As we get settled, Caden slips his palm under his ear, the other hand sliding into his pocket as he stares into my eyes. I pull my tank down to appease the squirming infant. Maybe I should be embarrassed but I'm not. Caden has a way of making me recognize I'm not only a mother, but a woman. His eyes linger on my body, appreciation heavy in the lusty hang of his lids. And although not overtly sexual, his sometimes flirtatious words stir a dormant fluttering and desire to have a man's hands remind me my breasts are not only for baby feedings every two hours. My hips may be wider than they were, but no less appreciated, and maybe more so by him. The kindness he's shown, his willingness to pause his life to help me with mine, isn't something most men would even consider. He's a good man.
"Caden?"
"Piper."
"I hate that your dad left. I don't know him, but what I see in you is a guy who lives to do the right thing for the people he cares about the most. I don't think you should be afraid."
He smiles, and my heart constricts. "I like you."
Returning his grin, I say, "I think you like to say that."
"I like you and so I like to say it."
"But we hardly know each other."
"Not true. I know you're a natural blonde."
I punch his arm, but the crack stings my hand and he only laughs. "Forget that. Information gathered during emergencies doesn't count."
His eyebrow arches. "I remember everything, along with a well-placed piercing. Tell me, Piper, why does a refined rich girl from San Francisco become a vamped up Rainbow Bright?"
It's my turn to laugh, jostling JT enough that I have to help him latch on again. "When I was a kid I felt like watercolors in the rain-pretty pastels that had no meaning. I couldn't figure me out. When I started making decisions for myself, the picture wasn't as blurry, and I started to like my self-expression. The perfect part was I stopped caring if my parents did."
"And you don't miss them or the life you left behind?"
"I really don't. The last thing my father said to me when I left was, 'You'll fail, Piper Stevens, and in a month you'll knock on this door begging. You always do.'" I shrug as if it's nothing, but that was everything. I'll never go back. "I'm going to make my mark in the world, not because my parents pushed me in a direction, but with my choices and my decisions. I'm going to be the best mom, and that doesn't mean a big house and a fifty-thousand-dollar car at sixteen, but loving JT and supporting him. One act, one decision changes lives. I came to Lilyfalls and it changed mine. I'm going to be there for JT through all of his life-changing moments."
Caden remains silent. His gaze roves over my face and finally down to the baby suckling from my breast. The fact I'm three days post-partum doesn't stop his eyes from sparking in the moonlight. He's hungry and confident as he leans in, dragging his turquoise irises back to my lips. His hand sneaks from his pocket and lands on my hip, kneading the soft flesh beneath my pajama pants. It feels good. He feels right. And without thinking about the past or who my heart belongs to, I know in an instant it would be easy to let Caden become my everything.
Warning bells fire off. Careful, Piper. Love is destiny with heartbreak, and I'd like to be in charge of my future. I just can't, not now and not with Caden, so I rush out the words, "I have a baby on my boob."
He stops. His lips part as if my outburst brought him out of a trance. "I'm sorry," he says, sitting as he does. "We're friends. I . . ." He runs a hand up and down his face. In a flash, he's on his feet and hopping from the truck bed, whistling for Gus to join him. "It's late. And I . . . just . . . sleep, sleep is good."
I may not be ready to be more than friends but I don't want him to go. "Caden."
He flinches but stays put, glancing in my direction. "Piper."
My lids fall, closing out his piercing eyes as that one word drifts over my skin. A sudden flash of his nose pressing into the curve where my neck and shoulder meet consumes my mind. What would it feel like if he murmured my name into me during the throes of passion? And why am I thinking about him in that position, in any position where his hands kneed and my heartbeat spikes? His hands . . . God his hands.
His sigh reaches me and I shudder. "I'm going to go catch a few hours of rest, sweetheart. Wake me if you need anything."
I nod without looking. Silence stretches between us, then wood creaks as he walks up the porch stairs and the cottage door bangs shut behind him. The clang echoes through the night and down into the valley of town in time to my thudding pulse.