“Easton.” She spoke pleasantly, as if she were meeting a client for a business meeting, not a father to discuss their children. She placed a day planner on the table, and I recalled she’d always had one in her possession. No digital planners for her.

She looked fantastic and smelled as good as she looked. My gaze strayed downward, taking in those shapely legs encased in denim, and travelled upward. Her hips were wider and her breasts larger than I remembered. She had more curves than before even though she was still on the petite, slender side. Motherhood hadn’t ruined her figure, it’d improved on it. I liked what I saw way too much.

I breathed in her unique scent and was flooded with memories of hot summer nights on the beach and in the back seat of my beat-up old Toyota. We’d gone at it those few months like the sex-crazed teenagers we were. There’d been quiet times, too. Lying on a blanket and gazing at the stars or talking about our hopes and dreams, mine all revolving around hockey, of course. Hers had been to use her full-ride scholarship to get a degree in nursing. I guess she’d never done it, which made me sad.

Caro cleared her throat, and I jerked my gaze away from her body. Embarrassed I’d been caught ogling her, I felt heat rise from my neck to my ears. If she’d noticed my flushed face, she gave no indication.

“I have the paperwork from my attorney for the temporary parenting plan.” Flustered, I fumbled with the stapled sets of papers, giving her one copy, while I looked at the other. “I’ll give you time to read it.”

She said nothing but nodded. I ordered coffee, got a handle on myself, and sat back to observe her. She chewed on her lower lip as she read, a quirk she’d always had when concentrating on something important. I drew in a labored breath and was grateful the growing bulge between my legs wasn’t visible because of the table. This was the mother of my children, not a woman I’d be getting naked with now or in the future.

Yet… I squelched those thoughts before they took root.

“Aren’t you jumping the gun? They don’t even know you’re their father. They need time.”

“I’m not asking for you to adhere to this immediately.”

“I’m not sure about this visitation schedule,” she said stiffly. Her gaze met mine, and she was in full mother-bear protective mode. “It’s too many days.”

“Too many days?” I fucking didn’t think it was enough. My intention had been working my way slowly to joint custody, and she was questioning my initial request of a few days a week when I didn’t have a road trip.

Houston, we have a fucking problem.

“I’m their mother. I know best.” She glared stubbornly at me, her chin jutting out as she clenched it.

“I’m their father, and I have rights too,” I shot back, equally stubborn and more than a little insulted. This woman was becoming a master at pushing my buttons.