Pulling back, I kiss the tops of each of their heads and ask them to clean up their mess while I whip up some of the pancakes they had promised, using my regular cooking supplies, not my baking supplies. Those are almost as precious to me as my kids, and they ensure our livelihood.
At the sink, I wash my hands and look out the window to the backyard and smile at the progress that I’ve made in about a week. I had the landscapers plant some flowers along the back of the fence, tulips to be exact. I’ve always loved how they open up in the sun, soaking in the warmth of the rays. Movement behind the kids’ playset catches the corner of my eye, and I stare open-mouthed and dumbfounded.
He couldn’t have stooped this low, could he? So much so as to hang a humongous brown tarp between our two properties?
“Kids,” I shout. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”
Noah and Kennedy both nod as they sit playing at their small table in the living room. I step out onto my deck wearing only my thin silk robe and matching chemise and shorts. Without a second thought I stomp over to the edge of the fencing post and unstrap the bungee cord holding the tarp and rope in place, then I do the same on the bottom and the other end. Now that I am closer to the driveway I look out and notice his car is missing. Good. As I fold the tarp, because, yeah, I’m still a thoughtful person, I consider calling the homeowner’s association. I suppose if it continues to escalate then that will be the next recourse.
With the oversized tarp folded, I carry it over and place it on Jackson’s deck. A dog barking inside startles me at first because I hadn’t realized someone as mean and uncaring as Jackson had a dog. Much less could take care of it.
The dog comes to the back door and promptly sits as he looks at me, eyeing me up and down deciding if I’m worth the hassle or not. He and I stare at each other for a minute, and then the dog seems to smile before standing and moving back through the house. Weirdly enough it feels as if I’ve passed some sort of test.
Shaking my head, I walk back to my own house and finish up the pancakes I had started and get ready to begin baking. With my orders, I deliver on the same day or the next, so right now I only work locally and I have a few bakeries and restaurants that carry my items, but my goal is to take it nationally. I’ve had a few meetings with delivery companies and other bakeries interested in supplying the baked goods in my name.
Baking at this level was never my intention when I started. I worked as an administrative assistant and would bake when I would come home from work to release stress. The items that I would share with my coworkers were always a hit, and one of the vice presidents asked to take a pie home to his wife. Little did I know that she owned a chain of restaurants. With her help, my project took off from there.
“Guys, while you eat your pancakes I’m going to take a quick shower, okay? Noah, you can turn on the television when you’re both done. I’ll be right back.”
“Okay, Mommy,” they both respond and I watch as a large helping of syrup drips from Kennedy’s mouth down onto the table. Guess I’ll be removing a sticky mess later as well.
The bathroom in the hall is the one I have set up for me, my days of an attached master bath are long gone. It’s still a step up from having to share one with the kids though. I remove my night clothes and place them on top of the hamper then step into the shower, turning on the warm spray. I know that I don’t have long to indulge in a relaxing shower, so I hurriedly lather my hair and body then wash the suds clean. Luckily, I had a full wax a few weeks ago, so I don’t have to spend time shaving, because I absolutely don’t have time for that. I make quick work of conditioning my hair, this step is crucial if I don’t want to spend an hour trying to brush it later. My hair has natural waves that tend to twist and frizz into each other every time it gets wet. Makes for a great time when I get caught in the rain.
I stand under the spray while the conditioner does its thing and close my eyes. The stress of the past few months sits heavy on my shoulders, and I really need to focus on getting more contracts for my baked goods, or I may have to look for a regular job. I’m lucky that my services pay well. Far more than I would have ever expected, but I’m afraid it may still not be enough. Sara had mentioned looking into catering, and I’m definitely interested, but I would have no idea who to contact to get my name out there.
Unfortunately, the shower does little to relieve my anxiety, and as I wash out the conditioner and step onto my bath mat, I realize that I had forgotten to bring in a clean towel from the linen closet.
