“Everything all right?”
He blew out a breath and took Beau from my arms while I searched for the keys I’d dropped back in my handbag.
“Yes and no.”
My chuckle came out low and amused while I pushed the door open, stepping aside so he could take Beau in first. I followed, doing my best to keep my gaze off his perfectly rounded backside which was encased in deep blue denim that showed off long, sculpted legs to perfection. He was a treat to look at and just like any treat, it was all right to indulge once in a while.
Cross laid my little boy in his bed like Beau was as precious to him as he was to me and I knew that would be a hard image to forget, especially as Beau grew older and asked more often about his father. But I was getting ahead of myself.
“What else?” Cross asked.
I smirked at how uncomfortable he looked, all big and tall and masculine in a room meant for a small boy. “You want to get him ready for bed?”
Cross’s face dissolved in a look of horror, and I had to bite my lip to stop the laughter threatening to wake up Beau and make for a cranky little boy.
“I’m kidding. You can grab a beer if you want or take some time to find some other creative ways to get out of talking about what’s bothering you.”
I swear his face held a distinct pink tint as he brushed past me, his leathery masculine scent invading my nose for long moments as flashes of the physical pleasures I’d found with him played in my mind.
“You’re a regular comedienne aren’t ya?”
I shrugged. “Nope. Just a teller of unfortunate truths.” I left Cross with that thought as I quickly worked off Beau’s shoes, socks and jeans. He hated sleeping in his t-shirt and undies because he thought it was too childish but he’d never had the unfortunate task of trying to undress his sleeping form. After a quick kiss goodnight, I pulled the door closed, leaving a small gap because I was an overprotective parent to my core.
“You’re good at that stuff.” Cross’s voice startled me in the dim hall. “Sorry,” he said, looking more amused than sorry.
“It’s okay.” My smile was a little wobbly as my heartrate returned to normal. “And thanks,” I said, sidestepping him as I made my way down the staircase. Distance was key when Cross was fresh from the shower, smelling like a man with slightly damp, chocolate hair. “Every day it feels like it’s all one second from disaster so don’t let this cool shell fool you. I’m told it’s normal but that doesn’t make me feel any better.”
“I couldn’t tell. You look like you’re killing the whole parenting thing.”
A laugh exploded out of me and I smacked a hand over my mouth, frozen in case Beau woke up. “Thank you, Cross. That’s nice to hear. Drink?”
“Sure.” His lips quirked up like he knew I was trying to change the subject. “I never thought you’d be uncomfortable with compliments. You seem so confident.”
“I am, but any parent who is confident is probably doing it wrong.”
I’d seen all types of parents and had been raised by two supremely confident parents who, if they weren’t rich, would have been prime candidates for neglect convictions. I grabbed a bottle of wine from the fridge along with some cheese and crackers. I didn’t tell him the hors d’oeuvres were my own recipes; I figured he was dealing with enough hippie dippy food as it was. And accepting it pretty well. I didn’t want to push my luck.
“Grab those glasses, would you and follow me.”
Cross followed me into the backyard, setting the glasses on top of the colorful three-legged table I’d painted with Beau a few years ago. “Cool table.”
“Family art project.” The two Adirondack chairs were as colorful as the table. “Pick a color.”
He grinned. “You know I have to take the one with the cape on the back,” he said with a laugh as he lowered himself onto the chair. “I always wanted to be a superhero.”
“I’m sure you’d look fantastic in tights.” He cut me a glare that made me laugh again and finally I felt the last of the tension seep from my body. “Very fantastic.”
He popped the cork and frowned. “What the hell is this? Moonshine?”
“No, because this isn’t the 1920’s, and its blueberry wine. I picked it up at the Farmer’s Market.” He still looked skeptical but I filled both glasses to the halfway point because it was clear Cross had something on his mind. “Drink.”
Despite his tough guy persona, Cross was openminded, sniffing the aroma before taking a small sip. Then a bigger one. And a bigger one still. “Damn that’s good. Better than I expected.”
“It’s made by a local artisan. She also does a fantastic blueberry kush wine.” The surprise that flashed on his face was damn near comical. “It’s delicious too and has a low alcohol content.”
“Why didn’t I know about this?” he grumbled.
“Probably because from what I understand, your dispensaries aren’t licensed to sell booze. Anyway she only sells them at the market, so if you’re interested you need to get up early on the weekends.”