white short-sleeve button-up, untucked from his fitted gray shorts, dark curls swept to the side, vibrant blue eyes as playful as his immaculate, crooked grin. But the sexiest thing he wears is the confidence of a man who’s certain he’s going to nail this date.

“Funny thing is,” he murmurs, stepping toward me, brows quirking when I take one step back. “I knew you wouldn’t listen.” Another step toward me, and another step back, his smile growing, like he enjoys this game of cat and mouse we’re playing. “You’re my favorite brand of trouble. Want to know why?”

“Why?”

His hand comes out of his pocket, catching a fistful of my dress, stopping my next backward step, closing the distance between us. His voice drops to a whisper, all gravel and husk, one that sends a hot shiver rippling down my spine when his lips pause at the shell of my ear. “Because I’ve never wanted to be so deep in it as I do now that I’ve met you.”

He presses a soft kiss to my blazing cheekbone before taking my hand, pulling me toward our picnic. “C’mon, pretty girl. You look like you need a glass of wine.”

A glass? I’m gonna need a whole bottle of liquid courage to keep up with that . What happened to the man who was so nervous to ask me to dinner, he didn’t talk to me for a whole ten minutes, just kept opening his mouth and then snapping it shut?

“I had a girls’ night,” Adam tells me as he guides me down to a heap of pillows.

“Pardon?”

“You’re wondering where the confidence came from. I had a girls’ night. I was so damn nervous about getting this date right I enlisted my best friends’ wives to give me advice.” He holds up a bottle of sparkling water, red wine, and grape juice, pouring me a glass of the red when I point to it. “Horrible idea, by the way. My confidence comes at the expense of my dignity, which has been lost to forced listening of sexy audiobooks.”

I clap a hand over my mouth as I sputter on my wine. “Pardon ?”

“What, you’ve never been caught by your best friends listening to a smutty audiobook with three women and an eighty-six-year-old man?” The sun dances with the amusement in his eyes as he watches me laugh. “They thought I might need some dating help.”

“I find it hard to believe you’re that out of touch with the dating world.”

“I’m not, I guess. I’ve been on plenty of dates. But this is the first one that’s felt like it’s meant something.” He lifts a shoulder, gesturing at the spread before us. “That’s probably why I was also on a four-way video call fifteen minutes ago with the same girls, freaking out about whether the pillows were too forward, if I should sit on the opposite side of the blanket, and how long into the date I have to wait before I take your hand and don’t let it go for the rest of the night.”

He shifts my hat back and brushes my bangs aside, fingertips skimming my cheekbone. “I can tell you’re nervous, Rosie, and I want you to know that, even if I seem confident right now, I’ve been a mess all week over this. I’m not ashamed to admit it.” When he looks at me next, beneath lashes so dark and with a gaze so heady, butterflies erupt in my stomach. “Then I saw you standing there in that hat and this sundress, and all the scary stuff melted away. The only thing I’m feeling right now is happy, and if you’re still nervous, I’ve got enough happy for the both of us.”

“The pillows are comfy, I like having you next to me because you make me feel warm and special, and if you take my hand right now, I might not ever ask for it back.” The words spill out, but if I can’t give him all my truths tonight, I at least want him to have these. The panic squeezing my throat eases at his kind smile. “Wow, I only had to drink half a glass of wine to say that.”

“I brought two bottles in case you feel like laying it all out on the line tonight. You can tell me all your secrets.”

“That’s a second date kinda thing, Mr. Lockwood, and it also requires ice cream.”

“Got it. Two bottles of wine, an ice cream cone, and date number two.” He grins then, wide and full of mischief as his gaze drops to my legs. His hand lands on my knee, sliding along my bare skin, where he nabs the hem of my dress from where it’s ridden up my thigh. Gently, he shifts it back into place, eyes rising to meet mine, a fire blazing so hot, it singes my skin. “I can’t wait to unravel you.”

My eyes widen at the innuendo, and I toss back the rest of my wine. It does nothing to soothe the burn in my cheeks, or the sudden beat thrumming between my legs, so I reach for the wine and refill my glass. Adam chuckles, handing me a small bottle of sparkling water too.

