Her lips twitched. “Another question: Do you have any actual animals in your barn?”
Peter Reedton, gentleman farmer. He tried to picture it. Imagined himself squatting beside a cow’s ass, her deadly hooves mere inches from his vulnerable skull, tugging at her sensitive parts for unpasteurized milk still warm from her body.
He shuddered. “Of course not.”
“Well, what do you keep there instead, if not livestock?”
“My dignity.”
Maria laughed then, her unguarded, inimitable cackle that made the sun shine brighter. Which was quite a trick in Southern California.
“I can’t wait to use your pool.” When she tilted her head, a tendril of hair tickled her shoulder. “Can your neighbors see into that part of your yard?”
Oh, he knew where she was going with this, and he approved. Wholeloinedly.
“Nope,” he said, and considered the various wonderful possibilities.
“Then I guess it’s okay I didn’t pack my bikini.”
He’d give a lot to see that red bikini again, but after six years, she probably didn’t even have it anymore. And in that case...
“Naked is good.” After thinking a moment, he corrected himself. “No, naked isgreat. Better than great.Optimal.”
She snickered.
“I’d have loved a pool in our yard when I was growing up. At least for the two weeks each summer the weather was hot enough to use it,” she added wryly. “If all your neighbors didn’t have pools of their own, I’m sure every nearby kid would be climbing the fence and sneaking into yours.”
Kids. Yeah.
This wasn’t the world’s best moment to raise such a sensitive topic, but maybe it couldn’t hurt to feel her out on the subject a little?
“A lot of people here do have children. In case that’s something that interests you.” He kept his voice carefully neutral. “We have a community elementary school, a playground near the clubhouse, and lots of pint-size kids in designer clothing selling lemonade at the ends of their driveways. Like, real lemonade. Squeezed from an actual yellow lemon from a tree.”
Her mouth opened, then closed, and her brows drew together.
Shit.
Unable to stand the silence, he spoke again. “Although most of ’em probably use electric juicers, now that I think about it. And fancy so-called natural sweeteners instead of plain old sugar, mixed with water from artesian wells. Ones ceremonially blessed by ghostly nuns at the ancient, abandoned abbeys where the wells are located.”
Ah, nervous rambling, the refuge of those ill equipped for serious conversations.
This was what he got for talking. Silence was so much easier.
She continued staring at him for the space of a breath or two. Then she finally spoke, testing out each word with uncharacteristic caution.
“I thought... or maybe I hoped?” She hesitated. “Hoped is probably more accurate. Anyway, I kind of hoped you were, uh... past the point of wanting kids?”
“Oh, thank fuck.” He exhaled in a rush, sagging with relief. “I don’t want kids either. I have zero desire to take on that responsibility, especially given how hectic and unpredictable our schedules can be.”
So many television series and movies filmed outside Hollywood now. Establishing a stable home for a child of two working actors would be extremely challenging at best, impossible at worst. As a former miserable kid, he wasn’t going to risk perpetuating their ranks. No, thank you.
For Maria, he might have considered bending on the issue, but he wouldn’t have been thrilled about it. Shit, what a stroke of good luck.
“Excellent. Happy to have the matter settled. No kids.” She beamed at him and turned back to the mirror over the dual vanity. “In that case, this house has plenty of room, and we won’t need to move. Unless your extremely intense Community Association—”
“Somewhatintense.”
“—wants to force us to become actual beet farmers.” With the side of her nail, she removed a speck of something from her upper cheek. Probably mascara. “I’d oppose that.”