Page 18 of Just This Once (Stone Family #2)

Taryn

I t’s cold, but Dante appears unaffected as he works outside in only a hoodie and jeans.

And his bandanna, of course. He knocked on my door this morning to ask if he could use the backyard to build a project, and I easily agreed, although I’m not sure how exactly he’s going to move that…

shed—I think—wherever it needs to go. He’s been hauling wood, sawing, and hammering all day, but it’s only since reheating my coffee for the third time that I’ve been here at my kitchen table. Watching.

It started out of curiosity, but I stayed for the Billy Joel soundtrack and the way his jeans fit his ass. He’s so at home in his body, flipping the hammer end over end as he plucks a nail from between his lips before pounding the pieces together. It’s a dance. The way he works is beauty.

How he understood what I meant when I said I loved making things with my hands. He does the same thing. We both are artists. Creators. Making the world beautiful one ceramic mug and refinished porch at a time.

The renovation at The Nest is coming along well, and here, as a tenant, Dante has been incredibly easy to have around.

I had my reservations about him, but once again, he’s proven me wrong.

By his looks, anyone might assume he’s all brawn and no brains, but he’s so much more than his face.

He’s a good listener and an even better friend.

He’s thoughtful, funny, charming as hell, and masculine without being toxic.

A true unicorn.

With a six-pack, thick thighs, and the ability to actually build a girl a house, if they asked.

Not that I would ask.

I have a house already.

But…if someone else wanted one…

Which makes me wonder about that girlfriend he’d broken up with. What happened there? Because everything I’ve seen of Dante is all green flags.

Much to my dismay.

He squats down, eyeing something on the wood, then takes the pencil from behind his ear to make a mark before sticking it back in place. He stands and moves the 2x4 over to the circular saw. I blow out a breath and force my attention away, suddenly a little warm from all the competency porn.

Needing a break from leering at the man a dozen years my junior, I meander into the living room, where Maddie is sprawled out on the couch, her eyes glued to the TV, her phone clutched in her hand. She glances up as I enter, a small smile playing on her lips.

“Hey, Mom,” she says, her voice soft and squeaky like an elf. It’s the voice she uses when she wants something.

“Yes?”

“Can we order Benny’s for dinner?”

I cross my arms, playing at annoyance. “You paying?”

“Pleeeeaaaase. I’m so hungry for it. PMS. ”

I huff. She got her period over the summer and uses PMS as a reason for everything with me now. If she wants something special or as an excuse to get out of something. It’s smart, really. But I caught on quick enough to her evil plan.

“Yeah, all right. Only because I’m PMSing too.”

She wiggles back and forth, giddy. “I was going to watch Wicked later. Wanna watch with me?”

“Again?”

“Director’s cut this time.”

I shrug. “Lemme talk to your brother and see if Holden’s staying for dinner.”

Holden and Jake have been best friends since they met last year on the soccer team and they hang out a lot, so I assume he’s going to stay for dinner and don’t even think before I open the door to my son’s room to find them kissing.

All three of us freeze.

My jaw hits the floor, my brain shutting down for a moment as Holden yanks his hand off Jake’s thigh, both of them jumping away from each other. Jake stands, face bright red. “It’s not… It’s not what it looks like.”

“I, uh, was coming to see if you wanted to stay for dinner, Holden.”

Jake’s best friend shoves his feet into his sneakers and snatches his coat from the floor. “I don’t think so. I’m gonna go.”

I open my mouth, but no words come out. I’m not sure what to say, what to do. I’m not even sure what I’m feeling, but I chase him down the hall. “Hold, it’s okay. You can stay. I?—”

I’m not sure I know what words are anymore, but I know I don’t want either one of these boys to think I’m mad. Because I’m not. Only surprised.

“No. I should go,” he says, barely audible as he races down the steps to the front door.

“Do you need a ride home? ”

“No, I’m fine.”

“You’re wearing shorts.”

“It’s cool.” He refuses to look at me. “Bye.”

The door shuts, and Maddie’s eyebrows rise to her hairline while I hear Jake come to stand behind me. “Mom?”