He reaches inside the picnic basket and produces a bouquet of flowers, holding them out to me, smiling. “For you.”

My hand shoots out, fingers curling back into my palm for a moment before I hesitantly brush over the petals, hues of muted pinks and dusty lilac blues. My vision wobbles and I trap my trembling lower lip between my teeth, an expected reaction as my mom’s laughter rings in my ears, memories of dirty hands and knees, peony bushes and falling leaves flashing through my mind.

“Rosie?” His voice dips, a slight tremble in his hand as he starts pulling the bouquet back. “I’m sorry. I meant to go with roses, because of your name. But then I saw these, and they were so pretty, they reminded me of you. If you don’t like them—”

“They’re perfect,” I murmur, wrapping my hand around his, bringing the flowers to my nose. “I love them, Adam.”

Sapphire eyes watch me, and Adam traps a single tear rolling down my cheek. “Then why are you crying?”

Because it doesn’t feel like there’s another option. “Memories.”

His gaze flickers. “Good or bad?”

I smile. “The best. Sometimes I just forget that I don’t get to make new ones. The realization is a little overwhelming for a moment.” I set the bouquet down, and before I can second-guess it, I wrap my arms around him, sinking into his warmth. “Thank you, Adam.”

He pulls my hat off and squeezes me against his solid chest. His lips touch the crown of my head. “You’re so welcome, Rosie.”

We linger like that, entwined together, like neither of us is ready to let go, but when my stomach growls, Adam chuckles, pulling back and brushing my bangs aside.

“Hungry?”

Another grumble, paired with a sheepish smile. “Always.”

As we eat, he asks me question after question, until he’s satisfied he knows everything about me, like that I grew up in Ontario and moved to Vancouver after I graduated from high school. That I’m twenty-four, but a November baby, so by the time I graduate in the spring I’ll be twenty-five. That I completed my undergrad in animal sciences, and I’m on a full-ride scholarship in the Doctor of Veterinary Medicine program at Pacific Veterinarian College.

“Full ride?” His brows jump. “No shit. You’re a smartie pants.”

I shrug. “I had nothing better to do than study and read growing up. I didn’t have a lot of friends, so I think it kind of came with the territory.”

“Don’t sell yourself short. You’re in your last year of vet school, on a full-ride scholarship, and you’re not even twenty-five. You’re about to be a doctor, Rosie. Those are some incredible accomplishments. You should be proud.”

My heart soars. I am proud of myself. I’ve worked harder than I thought possible, and having someone else acknowledge my accomplishments feels nice.

Adam refills my wine. “What do you do at the shelter?”

“Well, vet school is really demanding, so I mostly only work there during the summer, and what I can manage during the school year. Hopefully they’ll hire me as a vet when I graduate, but right now, I mostly do animal socialization. A lot of the animals that come in are scared. Their whole life has been turned upside down. We work with them to start trusting humans again before they’re ready to be adopted.”

“It must be rewarding to see them come out of their shells.”

“It really is so amazing, Adam. Especially with animals like Piglet, who have been through so much. She has so much love to give, and someone stole that light from her. I love being part of the reason she finds it again.”

Adam smiles at me. “You really love her.”

“So much.”

“Have you ever thought about adopting her?”

“Only every day.”

“What’s stopping you?”

I bring my feet toward me, crossing my legs, tracing the swoop of my Nikes. “I don’t have the space she deserves.” Nor the money to keep up with her care. “If I did, I’d bring her home in a heartbeat. But she deserves more than what I can offer her.”

“I get that. But for what it’s worth, Rosie, it’s not usually the space that makes a home. It’s the love. And I bet you give the best kind.”

The corner of my mouth quirks. “You’re really refreshing, you know?”

“How so?”

