“Hey, Mom.”
She smiled at her son. “Hi. You worked hard today.”
“I know, but the yard looks great.” Josh grinned. “Dad says a man has to take pride in his house.”
“Does he?”
Her eleven-year-old nodded with self-importance. “I’m going to go get cleaned up.”
“Sure.” She turned back to the refrigerator and pulled out the bottle of wine just as Greg walked into the kitchen.
“Let me wash up,” he said, “then I’ll set the table while you heat the food. I can open the wine, too.” He pulled off his T-shirt and dropped it onto the counter.
She would have protested that he was taking charge and that wasn’t necessary, but she found herself unable to speak.
Oh. My. God.
She’d forgotten. Genuinely forgotten that was what he did. After working in the yard or on the car, he would come into the house, pull off his shirt, then wash his hands and face. He would feel around for one of her perfectly clean dish towels and dry his face before wiping the towel across his chest and down his arms.
She remembered yelling at him about it. How he should learn to clean up in the bathroom. And what was with using her matching set of dish towels? Only, they’d been married then and she was used to seeing him half-dressed or undressed or naked.
But they weren’t married now.
She found herself mesmerized by the sight of her ex-husband wearing soft, worn jeans, work boots and nothing else. His chest and back were broad and tanned. She could see the muscles his job required. He hadn’t shaved in nearly a week, she would guess, and the dark, scruffy beard looked good on him.
As he turned off the water, she forced herself to look away. Serving dishes, she told herself. She needed to get out serving dishes.
As she crossed to the cupboards, she was aware of a strange pressure in her stomach. What on earth? She couldn’t be getting her period. So why was she feeling heavy and—
Rachel wasn’t one to swear, but several colorful options occurred to her as she realized she wasn’t cramping, for heaven’s sake. She was aroused. Talk about unfair!
It took only a few minutes to heat up the food. Greg pulled his T-shirt back on, then set the table and opened the wine. Josh appeared and sniffed the air.
“My favorites,” he announced, then glanced longingly toward the family room. “So there’s a really important Dodgers game on,” he began.
Greg rolled his eyes and looked at Rachel. She was still trying to ignore her state of sexual arousal. The last thing she needed was for Josh to announce she was acting weird.
“Sure,” she said brightly. “You can watch the game while you eat.”
Josh pumped his arm. “Sweet. And soda?”
She hesitated. “Just this once.”
“Woo-hoo!”
Greg raised his eyebrows. “That’s new.”
“We’re having wine. It only seems fair.”
She and her ex-husband sat across from each other—in the same chairs where they always had. She had an odd sense of past and present blurring until she wasn’t sure what to think or say.
“What are you thinking?” he asked as he passed her egg rolls.
“That technically you invited yourself to dinner.”
“Uh-huh. I also mowed the lawn without asking you.”
“And why is that?”
“Remember that talk we had a few weeks ago at the baseball field?”
She willed herself not to blush. “I’m not sure I would call it a conversation, but sure.”
He smiled. “After that, I made a decision. I always ask if I can help and you always tell me no. From now on, I’m going to simply step in and do whatever needs doing.”
“Even if I don’t want you to? That could get you into trouble.”
“Sure, but I figure you’ll be mad at me less than you have been and that’s a win.” He scooped up some kung pao shrimp. “Sienna still engaged to David?”
She elected to go with the change in topic. Probably safer for both of them. “As far as I know. That was the craziest thing. She wasn’t happy about him proposing, but I don’t know how much of that was the shock and how much was him asking in the first place.”
“What number engagement is this? Four?”
“Three. Jimmy, then Hugh, then David.”
“I didn’t meet Hugh, but Jimmy’s a good guy.”
“What about David?” she asked, curious about his opinion.
“I guess he’s okay. I just don’t see them together. There’s no chemistry. Maybe she’s pregnant.”
Rachel choked on her wine. “I’m fine,” she gasped, holding up a hand. “Pregnant? No. She would have said something by now.”