Page 60 of Dotted Lines (Runaway 5)

August came racing in our direction with a shell in his hand. He held it up, just long enough to get a smile and a wave from Clara, then he tucked it into the pocket of his shorts and raced away.

“He turns six next month. I feel like I woke up one day and he was this little boy. My baby vanished before my eyes.”

“And his father?”

Clara took a few steps, not answering. Her shoulders were stiff. Her smile gone.

“Forget it. I’m prying.”

“No, it’s just . . . it didn’t work out. He’s not involved in August’s life and I prefer it that way.”

What the hell? When? I opened my mouth to tell her never mind, I was going to pry, but she took off, jogging to catch up to August.

Well, shit.

For most people, I would have let it go. It wasn’t any of my business. But this was Clara. Years apart, and she was still . . . mine. My business.

I hustled to catch up, and now that Clara was with August, her smile had returned, as gorgeous as ever.

She bent to inspect another shell, then when she spotted me, gestured to the parking lot. “Let’s head back. Maybe you can still get some swimming in, bud.”

“Yes.” He fist pumped and ran in the direction of the car.

“I’m sorry,” I said as we walked.

“It’s fine.” She waved it off. “It’s in the past. As long as August is happy, I’m happy.”

“He’s a good kid. You’re a good mom.”

She looked up at me and smiled. “Thanks. That means a lot.”

I nudged her elbow with mine. “It’s good to see you.”

“Same here.” A lock of hair flew into her face.

Instead of tucking it behind an ear like I wanted to, I shoved my hands in my pockets. “I get you tomorrow, right?”

She nodded. “Our schedule is wide open.”

“Good.” The back of my hand brushed against hers, and for a second, I nearly took her hand.

She hadn’t hugged me today. She used to hug. A jolt of electricity zinged to my elbow. Maybe it was the waves, but I swore I heard her breath hitch.

I inched away. I put space between us and did my best not to think of the last time I’d touched Clara.

It had been the night before we’d left the junkyard. She’d been in my arms after we’d had sex. There’d been no fumbling touches like our first time. There’d been no fear or worry. We’d come together like two people who’d been lovers for years, not a day.

A night I’d never forget.

“August!” she called, waving him back to us.

Yeah. Let’s keep August here. Maybe with the kid close, these very intimate, very sexual, very naked thoughts about his mother would stop.

Christ, I was a fucking asshole.

“You should take the Cadillac,” I said as we hit the lot. “Keep it while you’re here.”

“You don’t mind?”