“You look like someone always in control, or someone who likes to be, maybe. Maybe it’s your size, or how comfortable you seem in your own skin. You’re not afraid to be kind and sweet and gentle, like carrying Piglet down the stairs because she’s afraid, or admitting you ask your girl friends for advice. But the way you talk sometimes, the way you…touch…as much as you like to be in control, I feel like there’s a part of you dying to lose all that control, to be unrestrained. It’s just refreshing to see someone so willing to be open about exactly who they are and what they need.”

I clear the dryness in my throat, then drown it with wine as silence swirls around us, hoping I haven’t crossed a line.

“And what about you?” Adam finally asks. “Do you like to be in control?”

“I have to be in control. At school, at work, I don’t have the luxury of letting my emotions get the best of me. It’s one of the hardest things I’ve ever done, holding it in, and I fail sometimes. Sometimes I fail often, but I’m trying. And at home, I—” I stop myself before I say too much, something I’m not ready to share. “I depend on routine. I should be more flexible, but it stresses me out to even think about changing something in my day to day sometimes. So, yes, I’m in control. But do I like to be?” I nibble my lip as I look to Adam, the way he’s watching me with rapt attention, drinking in every word. “Sometimes I crave someone else to take control, just so I don’t have to. Just so I can let go, even for a moment. Being in control all the time, it’s…exhausting.”

Adam leans back on his hands, staring at the bright blue sky slowly fading to a pretty shade of lilac as the sun dips. When his eyes find mine, something in my chest wants to break wide open, let him see inside, the fears, the insecurities, the little joys and triumphs, all the nuances that shape me. Somehow, it feels like that’s what he wants too.

“What if this is your safe space to do that? What if when you’re with me, you can give it up, let it go, and just…be?”

“It’s a nice idea.” Farfetched, but nice. The anxiety, the obsessive-compulsive tendencies that surround my routines and shape my life, they’re a voice in my head that’s less agreeable, less hopeful. They tell me I can’t let go, because what happens when I do? Chaos, disorder. Things I’ll need to fix.

“It doesn’t have to be just an idea.” He lays his hand on top of mine, a gentle touch that soothes the worries. “You say you’re a worst-case scenario expert, and the idea of giving up any amount of control ever is probably horrifying, but maybe with time and a little trust, we learn to give and take control when we need to. For each other, and for ourselves.”

I turn my palm over, watching as he traces the lines in it. “Does it make sense that the idea is as daunting as it is calming?”

“It makes perfect sense, Rosie. Nothing worth having ever comes easy, does it? We want the calm, but sometimes we have to brave the storm to get there.”

His words settle around me like a cozy blanket, and a shiver runs through me when his fingers leave my palm, traveling up the inside of my forearm, making me wiggle. “So wise. What are you, a therapist?”

He chuckles softly. “Nope.”

“Am I close?”

“Not even a little bit, trouble.”

“Hmm…” I jerk my arm away when he tickles me again, hiding my face when my giggle starts spiraling into pig-snort territory. Taking his hand in mine, I turn it over, trading places with him as I run the tips of my fingers over his palm.

“Are you a…dog trainer?”

His eyes glitter as he shakes his head. “Nuh-uh.”

“Teacher?”

“Nope.”

“Realtor?”

“Cold.”

“Police officer?”

“Colder.”

“Heavy equipment operator? Accountant? Do you work in HVAC? Oh my God.” I spin toward him, nearly crawling into his lap. “Are you a private detective?”

He laughs, snaking his arm around my waist, pulling me between his legs, back against his chest. The thunder of his heart gives way to his nerves as I wait for his answer.

“I’m a, uh…” He clears his throat. “I work with athletes.”

“Athletes? Like, sports teams?”

He swallows. “Professional ones.”

“Oh.” My nose wrinkles. “Uh-oh.”

He stiffens. “What?”

“I don’t know anything about sports. I have no talking points. I’m sorry. I can barely tell a baseball glove from a hockey mitten.”

He snorts a beautiful, glorious laugh. “Glove.”

I lean to the side so I can look at him over my shoulder. “Huh?”

