LuLLaY

by Freya Barker

  "Go do your bath thing. I'm on it." I tap Flynn's nose and watch as Tana carries her back into the bathroom. Then I go in search of a shirt and my boots. I have a breakfast to hunt down.

  Twenty minutes later, I walk in with a tray piled high with anything I could get my hands on. The hotel's regular continental breakfast was expanded because of the storm. They had an entire buffet set out.

  "What'cha got?" I have to watch not to trip over a very excited Flynn, who starts jumping up and down to catch a glimpse at the tray.

  "Coffee for your mom," I tell her, setting the tray down on the counter in the kitchenette, since the coffee table is littered with coloring books and crayons.

  "I don't like that," she says, wrinkling her nose.

  "I figured as much, so I brought you chocolate milk instead."

  "Yay!" Flynn's squeal has Tana come walking out of the bedroom, dressed in the same yoga pants from last night. Today she's paired it with an oversized sweatshirt. Don't ask me why her choice of outfit does more for me than a sexy dress on anyone else.

  "What do we have here?" She smiles as she spots the thermos of coffee I absconded with from the dining room.

  "Chocwate miwk!"

  "Yeah, sorry," I quickly apologize when Tana's eyes shoot to me. "Guess I should've asked you first. I just grabbed what looked good. You found the coffee, and there should be stuff to doctor it with, but I also brought toast and scrambled eggs. A few pieces of bacon, some pancakes, and..." I hold up the small carton and straw.

  "That looks delicious, thank you. And the chocolate milk is fine. Want me to make you some toast, Peanut?"

  "No toast—Cheerios!" I hold back a chuckle when she stomps her little foot. A handful, that one.

  "Oops, I almost forgot," I respond quickly, before the full meltdown hits, and fish the mini boxes of cereal from my flannel pajama pockets. "One for now, and one for later."

  I watch as a very happy toddler returns to her crayons, a mini box of Cheerios clutched in her little fist. A soft hand lands on my forearm and I turn to find Tana smiling up at me. "That was very sweet of you."

  My arm snakes around the small of her back and—with half an eye on her daughter—I tug her flush against my front and wait until her eyes widen as she registers my hard-on against her belly. Then I lean down and put my lips by her ear. "I'm not feeling too sweet right now." I love hearing the small hitch in her breath as she puts her hands up against my chest and, without much conviction, pushes me back.

  "Apparently sweet enough to be dangerously tempting," she surprises me by admitting.

  Tana

  Dammit.

  I blame it on the nun-like existence I've lived since getting pregnant with Flynn.

  Before, I'd enjoyed a healthy love life without the complexities of a relationship, but my outlook changed once she was in the picture. What apparently hasn't changed is my sex drive.

  With his straightforward talk and then that toe-curling kiss, my libido turned out to be alive and very well. Thrown off, it had me hide out like a whimpering coward in the bedroom after. There are so many reasons anything between us would not be a good idea, but with his tongue in my mouth, I couldn't think of a single one. That's what had freaked me out.

  I thought I had bolstered my resolve this morning, but coffee and Cheerios blew it right out of the water.

  Sipping on my coffee, I sit back on the couch and watch as Matt's dark head and my daughter's blonde one bend over a piece of paper on the table. After eating some breakfast, Flynn asked Matt to draw a cat. After that she asked him to draw a princess, then a dinosaur, a Santa Claus, and a bicycle. They've been at it for a while, enough for me to bliss out with my second cup of coffee. I should probably be doing something useful, like checking emails or tidying up the bedroom, but instead I sit here and watch—a silly smile on my face.

  Who knew a guy drawing a duck on a piece of paper with a crayon—very poorly, I might add—could be so sexy?

  "There's your duck," he tells Flynn, straightening up.

  "Man make dog." I almost spit out my coffee at my daughter's astute observation. It does look more like a dog.

  "It's Matt, baby. Remember?" Clearly I'm not concealing my hilarity very well, when Matt's dark eyes squint threateningly in my direction. That's enough to have me burst into a fit of giggles.