“Shit,” I curse. I wonder for a moment if Noah is big enough to grab me a towel and decide to try my luck. “Noah!” I shout, waiting for a reply, but none comes. “Noah!” I repeat and receive the same response. Concerned, I stick my head out of the door and look down the hall hoping to spy the kids watching television but the screen isn’t on.
In a panic I grab my thin, pale pink robe and toss it over my body, tightening the tie a little more than necessary. I hurry to peek in the bedrooms hoping to find them in one of the rooms but I come up short.
In my dash to find my kids, I stub my toe on the leg of the end table as I move into the living room, but my pain is quickly forgotten when I find my front door wide open. My heart lurches in my chest, and if I didn’t know better, I would think I am having a heart attack.
I barely notice that most of my body is exposed by my flimsy robe as I race out the front door screaming my kids’ names.
“Noah! Kennedy!”
At first I don’t see them, but then I hear the light giggles that only a mother would recognize. I run through the grass of my front yard and across the driveway, paying no mind to the fact that a second car is parked behind mine.
“Noah! Kennedy!” I scream again as I round the back edge of my car and come to a complete stop. In the front yard of Jackson’s home, I find my two kids and the dog from earlier rolling around in the grass, both Noah and Kennedy donning their pajamas.
I bend forward, hand on my rapidly beating heart, as I take them in, their laughter filling a void in the empty space of the pounding muscle.
“You should probably remember to lock your front door if you leave your kids alone,” a deep voice rattles from close by. It’s then that I peer up and notice Jackson sitting on the steps of his front porch eyeing me disdainfully.
“Excuse me?” I gasp at his harsh tone.
He slowly rises from his perch and meanders his way toward me as if he hadn’t just insulted me as a person and a mother.
“I simply suggested that you may want to make sure to lock the doors if you’re going to be leaving your children alone for any portion of time.”
“The doors were locked. I assure you,” I argue as the fire begins to build inside of me.
“Obviously not if your kids are outside right now and you didn’t know where they were,” he adds as he stops in front of me and trails his eyes up my body, my skin prickling under his gaze. I watch in fascination as the tip of his tongue peeks out between his lips as his gaze lands on my breasts, but it doesn’t linger. Jackson brings his eyes to meet mine and the heat swirling within them is electric.
I’m unsure if it’s the moment catching up to me, or the way I can feel an attraction for him blossoming, but I feel out of my element and I immediately go on the defensive.
“I can assure you, Mister. . . “
“Divers,” he interjects.
“I assure you, Mister Divers, that my children were not left in an unlocked home.”
Jackson doesn’t respond, he merely cocks his dark eyebrow, highlighting his gorgeous blue eyes, of course, and crosses his arms against his chest.
“Noah?” I begin without taking my eyes away from Jackson’s. “How did you get outside?”
“Um, I got the chair and twisted the lock thing. It’s easier than at our other house. We saw the dog outside and wanted to play.”
“Didn’t I ask you to stay inside until I was done?”
“Yes, ma’am. Are we in trouble?” he as
ks, and I can hear the tiny quiver in his voice. Both of my kids hate being in trouble and they’re usually very good, but I know my rules are hard to go against a dog playing outside. They’ve been asking for a puppy since our neighbor at our last home got a golden retriever.
“Yes, you are,” I say as I smirk up at Jackson whose eyes haven’t left my face. His penetrating gaze is doing something to my body that I haven’t felt or recognized in years; not since I got pregnant with Kennedy. I feel desired. My nipples pebble on their own accord and I’m too afraid to move from this spot, too afraid that I’ll launch myself at this infuriating man. Between the heat of the summer, and the heat of his stare, I feel myself surrounded by dizziness.
“I guess that answers that, Mister Divers,” I say, but my voice sounds like a breathless whisper to my own ears. I can’t imagine what it sounds like to him. I force out a cough, hoping to cleanse my throat and speak more clearly. “I didn’t realize that you had a dog.”