“Hockey glove, not mitten. Unless you’re talking about what the goalie wears, then that’s a catcher and a blocker. And actually, mitt is perfectly acceptable for baseball gloves, especially the catcher’s mitt.” He chuckles, poking the dimple in my chin. “But not hockey gloves.”

“That’s just confusing. They all go on your hands. Why so many different names?”

“Truthfully, I don’t know.”

“What do you do with the athletes at work?”

Blue eyes meet mine, and the worry there, the grief, it steals my breath, digs a hole in my chest and carves a home that aches. I’m not sure what he’s looking for as his gaze roams my face, but if it’ll take away this heaviness, I hope he finds it.

Instead, he drops his gaze. When he looks back at me, it’s with a reservation that dulls the sparkle in his eyes, seems unnatural on such a kind, open man.

“A little bit of everything,” he finally tells me, trailing his finger across the nick on my knee from shaving. “Training, nutrition, traveling.” His mouth quirks, and he winks. “All the boring stuff.”

“Do you enjoy it?”

“Very much. Wouldn’t trade it for any other job.”

“That’s what matters, isn’t it? Too many people spend their days being miserable at work. Life is far too short to not love what you do.”

Adam smiles at me. “You’re right. What’s life if it isn’t full of what you love?”

“Does it bother you I’m not into sports?”

“Not at all. It’s refreshing. Gives me something else to talk about.”

I cover his hand on my thigh. “Will you tell me more about you? I want to know everything.”

His gentle smile slows the race of my heart, and I relax into his body as he tells me about his life in Vancouver, how he spends his summers with his dog and his friends, how he’s loving being Uncle Adam to his best friend’s five-month-old daughter, and that although he moved here for work and never wants to leave, he grew up in Colorado. I eat everything up, though somehow feeling unsatiated, like I’m missing big pieces of him.

We talk forever, even as he proudly displays the chocolate-covered strawberries and chocolate chip cookies he made for dessert, as he catches the strawberry juice trickling down my chin, bringing his thumb to his mouth and tasting it.

The quiet only starts to settle in when the sky dims, and I become painfully aware of everywhere we’re connected. His chest pressed to my back, rising steadily. The brush of his fingers on my thighs, skimming the climbed hem of my dress. His chin on my shoulder and his lips at my ear, all of it a stark contrast to the cool breeze that starts to nip at my bare arms.

Adam runs his hand over my arms, a sizzling heat that, somehow, only elicits more goose bumps. “Here,” he whispers, reaching behind the pillows, producing a sweater.

I slip the soft fleece over my head, burying myself in his warmth. A dizzying feeling rushes to my head as the smell of Adam surrounds me—an earthy, spicy scent, something clean and crisp like citrus, and the forever comforting scent of fresh laundry.

And then something magnificent happens. When the sun finally dips behind the skyline, the tree above us comes to life. Tiny lights scattered among the leaves twinkle like fireflies, making the night glow. My heart climbs up my throat and makes a home there, stealing every word I want to speak. When my gaze finds Adam’s, soft and electric at the same time, I don’t know if everything inside me stops working, or if something inside me restarts. It just feels different , and I’m thrown by the sudden imbalance, the need to reach out and grasp this man, like he’s my center of gravity.

“Do you like them? They’re solar powered. I was worried they wouldn’t get enough sunlight hidden in the trees, so I laid them out in my backyard all day.” He runs an anxious hand over the nape of his neck. “I thought we’d be able to stay longer if we had some light. Then I could keep you longer.”

“You can keep me forever,” accidentally slips past my lips, and I clap a hand over my filthy, traitorous mouth.

Adam grins. “Careful. I might take you up on that.” He twines our fingers together, a warmth I don’t want to lose. “Sounds like my type of forever.”

He climbs to his feet, pulling me with him, and his smile lights my whole world on fire.

“Dance with me, Rosie.”

“D-dance? But…there’s no music.”

“Don’t need it.” He winks, tugging on my hand. “Now come here.”

I do, stumbling over my footing, and Adam catches me against his solid chest, his deep laugh rolling down my neck before he whispers that nickname that thrills me and pulls at so many lost memories too.

“Trouble.”

