by Zoe York
And the kids really liked pizza.
As Wednesdays were also pre-school days for Maya, it usually meant that Ryan could leave mid-day and get some extra work done at the armouries, but this particular week was a school break.
They’d had four days of non-stop family time, and by mid-morning, Ryan was already sick of pizza talk.
“You guys want to get rid of me that bad, huh?” he asked, hurling Maya in the air as she squealed.
“Well, Uncle Rafe does have an X-Box,” Jack pointed out.
As he did every time they asked for a video game system, Ryan pointed to their running shoes. “Outside we go.”
They didn’t complain, because they all loved the trail that ran through the woods. It opened into a clearing at his in-laws’ house, then turned south along the lake for a good long while. It was tough going in places, but the kids had been hiking it since each of them learned to walk.
The boys ran ahead, sprinting back whenever they got close to being out of sight. Ryan stuck close to Maya, listening to his daughter’s meandering narration about the fairies in the forest and the magic spells they used.
“What happens if you meet a real-life fairy, Daddy?”
“I don’t know. What do you think?”
“Maybe have a tea party with them.”
He smothered a laugh. “Oh yeah?”
“If they have tea.”
“And if they don’t?”
“Maybe play tag.”
“That sounds like fun.” He tapped her on the shoulder. “Want to play tag with me?”
She heaved a big sigh. “You’re not a fairy, Daddy.”
“I could be.”
“No. You’re a Daddy. Fairies are magical. Daddies are real.” She looked ahead on the path, toward her brothers, and gasped. “I see one!”
Ryan just saw two boys covered in mud. “Okay, go get her then!”
Maya sprinted ahead, almost tripping over a root, but though she skidded sideways in the mud, she kept her footing. He followed, giving her some distance for the imaginary play, but when she ran past her brothers and disappeared around the bend, he took off after her.
“Maya Howard, get back here,” he yelled.
From around the thick overgrowth, he heard her little voice saying, “Tag! You’re it.”
And damned but if someone didn’t laugh. A woman. Since fairies weren’t real, that meant that Maya had just poked a stranger.
They’d have to talk about that.
But when he caught up to her a second later, he lost all his words, because Maya was having a tag stand-off around a tree with Holly Cresinski.
And even though it was unseasonably warm, it wasn’t warm enough for what she was wearing—or rather, what she wasn’t.
The first two times he’d met her, she’d been wearing layers of sweats. Today, she was in a sports bra and tiny shorts. And shoes, probably, although his eyes couldn’t seem to stray that far south. Stop looking at her, he ordered himself, but it was hopeless.
It wasn’t like he’d been oblivious to the fact that she was pretty before, but he’d noticed it in the absent way one thought about a nice sunset or a particularly good cup of coffee—for a second, and then he’d moved on with his life, because pretty women and grieving single dads didn’t really mix.
It had been a week and a half since their chat outside his house. He’d watched her disappear into the darkness that night, her long blonde ponytail swishing through the air, and for a few moments, he’d held on to the curve of her smile and the flash of her eyes. Then he let it go, and he hadn’t seen her since.
Now she was right in front of him, and he couldn’t stop looking at her. She had so much bare skin. And it was all gorgeous. Long, strong legs. Slim calves, curvy hips, and a tiny, tight waist that he could span with both hands.
And her breasts. Holy shit, he could see her breasts, and they were like an oasis in the desert. Round, high, tight. Everything about her was tight. She was a fucking wet dream, and she was on his path—not that he owned it—and his kids were there too, which made his reaction totally inappropriate on top of the regular level of inappropriateness. And he still hadn’t said anything.
He couldn’t. He was reeling from his physical reaction, trying to process it and be neighbourly and remember his wife all at the same time. The abstract notion of having a sex life again was something totally different than actually having a sexual response to a woman while his children—the product of his love with Lynn—sprinted circles around him. It was enough to make him permanently mute.
“You’re one of the movie people,” Gavin said, apparently not having his father’s problem with speech. Holly nodded, still laughing.
Jack jumped up and grabbed a branch on the tree Holly was standing next to. “Are you hiking today, too? We have the week off school.”
She grinned at the nine-year-old. “You’re lucky. I have the morning off work, but I need to go back this afternoon. So I was just finishing up a run.”
“Do you want to see how fast I can run?” Gavin asked. Ryan couldn’t see his face, but he could imagine the glint in his middle kid’s eye. He was going to be a lady killer, and from the smile playing on Holly’s lips, maybe he already was.
“Sure,” she said, and off he went, his brother and sister hot on his heels.
Ryan took a step forward, flicking his attention back and forth between his kids and Holly’s bare skin. You mean Holly. But as he watched a bead of sweat curve around her collarbone and slide down the middle of her chest, he was having trouble with that distinction. So he stepped to the side, looking way down the trail, physically forcing himself to look away.
“Fancy seeing you here,” he said, his words straining to sound normal, but since he never said fancy, he’d clearly failed.
“Ryan, hi.” She said his name softly, and it did something funny inside him. Made him want to lean in and lower his own voice, but he didn’t, because what would he say?