  "Fine. You try," he challenges me, pushing himself up off the floor. He hands me a piece of paper and a crayon with a glint in his eyes. "Mommy's next, Flynn, I need a quick shower," he directs at my daughter before leaning over me, his hand braced on the back of the couch. With his lips just inches from mine, he sends a shiver right down between my legs, when he rumbles, "One guess why."

  Normally I do pretty well with the artistic demands of my daughter, but that is not the case today. My mind won't stop trying to visualize Matt, naked, with water sluicing down his body, taking matters into his own hand. My raccoon looks more like a giant panda, and after my third failed attempt—and the damn shower is still running—I give up. I get Flynn settled on the couch with her headphones and a movie on my iPad, and switch on the TV to catch the latest.

  "Why don't we bundle her up and take her outside for a bit of fresh air," Matt suggests when he comes out of the bathroom. "Build a snowman or something?"

  Flynn—who pulled off her headphones the moment she saw Matt—slides off the couch and toddles over to where her little boots are standing beside the door. "Come, Mommy."

  "Christ, sorry." Matt looks at me apologetically. "I keep forgetting to check with you first before I open my big mouth." I shrug, getting up to get Flynn dressed in some appropriate clothes for the weather outside. It's not a bad idea to get out of the room for a bit. A little cooling off in the snow may be good for all of us.

  "Come on, Peanut, you need your snowsuit on."

  -

  We've made snow angels, built a sorry excuse for a snowman, and now are pulling a fast-tiring Flynn around the abandoned parking lot on a large piece of cardboard Matt fished from the recycling bin around the back of the building.

  "Cold, Mommy." I stop and turn. My baby is listing sideways on the make-shift sled, her eyes drooping.

  "Here, I'll get her," Matt says, already bending down to pick her up.

  Flynn instantly wraps her limbs around him and puts her head on his shoulder. The blind trust she puts in him is as heartwarming as it is concerning. She bonded instantly with this man, and I don't know what will happen when we go our separate ways again.

  Following Matt through the lobby and down the hall to our suite, I realize I'm leaving a trail of water: my jeans, boots, and jacket are drenched. I didn't feel it when I was outside, but I feel it now—I'm soaked to the bone. Once inside, I try to peel Flynn's suit and clothes off while Matt is holding her. Not an easy task since everything is wet. Besides that, she's tired, cranky, and desperately trying to cling to Matt's neck, but we manage.

  "Couch or bed?" he asks.

  "Bed. Time for her nap anyway."

  "No nap..."

  I grin at her sleepy response. She protests every day, but the moment her head hits the pillow she's gone.

  "Does she need pj’s?"

  "I don't think she'll appreciate the effort," I tell him. "She can sleep in her underwear."

  I watch as he puts her down and has to pry her little arms from his neck. The little kiss he presses to her forehead about melts me. "Sleep tight, honey," he says softly, but she's already rolled onto her side in her preferred sleep pose. He straightens up and walks to the door. "I'll give you some privacy so you can change into something dry." With a soft click he pulls the door shut, and I quickly strip out of my clothes, pull on my yoga pants and a clean shirt, and scoop up all my wet stuff.

  The moment I step out of the bedroom—I freeze. Not four feet away Matt is bent over, digging through his bag, his very naked, very firm ass sticking up in the air.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Matt

  I dig around my travel bag for a dry pair
of boxers when I hear a sharp intake of breath behind me.

  Shit. I hope like hell it's Tana and not Flynn. I never stopped to think about that and just stripped off my drenched clothes where I stood.

  I throw a glance over my shoulder to find Tana softly closing the bedroom door, balancing a pile of clothes in her other arm as she unapologetically ogles my rear. I don’t give a rat’s ass I’m buck naked, but if she keeps looking at me like that, she’ll get an eyeful up close and very fucking personal.

  “Tana,” I growl in warning, and her eyes shoot up to meet mine, one eyebrow lifted high and a smirk I wasn’t expecting tugging at her mouth.