“Maybe it’s you who’s trouble.”

Broad hands coast over my hips, fingertips digging in as we sway slowly together, the leaves rustling in the summer breeze and the gentle buzz of cicadas singing a soft tune in time with the husky breath that kisses my neck when Adam dips his mouth there.

His palm skates up my spine, curving over the nape of my neck, where he squeezes ever so gently. “The only trouble I want to get into, Rosie…it’s with you.”

Soft lips brush my temple before he settles his chin on my head as we dance beneath the twinkling lights and the stars above us.

It’s nearly eleven when we start packing everything away, and my head feels full of air and butterflies. It’s a happy, carefree place to be, and because it almost never is, I hold onto it with all my might. It’s a feeling I could get lost in, intoxicating and addictive, and I realize how easily Adam did exactly what he said he would: he took control, and in turn, I let go.

I let go of the expectations, the rules, the what-ifs. I let go of the questions that lead to overthinking, and I just…existed.

I watch as Adam neatly tucks everything away in his picnic basket and bag before hooking them off his shoulder, the crook of his elbow, my sun hat nabbed between the tips of his fingers.

I slip my hand into his. “Thank you.”

He looks at our hands, throat bobbing. “For what?”

“For showing me it’s okay to let go sometimes.”

He squeezes my fingers, lifts my hand to his lips, and brushes a kiss across my knuckles before towing me through the park to a midnight blue park where he throws everything inside.

“Did you have fun?” he asks, a spark of uncertainty in his gaze, a hopeful rasp to his tone.

So I wrap my arms around his middle and hold him tight. “I had the best time, Adam. Thank you so much for a beautiful night.”

“Okay. Cool. Thank you so much for being beautiful. No. No. Fuck. Shit.” He rips me off him, holding me at arm’s length. “That’s not what I meant. I mean, I think you’re beautiful, obviously. Obviously I think you’re beautiful.” He shoves his fingers through his curls and sighs. “This is the worst. I’m the worst. Now I’m nervous again.”

I snicker-snort, then clap my hand over the obnoxious sound. Just like that, Adam’s nerves vanish, an arrogant smirk tipping the side of his mouth.

“Why do you keep doing that?”

I twine my hair around my finger. “Doing what?”

“Covering your laugh.” sᴇaʀᴄh thᴇ FɪndNøvel.ɴᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

“It’s not a laugh. It’s some sort of strangled, dying animal sound, and it’s embarrassing.”

“Okay, well that’ll be weird.”

“What will be weird?”

“When someone asks me what my favorite sound is, and I have to describe it like that.”

I blink up at him. “You’re deranged.”

Chuckling, he takes my hand and heads down the sidewalk. “C’mon. Where’d you park?”

“Oh, I didn’t.”

His gaze swings my way. “You didn’t?”

“I don’t have a car.”

“Oh. Did someone drop you off?”

“No.”

“Is…someone picking you up?”

Another snicker-snort, but I’m less embarrassed about this one. “No, Adam.”

“Then how did you…how are you gonna…” He scratches his head. “Get home safely?”

“The same way I came. I’m going to take a bus.”

Adam hums to himself, then pulls me around, heading back the way we came.

“The bus stop is the other way.”

“And my truck is this way.”

“Adam—”

“It’s late. You’re not walking and taking the bus by yourself.”

“But I—”

“Nonnegotiable.” He opens the passenger door. “Unless you want me to follow behind you the entire way in my truck. So I guess it’s a little negotiable.” He grins at my crossed arms and hiked brow. “You’re supposed to be working on letting go, and I’m supposed to be working on being more in control, remember?”

I jab my finger into his chest. “Don’t turn my own words around on me.”

He laughs as I start climbing into the seat, and as my frustration grows with the difficult task, amusement rolls off him in waves.

“Something you wanna say?” I grunt as I hike a leg up in a particularly charming fashion in my sundress.

“I was about to ask you the same thing. ‘Can you help me, Adam? I seem to be slightly too short to do this myself,’ might be a good place to start.”