She crossed her arms, covering her mid-section, but even out of his peripheral vision he could see the gesture just propped up her breasts. And that bead of sweat disappeared into her cleavage.
She cleared her throat. “Nice day for a hike.”
And his first hard-on in months, apparently. He nodded, madly doing the ten-times table in his head. “It is. Do you usually get mornings off work?”
She shook her head, her long blonde ponytail swishing over her shoulders as she turned to follow his gaze. “Unexpected break, thank goodness.”
“Unexpected?” They were standing almost side-by-side now, and while she looked ahead, he stole the moment to look at her—at the curve of her ear and the long line of her neck. Her delicate, strong jaw and…
“Not a big deal.” She waved her hand in the air, brushing it off at the same time as she interrupted his cataloguing of her features. “And it looks like your kids are taking off on you…”
“Hey, stay where I can see you,” he yelled, then made an apologetic face as he stepped past her, reluctant to say goodbye. “That’s only going to hold them back for like ten seconds.”
“Good luck.” She grinned and waved as they moved in opposite directions. “Hey, Ryan?”
He glanced up the path. The kids were climbing a tree. He turned around, letting himself have one last selfish look at her. “Yeah?”
“Nice to see you again.” She winked before jogging away, and once again, he found himself watching her—and this time, he wasn’t left wondering why.
Danger, his inner voice of reason warned. She’s not going to be around for long. But maybe that was good. Hell, it’s not like he ever had any privacy. He couldn’t sleep with her, but he could look, right?
Nothing bad ever came from looking.
— —
By the end of the week, Holly could no longer deny that she wanted to see Ryan again.
It was the most ridiculous school-girl crush, but after running into him on the path, and seeing the way he looked at her, she wa
s done pretending she didn’t want more of that. Because when was the last time anyone wanted Holly? And okay, maybe the fact that she was in tiny shorts and a tight top helped—but Holly’s boobs were the boobs of a total nobody. And he liked the look of them just because they were there, and maybe because they were attached to her—most importantly, not because they were insured for a million bucks.
“Are you muttering about breasts to the salad?” Emmett asked, sliding next to her in the kitchen.
“Boobs, not breasts.” Holly shook her head. “Is it silly for me to be thinking about having a fling while we’re here? Someone I can’t actually ever get involved with? Is that cruel?”
“To him, or to you?”
The answer was probably yes, to both. “He’s just…unlike anyone I’ve ever met.”
“Who is he? I haven’t seen you try to eye-fuck anyone on set.” Her assistant leaned in and swiped a crouton. She handed over the bowl. It wasn’t like she ate carbs anyway.
“He’s not on the set, exactly. And don’t say eye-fuck, it’s crude.”
“Crude can be fun. Wait, you don’t go anywhere else. Who is this off-limits man that you can’t…” Emmett’s eyes got really big and he took a step back. “Hope Creswell, you don’t dare try to seduce me.”
She giggled. “Honey, could I even if I tried?”
“I’ve slept with women.”
“Willingly?”
“Sure. I was confused and lonely…it was a difficult time.”
“Uh-huh. And what time was that, exactly?”
“Twelfth grade. And part of the first year of college, but that was more threesomes than anything else.”
“Awesome.” She grabbed her salad back and stabbed it with a fork. “No, I’m going to seduce you. And that’s the end of that awkward conversation. Make yourself a sandwich, then come run lines with me, okay?”
“You could do worse than me, though,” he hollered as she skipped away.
“You’re married,” she yelled back. “To a man I happen to love more than you!”
When he followed a few minutes later, Emmett’s eyes were soft, like he was still thinking about how lovely his partner was. Holly didn’t want to re-open the conversation about her crush, so she stuck to work, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that she wanted that. She wanted what her assistant had, what a lot of people had, that had always seemed nice enough, but maybe not for her.
Her dating history was limited and unimpressive. She’d long given up the idea that those magical feelings were real for wounded people like herself.
Well, screw that. Why couldn’t it be for her?
And maybe the single dad in the middle of nowhere wasn’t the safest or most logical step in the direction of finding love, but he liked her boobs and he didn’t know she was a movie star. Right now, he was her only option.
A practice-run, so to speak.
No harm would come from flirting a bit.
— —
The next night, Ryan put all the kids to bed in the boys’ room.
“I like Daddy’s room better,” Maya pouted, even as she snuggled into Gavin’s bed.
“We need to be brave,” her brother whispered, and Ryan almost threw in the towel. But now that they were settled, the two youngest in Gavin’s bed, and Jack in his on the other side of the window, it felt good. Right. About damn time.
“You are all the bravest,” Ryan said gruffly, rubbing Maya’s back as he tucked them in. “And you remember that being strong has many faces, right? You can cry and you can be happy. You can miss Mom and want to talk about her. Or not. It’s up to you.”
“I want to talk about Easter,” Jack said.
Ryan laughed, and they did. They talked about making a big ham dinner and going to church and doing an egg hunt. Before long, three sets of eyes were slowly blinking shut.
He flipped on the baby monitor on his way downstairs, where he poured himself a drink and headed outside.