I turn to my son, his eyes filled with a mixture of fear and defiance, clearly at war with himself. I am wholly unprepared for a conversation about what just happened, so I skip over it and place my hand on his shoulder, hoping to reassure him. “Maddie wants Benny’s for dinner. You okay with that?”

He nods silently, seeming relieved with the way his body droops.

“Okay. I’ll order it in a little bit, and, maybe, we can talk after?”

He nods again and spins around, jogging up the stairs. I glance to Maddie, but she’s focused on her phone, unaware of what’s going on.

Not that there is anything going on.

And yet…I can’t ignore what happened. Jake and I will have to talk, although I’m not sure what about.

I absently reach for my cell phone and open my text thread with Marianne.

We’ve been best friends since grade school, and I spent a lot of nights at her house, reveling in the wholesome vibes of her home.

While my mother was amazing, and I would never have wanted her to be any different, it wasn’t easy growing up with an absentee alcoholic father and a mother who took on part-time jobs after her full-time work of teaching to provide for my brothers and me.

Marianne’s parents were different. They didn’t struggle like my mom and are still alive and well.

They’ve always been supportive of everything their daughter has done, from switching majors multiple times to bringing home girlfriends to marrying a white woman a lot younger than her .

Marianne confided in me during college that she had feelings for another woman in one of her classes.

It didn’t change our relationship one bit, nor did it make me curious about my own sexuality.

Maybe because I’m straight as an arrow, or I’m so stuck in my heteronormative world view, but I never considered one of my children might be queer.

I love Jake. I love both of my kids so much, nothing they could ever do would make me not love them.

Yet I worry about him. About his confidence and turning sixteen and learning to drive.

I worry about his mental and physical health.

I worry about what my divorce did and continues to do to him.

I worry about him growing up into a kind and caring person, and standing up for those who cannot stand up for themselves.

Above all else, I want him to be happy.

Slipping on my coat, I step out to the backyard, intent on dialing Marianne to download all of this, but I stop in my tracks, having forgotten about Dante in my flood of thoughts.

“Oh, hi,” I say when he pivots to me with his pencil between his teeth.

He pulls it out and tucks it behind his ear to brush off sawdust from his hands and sweatshirt. “Hey. How—what’s wrong?”

I don’t know how he does it. How he always knows when I’m upset. But I’m not sure where exactly to begin, and I shake my head to try to clear it of the jumble of thoughts as well as the tears from my eyes.

Dante immediately closes the short distance between us.

“You’re all right. Come here. Come here.

” He wraps his arms around me, pulling me into a hug, and I go willingly, taking comfort in his warm breath against my temple and the way he locks his hands at my back.

“Came charging out of here like a bat outta hell, so do I need to beat somebody up or get some tissues?”

A reluctant laugh unfurls from the knot in my throat, and I hate that he can calm me down so easily.

I’ve spent the last ten years building meticulous defenses to make sure no one can ever hurt me again—not my father or my ex-husband or the world, for that matter.

I’ve hardened myself to the cuts and slights women experience every single day, and I think I’ve started to believe that made me better somehow.

I could crush a needle of emotion at the earliest prick.

I didn’t need to feel things. I had risen above all that bullshit.

And yet a man with an eager smile dragged me back down to earth. Showed me I’m no better than anyone else for supposedly being above it all. That, maybe, I do need a hug and someone to tell me they have my back before even hearing the problem.

“Neither,” I say, blinking the sting out of my eyes as I step away from him. “It’s…something with Jake.”

Dante’s brow furrows. “He okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, he’s fine. I’m fine. We’re all fine.”

He presses his lips together, fighting a grin as he nods seriously. “Of course.”

I swipe my hand over my forehead. “I’m…not sure what to do.

There’s…” I sigh and meet Dante’s steady gaze.

“Promise me you won’t breathe a word of this to Jake, because I haven’t talked about it with him and I have no idea how he’s feeling about anything and I’m so afraid to fuck this all up. I don’t want to fuck up.”

I don’t realize I’ve started crying until Dante takes off his bandanna to wipe it over my cheeks. My breath hiccups. “I don’t want to fuck up.”

Dante soothes me, once again taking me into his arms, tucking my head against his neck. “You’re not going to fuck it up. You never could, and I know you love your kids more than anything. Your kids know it too. They feel it. Everything’s going to be okay.”