“I don’t. Just dog sitting. I didn’t realize you were so good at folding a tarp.” His deep voice throbs across my skin leaving tiny goose bumps in its wake.
“Well, I like to think I’m multitalented,” I jest saucily. “Next time it goes up I’m contacting the HOA. I don’t think they’d take kindly to it.”
“Step on my lawn again and I’ll call the cops. Got that, sweetheart?” Jackson says as he leans toward me slightly. His masculine scent mixed with his cologne and a hint of perfume churns around me.
I’m about to speak up and give him a piece of my mind when his eyes dart toward the road and then back at me. Jackson leans closer to me, his mouth just beside my ear, his nose touching my wet hair. Then I feel it. The brush of his finger against my skin, just under the lapel of my robe.
“You may want to head inside unless you want to give my parents a show. I can see your nipples through your wet robe,” he says, and at first I am stunned into silence, but then I glance down to where my pale pink robe has gone completely see-through. My wet hair is draped over my shoulder and the droplets of water have soaked the thin silk exposing the tip of my breast to him.
In a moment of embarrassment, I glare up at him in shock as he moves away from my face and stands straight. I’m not even in shock that my breast is exposed. After having two children that I nursed for the first years of their life, I have very little modesty left. My excitement comes from the spark that I felt at his touch. The way the rough tip of his finger caressed down my soft skin leaving a heated path along my chest.
I step away from Jackson, my mind whirling with the implications of how much I crave his touch. How much I want him to repeat that sensation all over my skin. Without a second glance, I turn around and grab each of my children’s arms, dragging them back to our house a bit more harshly than I should, but in my embarrassment and receding panic, I am having a hard time controlling myself.
“What did I tell you both about leaving the house? What if a bad man took you away from me?” I whisper to Noah and Kennedy with a distinct quiver in my voice as we step onto my front porch.
They both look up at me with sadness and worry, and it hurts my overly pounding heart. As a mother I have feared for them every day since the moment I saw the two pink lines on the pregnancy tests. But now, guiding them through life as a single mother, I am terrified that I won’t be enough for both of them, that I won’t be able to protect them the way I need to.
The kids don’t respond to my question, and as they step into the house, I faintly hear Jackson’s voice from next door as he greets someone. His tone is warm and loving, something I haven’t heard from him before. I chance a glance over at him and I’m surprised to see him hugging a woman with short blonde hair and a tweed jacket paired with dark denim jeans. I feel disgusted remembering the scent of perfume on him as we sparred not too long ago and the way he trailed his finger across my breast. But as he pulls away from the woman he looks up and winks in my direction, as if he knows I have been watching.
“Come on, Mom, I’ll make you some breakfast,” I hear him say, and my cheeks fill with warmth.
Shaking my head, I complete my journey back into the house and lock the door behind me. Guess I’ll be going to the store today to get some special locks that the kids can’t pick.
*
Kennedy and Noah both trail behind me with their “shopper in training” carts as we walk down the aisles of the local superstore. I need to look for some clothes for the kids for when they start kindergarten and preschool this fall and find those pesky locks I read about online. I’m used to buying their clothes at high-end retailers where I’m not having to sift through mountains of items to find a size, but I am grateful that I can afford any clothes for them at this point.
I sent Dan a message after the fiasco this morning with the kids leaving the house to see if he wanted to chip in for new clothes, but of course, I only received the one-worded answer – No. His lack of concern for the kids leaves me wondering if he’ll even keep up his side of the court-ordered monthly visitation.
My phone buzzes in my back pocket as I hold up a unicorn shirt for Kennedy who nods enthusiastically and grabs it from my hand to toss in her cart. Pulling the phone out I notice a text from Sara.
Sara – What are you and the munchkins doing?
Me – Shopping. I never realized how expensive kid’s clothes are, even at the superstore.
Sara – Sorry. Want to grab a drink to drown your sorrows? I’ll drive.
Me – I can make you dinner.