My head swivels in slow motion to glare at him over my shoulder.

He waits, elbow leaning on the window frame, cheek resting in his hand, and he even pumps his damn brows. “Yes, Rosie?”

“You’re insufferable.” I grab the center console, but before I can pull myself up, Adam grips my waist and lifts me effortlessly into the seat. He leans over me, clicking my seat belt into place.

“There ya go. That wasn’t so hard.” He taps the handle above my head. “For future reference, if you grab hold of this and plant your foot on the step, you can swing yourself right up. Or I can keep lifting you in.” He shrugs. “I personally prefer option two, ’cause then I get to check out your ass.” Before he shuts the door, he winks, and when he climbs into the truck, he simply asks for my address like he didn’t just say that.

The drive across Vancouver is peaceful. So peaceful, in fact, that when I wake with Adam’s hand on my knee and his soft voice in my ear and find we’re parked out front of my apartment building, I gasp.

“I fell asleep? That’s so embarrassing.” My face heats. “I’m almost never awake this late unless I’m studying for a test.” I frown at the map display on his dash, which seems to be stuck rerouting. “Why does it say rerouting?”

“I might’ve gone around the block a couple times so I didn’t have to wake you.”

“How many times is a couple?”

He scratches his nose and looks away. “Eight.”

“Adam .”

“Okay, let’s go!” He’s at my door before I can count to three.

“You don’t have to take me in.” He can’t come in, and the thought of me having to make excuses sends my pulse racing in my ears.

“I won’t ask to come in. Just wanna walk you to your door, that’s all.”

With his hand on my lower back, he follows me through the lobby and into the elevator. It climbs slowly, my nerves climbing with it. By the time we reach the twelfth floor, I’m an anxious mess.

Is he going to kiss me? Do I kiss him? Do I offer him a handshake? No, I can’t do that again. What if—

“Which one?”

My head snaps up. “Huh. Oh. Yeah. Here.” I scramble down the hall. “I’m down here, at the end.” I stick my key in the lock, pausing to listen for any sign of life, holding in a sigh of a relief at the silence. I turn back to Adam. “So I guess I’ll, uh…” I shove my hand between us.

Goddammit, Rosie.

I squeeze my eyes shut and shake my head, pulling my hand back. Then I snap my fingers. “Oh! Your sweater!” I reach for the hem, but Adam stops me with his hand on mine.

“Keep it. For next time.”

“Next time? Like, a…second date?”

“A second date. With wine and ice cream and all your secrets.” He steps into me, and when my back hits the door, he chuckles. His face dips, and my heart leaps to my throat as he hesitates, his lips inches from mine, so close I can taste him .

He smiles, just there in the right-hand corner, a tiny quirk of his beautiful mouth, before he brushes his soft lips across my cheek.

“Good night, trouble.”

My eyes stay locked on his as I disappear backward into my apartment. I watch through the peephole as he stands there, hands tucked in his pockets. His hand comes up, running through his curls, and with one last glance at my door and a grin that keeps growing, Adam turns and walks away.

I ditch my shoes in the hallway and drown my excitement with a glass of water before I head through the dark living room. I make it three steps before I trip over something fluffy that starts giggling.

“Elmo loves to laugh! ”

“For fuck’s sake, Elmo.” I grab the toy off the floor and throw it toward the basket in the corner. It lands with a thud and laughs at me again, a taunting, satanic sound I hate with a passion.

I pause at my bedroom door, listening with my ear pressed against it. Nothing but white noise trickles out, so I push the door open as quietly as possible. Rustling sounds, and a tiny body rushes to standing, popping up from the crib in the corner of my room. The dim glow of the stars shining on the ceiling from Connor’s favorite light illuminates the most magnificent, sleepy green eyes, and my favorite man smiles up at me as I step inside.

Connor shifts on his feet, reaching his tiny hands into the air, grabbing for me.

“Mama !”

I scoop my son into my arms and cuddle him close, my eyes fluttering closed against his fine, blond wisps.

“Hi, baby,” I whisper. “Mama missed you.”