Absolutely not because he’d hoped to see a pretty blonde runner. Not because he’d noticed she liked to run the inclined road at night, and wanted another chance to talk to her.
When he found the lane dark and quiet, and rough disappointment surged in his chest, he told himself it was for the best. She’s out of your league, buddy. Well, no shit. Young, pretty, sexy, with an exciting entertainment career…she’d be slumming to be interested in the stay-at-home dad from Pine Harbour.
Lusting after Holly was an exercise in self-flagellation.
And then there was the guilt. He swirled his around in his glass, staring down at it. Breathing it in like the vapours might connect him to his wife. I miss you, Lynn. He squeezed his eyes shut. Damn it. I’m sorry.
If she were alive, he wouldn’t think twice about another woman, not like this. Am I a total shit for being lonely, baby? Fuck. He stood, fingers tightening around the glass. The urge to toss it against the wall of the house was almost overwhelming. He didn’t want to use loneliness as an excuse.
He didn’t need an excuse to have a healthy reaction to a beautiful woman. He was single. Grieving, yes. For all he knew, he might always feel torn between the wife he lost and any other woman he might share a bed with.
Not that he actually had a bed to share at the moment, or any time in the foreseeable future.
He stalked into the house, pissed at himself for having any of these thoughts. And that’s all they were, innocent thoughts. But if he couldn’t handle thinking about it, how the hell would he ever move on with his life?
And how fucking unfair was it that he had to move on at all?
Setting his glass on the desk tucked into a nook in the living room, he fired up the computer.
He checked Facebook first, where his mother-in-law had taken to messaging instead of sending email. He sent Gloria a quick reply, letting her know how the rest of March Break had gone for the kids, and that everything was fine with the cottages.
Then he checked his email, not expecting anything new, but there was a message from Faith Davidson.
Hi Ryan,
Sorry about the delay in getting back to you. I was on vacation. I’m back now, and would be happy to meet up with you. Our group meets on the first Thursday of every month, at the United Church in Lion’s Head. But I’ve got flexible work hours, if you want to meet for coffee. My son goes to kindergarten, so daytime works best for me.
No pressure—email chat works fine for me, too. God knows it’s hard enough for us solo parents without trying to fit in yet another thing.
All the best,
Faith
He read it twice. Not a single uncomfortable hair stood up on his neck, and he didn’t feel like sprinting for the door.
Taking a deep breath, he hit reply.
— FIVE —
THE week before had been exhausting, and Holly had spent her entire day off napping, exercising or running lines.
And then Monday crushed her soul. She never dealt with conflict well, and this project was full of it. The fighting between the other principal players was too close to the knock-down, drag-out fights her mother would have with her boyfriends and sugar daddies.
It had been a long day of Parvati Spencer struggling under her husband’s direction, and the leading actor, Joshua Pearce, being distracted by his phone blowing up every break until James banned phones from the set entirely, an order which only lasted five hours, but had a lingering effect. They filmed right up until dusk, when James threw a hissy fit about the lack of light, and the assistant director called it a day.
They were filming at a private cottage north of town, on the other side of the provincial park. It was a twenty-five minute drive to the cottages they were staying in, which some people griped about, but they all had trailers on set. This was their home away from home, and it was good that it was also away from work. Living right on top of the film set was never a good thing, in Holly’s experience.
She let out a heavy sigh of relief as they pulled onto Blue Heron Lane, and Emmett
gave her a hug as they waved goodnight to all the others.
“You want pizza for dinner, my lady?”
She really did. “Don’t tease me with carbs.”
“I could make you that cauliflower-crust pizza.”
“Really?”
“Of course, really.”
“Yes, please.”
He kissed her temple and headed for the kitchen. She shook off her lonely funk, had a shower, and emailed her manager instructions to give Emmett a bonus and a few extra weeks of parental leave when his baby arrived. Then she went back downstairs and poured them each a glass of wine to go with their almost-pizza.
The almost-normal meal made her think of Ryan. A guy like him probably only ate Chicago-style deep dish pizza. With extra cheese and bonus meat.
Once the lights on the row of cottages started to dim, Holly changed into nighttime running gear and instead of hitting the treadmill to burn off the cheese, she grabbed a reflective jersey and headed up the hill, doing the now familiar incline repeat training. On the third uphill sprint, she saw him sitting on his deck, the porch light now on.
In one hand, he was holding a glass of amber liquid. In the other, he held out a bottle of water. “You looked like you could use this,” he said with a weak, wry smile. It didn’t last long, and her chest tightened in a way that had nothing to do with being out of breath when it disappeared.
“Thanks,” she gasped.
He stood, slowly stretching to his full height, and took a wide step in her direction, handing her the water before retreating to the step again. “They’re not working you hard enough on that movie set?”
She stepped back herself, unsure of where to stand, of just how long this conversation might be or if she was even really welcome. “Not like this.”
He nodded in that absent way that acknowledged what she was saying without confirming understanding. Of course not. She was being deliberately vague.
She turned the conversation back to him. “How was the rest of your week with the kids off school?”
