The hair on the back of my neck stands on end as I drop my head toward her. Everything around us fades away. I don’t know how she has this knack for telling me the things I crave. Tracing my insecurities the way she does. Soothing the hurt she doesn’t even know exists.

I trail the tip of my nose up the side of her neck and wish I could swallow the small moan that escapes her. I want so much more than one stolen dance in the kitchen while my son is off doing god knows what.

“You guys are both the biggest weirdos!” Luke mocks us as he runs back in wearing his too-small Batman costume from last Halloween. We both startle, pulling away quickly, realizing we were altogether too close just now.

And maybe Luke’s not wrong. There’s definitely something weird happening.

13

Willa

Willa: Hi, Lawyer friend. Can I ask for some legal advice?

Summer: Do you need me to come bail you out? Just send the address. I’m there.

Willa: Is it illegal to bang your hot boss?

Summer: Are we talking about your brother or Cade?

Willa: Fucking gross.

Summer: Dude. I’ve had to listen to you make hot dad jokes for years. Shooters gotta shoot.

Willa: I’m never coming to you for advice again.

Summer: My legal advice is to be very specific when you ask a question.

Willa: OK, FINE. Is it illegal to bang Cade?

Summer: You’d have to ask him. Haven’t seen him with a woman the entire time I’ve known him. Maybe he thinks it’s illegal?

Willa: He *is* a stickler for the rules. Maybe I’ll break them and see if he spanks me.

Summer: Fucking gross.

* * *

Once I hear the door click shut the next morning—so Cade doesn’t have to be scandalized by my nipples—I peek in through Luke’s slightly open door to see him sprawled wide in his bed, looking adorably exhausted.

Smiling to myself, I pad through the quiet house toward the kitchen. The sun is up, but barely, and the light in the house is blue. The birds sound so damn happy, trilling away outside. I can’t wait to sit on the front porch with my book and a hot cup of coffee.

I stop in my tracks when I get far enough into the kitchen to see that there is still a sizeable amount of coffee left in the pot.

As I draw closer, I see a Post-it note on the counter, written in a choppy scrawl.

Red,

The coffee is for you. Starting some two-year-olds today. If you feel like getting your back broken, meet me at the barn and you can sit on one.

- C

I snort. Oh, I feel like getting my back broken alright.

By him.

Not a horse.