After a while, she lifted her head, saw Aidan staring at her, in an unconscious way that told her he’d been studying her the entire time she’d been studying work.
“I didn’t ever have the patience for it,” he said. “The kind of stuff you do. Books and words.”
“It’s never too late to get started.”
She expected him to wave her off, but he gave her a considering face, head tilting again. “Ava thinks I’m stupid.”
“You’re street smart.”
“Is that enough for you?”
She recoiled. “Aidan, I don’t have specifications. You know that I…” She almost choked. “How I feel about you.”
He stared. “Yeah?”
“Yes.”
His smile was slow. “How much longer, teach?”
“All of it can wait until tomorrow.”
When he stood, she took the hand he offered, and let her gun-wielding man lead her out to her car.
~*~
“Do you like kids?”
The question caught her by surprise. Sam lay on her stomach, propped up on her elbows, hovering above Aidan who lay face-down on the pillow beside her. She traced his tattoos with a meticulous fingertip, by the light of her dresser lamp, following the careful patterns of the clusters of red roses across his shoulders. Warm with post-coital bliss, it took her a second to register his question.
Her hand stilled, finger braced in a lush red petal. “What?”
“Do you like kids?” he repeated, his back tensing beneath her. “I mean, do you want them? Like them?” He shrugged, roses jumping. “Whatever.”
Sam stared at his beautifully inked skin a moment, thinking, trying to read intention into his words. Why was he asking this? Why now, when they’d made no promises to one another?
“I do,” she said, carefully, not wanting him to feel any expectation. “I like them. You’ve met my sister. She pretty much qualifies as a kid.”
“Yeah.”
“As to wanting them…” She trailed off. She hadn’t really thought about it, and said as much. “Dad died, and I had to help Mom, look after Erin…I haven’t put a whole lot of thought toward having a family of my own.” When he didn’t answer, she dragged her nail lazily across the outline of a green thorn and whispered, “But I want one. A family. You know that.”
“Yeah.”
“Maybe it’s too late. Who knows. I’m thirty-two.”
“Pssht. It’s not too late.”
“Maybe not.”
“It’s not.”
She flattened her hand over his spine, wishing she could read his thoughts through the touch of his skin. “Why?”
The pause went a beat too long to be casual. “Dunno. No reason.”
Yeah right. But she wasn’t going to push. He wasn’t telling her he didn’t want children, and that was a good sign. “Tell me about these,” she said, continuing her exploration of the roses. “They’re beautiful.” And big, which meant they must have some importance.
“My roses,” he said in a voice she hadn’t heard before, something low and tender.
