in another twenty years...
“Who’s that?” Robbie murmured, his head lowered so far he might have been asking the question of the racecar speeding across the front of his shirt.
“Robbie, this is...”
Your father.
For that split second, Lindsay nearly blurted out the truth she had kept secret for so long. The promised relief from the weight that had settled in her chest from the time Robbie was a toddler and started calling her own father “Dada” was almost overwhelming. But this couldn’t be about her. She had to think about her son...and about Ryder and the kind of father he might make.
She had no idea how Ryder would react to the news. He could turn his back on Robbie the same way he’d turned his back on her. Or—and wasn’t this her greater fear?—he could try to take Robbie away. He had nine years’ worth of visitation rights. Lump that altogether and he could steal the boy she loved more than her own life away from her for a long, long time. Not that joint custody worked that way, but the words joint custody filled her with a fear no amount of truth telling could free her from.
No, she had to get to know Ryder much better than she did now—much better than she’d even known him in high school—before she would tell him about Robbie.
So she said, “Robbie, this is Ryder Kincaid.”
“Hey, bud,” Ryder said, sticking his hand out. He had his fist closed and Robbie somewhat cautiously reached out to bump knuckles. His arm skinny, pale and still little-boy smooth; Ryder’s well-muscled, tanned and covered with a light sprinkling of masculine hair. His tone more relaxed than Lindsay would have expected, he added, “Your mom and I used to be friends back in school.”
“Really?” Robbie glanced sidelong from behind his glasses at Lindsay as if waiting for her to verify a truth he couldn’t quite believe.
Yeah, well, she’d always known her son was smart. Smarter than her teenage self, who’d actually believed she and Ryder had something more than friendship.
Still, she faked a smile and agreed, “That’s right. We started hanging out while I was tutoring Ryder in math.”
It was a bit of a low blow. Robbie had never needed any kind of help in school—not from her and certainly not from another student. Pointing out that Ryder had was more than a little immature.
But Ryder merely grinned. “That’s right. Your mom was the smartest girl I knew.”
Not smart enough to keep from being totally fooled by him. But Lindsay swallowed her anger the same way she had a decade ago—by focusing on Robbie. “Why don’t you finish setting the table?” she suggested with a nod at the stack of plates Ryder had already placed on the table.
“Set it for four, sweetie,” her grandmother called out from her place at the stove, proving she’d been listening in all along. “Mr. Kincaid is joining us for breakfast.”
Ryder grinned at Robbie. “Call me Ryder. Mr. Kincaid is my dad.”
The boy muttered something beneath his breath that might have been Ryder’s name, but Lindsay could barely hear over the words echoing through her head.
“Mr. Kincaid is my dad.”
But with Robbie gathering silverware from the kitchen drawer and her grandmother flipping the bacon popping in the skillet, Lindsay took the opportunity to ask, “What are you doing here, Ryder?”
“Like your gran said. She called looking for a quote to fix up the house. You don’t have a problem with that, do you?”
He lifted his eyebrows in challenge, bringing back the memories of the dares she hadn’t had the will to resist. Yes, she’d tutored him in calculus, and yes, Ryder had gone on to pass the class. But more often than not, he’d convince her to slip away from the library and sneak off to the square or the rocky, secluded beach not far from town.
It hadn’t been much of a risk, really, as they’d never done anything more than sit on a shady park bench or walk on the beach and talk. So perfectly harmless if she didn’t count falling headlong in love with him.
And while Lindsay wanted to believe she’d outgrown such foolishness, this was one challenge she couldn’t refuse. She didn’t dare admit she had a problem with Ryder taking a look at the house—not without giving him cause to wonder why. And hadn’t she been looking for a way to get to know him? A better opportunity wasn’t likely to fall in her lap, and yet—
I don’t want him here. Not so close to Robbie. Not where their every move would be under her grandmother’s watchful eye...
“I don’t suppose it would hurt to get a quote,” she said finally. “But I’m going to need references.”
“Of course,” he agreed with mock seriousness. “You wouldn’t be the girl I remember if you didn’t do your homework first.”
“The girl you remember,” she muttered beneath her breath with a sarcastic scoff. “Right.”
She turned to head back to the kitchen, but Ryder caught her arm. Lindsay nearly gasped at the unexpected contact even though it was nothing more than a split second before he let go. Had he sensed her reaction? Or make that overreaction? She didn’t dare look him in the face. Good Lord, could this morning get any more humiliating?
“I’m sorry about yesterday. Seriously, Lindsay, when I first saw you...I didn’t recognize you. You looked so different.”
Because she’d changed, she reminded herself. And not only on the outside. She was a new person. A stronger, smarter, more confident person. So she forced herself to meet his gaze.
Sincerity filled his expression as he said, “I didn’t realize it was you.” A faint smile curved his lips. “Seeing you today, I’d have recognized you in a heartbeat.”
And then that mossy gaze traveled from her sleep-tousled hair caught back in its mousy ponytail, her thick glasses and makeup-free face, down her cutesy and by no means sexy pajamas, all the way down to her feet. Heat rose over her skin every inch of the way.
Embarrassment. Pure and simple embarrassment.
“Gotta tell you, I’m digging the doggie slippers.”
Lindsay glanced down, and two pairs of googly eyes stared back up at her. The beagle slippers Robbie had given her for her birthday as a not so subtle reminder of the dog he wanted.
I really need to wake up before this nightmare gets any worse.
Muttering an excuse about helping her grandmother, Lindsay ducked away. When no convenient hole opened up to swallow her, she joined her grandmother at the stove and reached for the plate of hash browns. “You could have warned me you’d invited someone over this morning.”
“I’m sorry, sweetie. But really, I thought you’d be happy. Isn’t this what you and your parents have wanted?”
Lindsay
