One Look: A grumpy, single dad small town romance(21)

Lark’s eyes crinkled as she smiled at me. “Well then, cheers—to quiet.”

I only shrugged in response, but she happily clanked her bottle to mine as I sat across from her on the porch steps. For a long stretch, neither of us spoke, but instead listened to the sounds of a dark country night.

“Do you feel it?” Lark whispered. When I only looked at her, she continued. “Alone? Sometimes I think I have a knack for that . . . feeling alone even in a crowded room, right next to someone.” She hid the sad words with a bright smile, but it was her eyes that gave her away.

I shifted and draped my arms on my knees. Sitting with her, I didn’t feel alone. In fact, I liked that even a few feet from Lark, my situation with the boys or juggling work and caring for Penny didn’t seem quite so insurmountable. I felt eerily calm in her presence, and it made my throat itch.

Maybe it was the Beer Thirty.

“With a family like mine, in a town like this? I’m never alone.”

She hummed in response, closed her eyes, and tipped her face toward the starry sky.

I ignored the hunger that gnawed my gut at the glorious sight of her, carefree and completely content.

It struck me that I wasn’t alone, but there were times I did feel lonely. I was used to loneliness. Lived with it and came to peace with the fact that solitude was meant for me.

My garbled throat clearing caught her attention, and she peeked open one eye at me.

“Also,” I started, unsure of how to say this to her. “If you’re going to be around, I should let you know that Penny knows we—I, um. That I saw you naked.”

She sputtered and both eyes flew open. “You told her?”

“No. Sort of. Not really.” I sighed in defeat. It was best to just get it all out there. “Listen. I was relaying the story to Lee, and she overheard.”

“So you told your brother?” She didn’t seem mad. More . . . interested, maybe.

I tried to hide my smile and shrugged. “I left out the good parts. But Penny has no filter, so I wouldn’t be surprised if it came up.”

“Noted.” Lark’s bubbling laugh had heat coiling beneath my ribs.

I liked it. A lot.

“She seems like a good kid.”

“The best,” I agreed, and Lark smiled at me. When she shivered, my eyes flew to the cropped shirt she was wearing. Her nipples still strained against the thin fabric, and I nearly groaned. I took another swallow of beer instead and looked out over the lawn.

I shrugged out of the flannel I’d been wearing and tossed it over her knees.

She didn’t protest, but a small smile played on her lips. Her eyes caught mine as she slipped her arms into my shirt.

I cleared my throat and changed the subject. We spent the next few minutes talking about everything and nothing. Lark was sunny. Carefree and a wanderer. She told me the roundabout way she’d stumbled into becoming a professional mourner, and it was so simple it seemed almost logical.

Almost.

For a moment, the stress of single parenthood, coaching, my players, the team, my family . . . it all just melted away. Lark laughed, a lot. She found humor and delight in almost everything. I couldn’t remember a time when I didn’t feel the pressure of my family or my team counting on me. Being a leader and the responsibility that came with it landed squarely on my shoulders, and I had been proud to bear the burden. It was only lately that it had started to feel like the weight was more and more unmanageable.

But Lark was wholly unburdened. Effervescent, if not a little bit flighty.

She talked openly and answered my questions, unfazed when I skated over thinly veiled questions about Penny and her mom. That was too close. Too personal. Besides, I liked listening to her talk and to the musical quality of her voice when she told a story she thought was funny.

She was also touchy. Sometimes, when she’d lean forward and laugh, her fingertips would graze over my knee, or she would gesture wildly with her hands, and I imagined capturing one midair and hauling her onto my lap just to hear her surprised little squeak.

Sitting this close to her was a mistake. I was a wreck. Two sides of me at war with each other—one that knew, bone deep, the only way to maintain control was to never be vulnerable. And the other . . . the tiny, hidden side that wanted to lean in, open up to her in a way that was completely foreign and uncomfortable for me.

Lark took a drink from her beer, and I watched, in slow motion, as the condensation from the bottle dripped down and landed on her knee. When her throat worked up and down, all I could think about was planting my mouth there, feeling her heartbeat hammer under my lips for long, delicious moments.

I wanted to feel, not just hear, the moans I could drag out of her.

Our conversation faded away, and the night sounds blanketed us as we sat. Staring.

“It’s getting late.” My voice was gravelly and hard. Under different circumstances those words might have been an invitation, but not tonight. I had responsibilities. I flexed my jaw to try to work out some of the tension.

Lark leaned back against the post, peering around it at the starry night sky again. I took the opportunity to let my gaze wander over the tops of her breasts. Lower still to her rib cage and to where her small waist nipped in before flaring out to her hips. Her leggings did nothing to hide the fact that she was all woman under there.

Jesus Christ, is she not wearing underwear?