Sara – How about I treat you guys to dinner? You deserve a break.
Me – You sure you can handle the madness?
Typically, when Sara and I would go to dinner, there would be no Dan and no kids because we had a nanny that lived close by.
Sara – I think I can handle it.
Me – O’Malley’s at 5:30? The kids like the Irish nachos.
Sara – See ya then.
As I close out the messenger app, I notice a missed call from my mother. I haven’t spoken to my parents, my mother and my stepfather, since they fought me against the divorce. They insisted I stick by Dan and help him raise his new child, and when I told them that I’d rather stab myself with a needle under my toenails then help him raise his child with someone else, they balked. And top that off with the fact that they painted my father to be some madman, even though he had renovated his house to suit my needs before leaving it to me, left me confused. Not that they try to reach out often since they live about four hours away, but when she had called earlier I couldn’t bring myself to answer. I’m not sure if I’ll have the strength to answer again for a while. Though I need to send out invites to Kennedy’s fourth birthday party next weekend and I’ll need to invite both them and Dan and Sky. Good times.
This reminds me that I need to stop by the party aisle to grab some invitations. There is something to be said for everything being located in one store.
I help the kids grab a few more shirts and pants before I make my way toward the invitations where I snag the unicorn invite Kennedy is staring at in wonder.
“You sure you want unicorns, baby? This is your last chance.”
“Yes, Mommy. I want the unicorns. I love them!” she projects loudly, drawing the eyes of a few people walking by, including our new neighbor. At this point, I am concerned that he may be stalking us, but then I remember that this is the closest store to our neighborhood.
He looks over at us as he passes by carrying a pack of bottled beer just as Kennedy begins to do her potty dance.
“I gotta go, Mommy,” Kennedy cries as she tugs on the edge of my shorts.
“Can you wait until we get home?” I ask as I look at our full carts and then back over to her.
“No. I gotta go now!” she protests.
“Fine, okay.”
I look up front wondering where I can leave the carts so I can go past the registers, then I hear his deep voice.
“There is a family bathroom in the back,” he offers as
he stands at the end of the aisle.
I glance up at him surprised that he is offering any assistance to my situation. He’s made it very clear that he despises me as much as I despise him. But as Kennedy starts bouncing on her toes, I know that we don’t have much time left.
“Thank you!” I exclaim as we rush past him, me tugging two carts while Noah and Kennedy try to keep up with my pace.
“You’re welcome,” he shouts as we pass, but I pay him little mind. I have a three-year-old with a dire need on my hands.
*
With one crisis averted, I turn my attention to the two scoundrels sitting across from me at O’Malley’s. They hide their nefarious ways beneath layers of cuteness and sparkles.
I don’t notice Sara’s approach as I harness my gaze on my kids sitting across from me innocently coloring their sheets from the hostess, wondering where I have failed as a mother.
“Why do you look so gloom and doom?” Sara asks, sliding into the booth next to me.
“Look at them, all sweet and innocent.”
I watch as her gaze narrows on Noah and Kennedy as she searches for something out of character but then shrugs her shoulders.
“Yep, as cute as always.”
“Did you know that I am raising criminals? Those two faces are going to be on mug shots one day.”
Her melodic giggle drifts past me and falls on deaf ears. I’m too mortified and humiliated to partake in her laughter.
“What did they do?” she asks after ordering a margarita from the waiter.
“You know that we went to the store to begin shopping for school clothes.” She nods then I continue. “Well, while we were in the party aisle my sweet innocent children snuck one past me. It wasn’t until I was leaving the checkout station that I noticed each of them was holding a stuffed unicorn.” I look over at Sara, and I’m surprised to see a smile on her face instead of the frown I expected. She is a lawyer after all. “They stole them, Sara. My own children are thieves!” I say in horror as I rest my head on the top of the table just in time for the waiter to return with my beer and her margarita.
Stolen Nights (The Stolen Series Book 1) Page 4
