Zara’s kiss.
It happened so quickly, and it was an accident. I know that. But I can’t stop thinking about it. Can’t stop dwelling on the feel of Zara’s lips on mine. I thought about it all weekend, when my focus was supposed to be on the veterans participating in the Wilderness Warriors camping trip.
I thought about it yesterday and today, when my focus was supposed to be on the damn book that’s due to my editor in three months and eight days.
If I don’t get the kiss out of my thoughts soon, I’ll never finish the story.
I shove the air out of my lungs in a frustrated breath and push to my feet.
The doorbell rings, and I go answer it. I unlocked the door earlier, knowing Zara was coming over, but Athena must have relocked it.
Zara is standing on my front stoop in body-hugging black jeans and a bright-pink cardigan. The cardigan’s neckline reveals the ripe, copper-brown swell of her breasts, and my mouth waters at the thought of running my tongue over them, tasting them.
Whoa. Where did that come from?
Eyes up, soldier. You’re not supposed to be looking at her breasts.
“C’mon in. She’s outside playing with Athena.” I step aside to let Zara in. “I’ll round her up.” Whether Peony wants to listen to me is something else entirely.
She and Athena are making their way back to the house as Zara and I join them outside.
“Hey, little flower.” The nickname slips out so easily. I have no idea if Peony hates it or not. She reacts the same way regardless of what name I use.
She looks up, and her face brightens. For a millisecond, I allow myself to believe the reaction is directed my way. “Za-wa.” She doesn’t give me another glance, doesn’t notice the bubble of hope pop in my chest.
I should be used to it by now, but her reaction is a knee to the gut, a slap to the face. I have no clue how to gain her trust, how to get her to accept me. Sure, she no longer screams when I’m around, but it’s hardly a ringing endorsement.
Peony rushes over to us, her little legs covering a surprising distance in such a short time.
She flings her arms around Zara’s leg, and Zara laughs that rich sound that reaches into my soul. Just hearing it soothes some of the lacerations from Peony’s indifference toward me. It’s a kiss to the…
Goddammit, stop thinking about Zara’s kiss.
It can’t happen again.
Zara crouches next to Peony and strokes her cheek, brushing off a bit of smudged dirt. “I heard you and your daddy are going to the playground. Can I come too?”
Peony leans over Zara’s thigh and wiggles as if to pull herself onto Zara’s lap.
The sudden movement knocks Zara off balance, and she falls backward onto her ass, laughing. “I hope that’s a yes.”
“I think she wants you to carry her there.” My words are strung together from a guess rather than actual knowledge of what Peony wants.
I look to Athena for conformation, but she doesn’t notice. She’s watching Zara and Peony, her face paler than normal. I shrug it off. It must be my imagination, brought on by stress, that she looks like she’s seen a ghost from her past.
“I can do that.” Zara adjusts Peony to straddle her hip and starts to stand, using her free hand for balance. But it’s as if her legs refuse to cooperate, and she can’t quite push herself to her feet as she staggers upright.
My arm goes around her waist, keeping her steady, and I help her stand. “You okay?” I don’t let go of her, the solid warmth of her in my arms tugging back the memories of her lips on mine.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Just a little stiff from removing the shelves this afternoon.”
I frown. “Your shoulders are hurting again?” If you ask me, her shoulders aren’t the only things that are causing her problems if she’s having trouble standing.
“They’re not bad.”
“Which means theyarehurting.” I look at Peony, who’s watching me with wide eyes, but I have no idea what she’s thinking. She doesn’t seem scared of me this time, but I can’t be sure. Her opinion of me changes so frequently. “Maybe I should carry her to the playground.”
Zara’s gaze flicks briefly to Athena, then to me. The tiniest frown divots between her eyebrows, but it’s probably only noticeable to me. “I really will be fine, Garrett. Promise.”