  If there was sexual tension before, it’s off the charts now. I resist the temptation to turn fully—showing her exactly what she does to me—and instead dive back into my overnight bag. I give up on my boxers and grab the first thing I encounter: my flannel pajamas. They don’t do much to hide the state of my dick, but it’ll have to do.

  “We should probably check to see if they have laundry facilities,” she suggests, as she comes over and starts picking my wet shit off the floor. If not for the deep blush staining her neck and cheeks, you’d think she just walked into the room now. “This stuff should go in a dryer.”

  “I’ll take them,” I offer, tugging a shirt over my head. “I need to make sure we have the room for at least another night, anyway.” I reach to grab the pile from her arms. “We should probably think about lunch too. Are you hungry? I can see if there’s anything I can scrounge up. We ate our way through most of Syd’s cooler last night.”

  “I could eat,” she says, a little hitch in her breath when my hand inadvertently brushes hers.

  “Get the door?” I move past her, but at the last minute lean in and brush her lips with mine. “We could do with a little cool-off, don’t you think?”

  Without waiting for a response, I walk out the door and head for the lobby.

  The clerk on duty is helpful and offers to have our clothes looked after. I'm relieved to find out it won't be a problem for us to stay another night, even two if necessary. Apparently the weather also caused a wave of cancellations. She directs me to the dining room, where staff has set out another simple buffet, something she says they will do for every meal as long as supplies last, and the storm persists.

  The hearty stew and freshly baked bread hit the spot, and I was able to score the last bit of macaroni and cheese for Flynn when she wakes up.

  “Pretty good,” Tana mumbles, before turning to me. “Do you cook?”

  “I do. I never learned growing up, but I’ve picked up a thing or two working at The Skipper.”

  “But didn’t you say that was a pub?”

  “Technically, yes, but over the years the focus has grown more toward the food we serve than the drinks we pour. Dino, our chef, is a master in the kitchen and Syd wields a pretty mean spatula herself. In fact, we all take turns in the kitchen. Especially for our Thursday specials. That’s become a big draw in recent years.” I clean my bowl and sit back, looking at Tana’s profile as she finishes off her own. “I would invite you to come check it out some time, but I don’t really know where you live.”

  I watch as she carefully sets her bowl down on the table and turns to me, pulling her legs up on the couch. “We live in Haverhill. It’s north of Boston, just on the border with—”

  “Maine,” I finish for her. “I know it. I see the exit signs when I drive down to Boston. So you’re not that far, maybe an hour or so?”

  “Probably a bit more, but yeah...not far.”

  “Worth the drive to catch one of The Skipper’s Thursday night specials,” I hint, not exactly subtle.

  “It’s Duluth,” she suddenly says out of the blue.

  “Sorry?”

  “My destination. My parents are in Duluth, it’s where I grew up. I lied because...well...” I smile as she struggles to explain and put a hand on her knee.

  “You hadn’t seen me in the buff yet. I get it,” I tease her, putting that gorgeous blush back on her cheeks. “Okay, since we’ve clearly reached confession time in our relationship, I should—”

  “We have a relationship?” she asks mockingly.

  "After seeing me naked? I'd certainly say so. I don't drop trou for just anyone, you know." I earn a snicker for my antics, and gently squeeze with the hand I still have covering her knee. "As I was saying, in the spirit of sharing truths, I think you should know that my full name is Matteo Mordechai Savela. I never went farther than Duluth under strict guidance of my parents until I was nineteen years old. I'd never played sports, listened to music, watched TV, seen a movie, or kissed a girl. If my parents had their way, I would've been an ordained Laestadian Lutheran minister by now. Instead, I packed my bag the moment I received my high school diploma and hightailed it out of there so fast I left tracks."

  “For real?”

  "Absolutely. Needless to say, I spent the first few years away from home gorging on everything that had been forbidden in our household," I admit with a wiggle of my eyebrows.

  “Oh, I just bet you did.” She grins at me before turning serious. “You are the absolute last person I would suspect having grown up under such circumstances. Most folks, who manage to escape living under those harsh religious restrictions, come away with lasting emotional scars to show for it. You don’t seem scarred to me.”

