We had a common love for historical architecture, and he would do tours with me if I was selling a house he wanted to see. And some nights — nights I was often alone — he’d sit by the pool, or in what he called my jungle room, and talk to me about any and everything until the wee hours of the morning. Tommy was deep, philosophical, and emotionally mature in a way I’ve yet to see in men twice his age. And I know that’s a thing that people say when they want to make excuses for their attraction to a much younger person, but it really was true with Tommy. That year he lived in the garçonnière, I felt like we developed a sort of friendship. And sure… I had a fondness for him, and I knew that he probably had a crush on me. Sometimes he sought out my company a little too much — so much that Shannon had commented on it a time or two. And sometimes, the hugs went on a little long. But I never entertained the thought of anything sexual between us because, despite his emotional maturity, he was a boy. My son’s best friend. His crush on me was never broached in a way that made it necessary for me to consider or confront it.

Now I wondered if my behavior had encouraged him in some way because here we were, years later, and he wanted to take care of me.

I gave that some serious thought as I slowed to a stop at a traffic light a few blocks away from the dress shop. Our late-night conversations came to mind. Innocent cuddling on the porch swing, a kiss on the temple, those long hugs. Shame set my ears and cheeks aflame. They may have been innocent, but after today’s kiss, the memory of them felt…

A car horn behind me blared, startling me back into the present. “Shit,” I cursed softly, observing that the light was green. I flipped the driver the bird anyway because that was not a courtesy honk.

It was for the best, anyway. I had no business thinking about Tommy that way. Even if I could still feel his lips on my skin and remember how darkly suggestive his eyes were when he said taking care of me would be enjoyable for him. And I didn’t need to acknowledge the fact that I’d noticed how much he’d filled out in the last few years. That he’d put on a bit of grown man weight, and the loss of that baby fat had leaned out his six-foot frame and chiseled his jaw, shifting him from handsome to fucking gorgeous.

“Jesus Christ, Darcy,” I muttered to myself. I should not be lusting over Tommy this way.

But I had absolutely noticed all of that and more.