  Her obvious insight surprises me. Then again, since she confessed growing up in Duluth—which has a respectable LLC congregation—it makes sense she’s not a complete stranger to the church’s doctrine.

  I take her hand in mine and lean in closer when I notice a flash of sadness pass over her face. “Sounds like you know something about it,” I prompt gently, and watch as she swallows.

  "Not much. There was a girl I grew up with, whose family was heavily involved in the church. They lived down the street from us and would frequent my parents' bakery. She'd talk to me sometimes, told me about all the things she wished she could do but wasn't allowed to. She got pregnant at seventeen and was shunned by her community. Even by her family. She ended up ending her own life and her baby's."

  “Beth Oberg. I remember that. My father liked to bring her name up whenever I pushed against his rules, citing what happened to her as a threat. Called it the wrath of a righteous God. Even then I recognized it for the self-serving religious bullshit it was.”

  “Wow,” she says softly, squeezing my hand. “Small world, isn’t it?”

  Tana

  “Now I get why you’re driving all this way to pick up your sister.”

  He lifts his head and for the first time, I see shadows in his eyes.

  “I tried once before to take her away, but Leena was only thirteen at the time, and I was young and wild, with little to offer. That’s the last time I went back, but she and I managed to find ways to stay in touch. She’s ready now. Twenty-five and eager to see what the world has on offer.”

  “What made her decide now was the time?” I ask carefully.

  "Marriage," he bites off between clenched teeth. "My father has someone in mind. A minister at their church. The man is a fucking forty-nine-year-old widower." Matt's voice rises and I quickly put a restricting finger on his lips before he wakes up Flynn. "Shit, sorry," he whispers, casting a quick glance at the closed bedroom door.

  “Montana Memphis Romer.” I break the brief, but heavy silence, following Matt’s minor but completely understandable outburst. “My full name,” I explain when he looks at me confused. “My father’s dream has always been to go fly-fishing in Montana, and Mom is a big Elvis fan, with a wish to visit Memphis before she dies. I’m my parents’ walking, talking bucket list.”

  His easy chuckle cuts any remaining tension. “I won’t say you have me beat, but I’d call it a tie on the unfortunate names our parents bestowed on us.” I’m not going to argue that.

  We fall silent for a bit and I find myself focusing on the gentle rub of his thumb over the back of my hand. It’s a surprisingly intimate se
nsation, and the sight of his relatively large digit sliding against my pale skin does strange things to my insides. The simple touch is more familiar than our short acquaintance would suggest.

  “Tell me, what made you leave Duluth?” Matt suddenly asks brusquely, startling me with the heat in his eyes when I look at him. “Holding on by a thread here, Tana. Have some mercy.”

  Clearly he feels it too: the electricity almost audibly crackling between us. I glance at his mouth, pressed into a tight line, and I find myself imagining those lips on my skin, licking my own at the thought.

  “Montana,” he groans. “Not making it easy.”

  “Right. Like I mentioned, my parents have a bakery, one they took over from my grandparents when they got married.”

  “Which side?”

  Confused I look up. “Which side?” I echo back.

  “The grandparents: on your mom or dad’s side?”

  “Oh, uh, Dad’s side. Anyway, I worked in the bakery since I was maybe twelve. After school and on the weekends. Being the only child, the expectation was always I would take over one day, like my parents had done. It wasn’t my dream, though. I always wanted to see more of the world, and I could see how locked in my parents were with the bakery. They still are at almost seventy years old. Never got to go fishing in Montana, and never visited Graceland. I didn’t want that for myself. I headed to Boston, got a business degree, and for the past eighteen years have been building my own business.”

  “What kind of business?” Matt asks.

  “Best Bites. I started making organic granola that I sold exclusively at farmer’s markets, but since then I’ve expanded with other baked goods.” Unable to hold back showing a little pride, I add, “Even though I still have stalls at several markets, my products can be found on the shelves of health food stores in twenty-one states.”

  “Wow. That is impressive,” he responds with an acknowledging nod that makes me feel pretty good. “Couldn’t completely get away from the baker in you, then?”

  “I guess.” I shrug and return his smile.