On the Steamy Side - Louisa Edwards [54]
Which, perversely, was something she liked about him. Lilah appreciated the fact that Devon was honest about his vices and habits. Back home in Spotswood County, there were a couple of men with their own small-potatoes version of local power and influence who threw their weight around all over the place, meanwhile pretending to a pious humility that set Lilah’s teeth on edge. She much preferred Devon’s unabashed sensuality and the glee he seemed to take in the trappings of his decadent lifestyle.
Forcefully suppressing memories of her own brief revelry in Devon’s sensuality and decadence, Lilah carried her coffee back into the living room where Devon had resumed his seat on the couch. Her two boys were as far apart as they could be and still be on the same piece of furniture, Lilah saw with a stab of sorrow.
She noted the way Tucker dropped his drawing the instant One-Night Stand came back on. The way he stared at his father on the television screen, his eyes wide and unblinking, attention caught and held by a show no other ten-year-old on the planet would probably care about. And she caught the frequent glances Devon sent his son’s way, full of confused yearning.
Lilah shook her head. They wanted to connect, she was sure of it. They just didn’t seem to know how.
And in a flash, Lilah understood why she’d been so uncontrollably called to inject herself into the discussion about Tucker’s custody. Beyond the fact that she couldn’t bear to see the child shuffled off into the system when he had a father, alive and well and able to care for him standing right there, Lilah saw now that Fate had put her in the kitchen at Market that night for a very specific purpose—to help heal the broken relationship between father and son.
Everything in her longed to see a happy smile on Tucker’s face when he looked at his dad; to be a part of the moment when Devon finally began to embrace fatherhood and his place in Tucker’s life.
Lilah took a bracing sip of coffee and started hatching plans.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Tucker slumped over his empty plate at the breakfast nook, kicking one heel aggravatingly against the table leg.
Lilah fought the urge to tell him to be still. He was such a quiet boy, any way he opted to make himself heard probably ought to be encouraged. And the noise was only getting to her because she was unreasonably and stupidly nervous.
She and Devon and Tucker were about to have breakfast together.
A small, insignificant thing, by anyone’s standards, and yet Lilah hoped it would have far-reaching consequences. It was the first step toward making that vision she’d had earlier a reality.
Well, at least the part of it where Devon and Tucker were happy together, she amended hastily. Lilah wasn’t sure she was ready to contemplate her role in that picture just yet, beyond being the wise fairy godmother–type who made it all happen.
Devon moved confidently around the kitchen, pulling ingredients and setting up his workspace. There was plenty of room for two to cook; it was nothing like the cramped little galley in Grant’s Chelsea apartment. In Grant’s kitchen, you couldn’t stand side by side with another person and whip cream without knocking elbows.
But even with the extra space and scope of Devon’s kitchen, Lilah was still having trouble concentrating on anything other than Devon’s proximity. And surely he could walk past her without brushing against her! Every glancing touch made her suck in a breath, her skin thrilling to it like his fingers were charged with static electricity.
Devon was watching her, eyes hotter than a summer sky, as if he knew exactly what she was contemplating.
Giving her shoulders a quick shake, Lilah pinched her lips at Devon in what her students referred to as her “Mean Librarian” expression. Amusement crinkled the corners of his eyes and gave a sardonic tilt to his perfect mouth.
Lilah ignored him in favor of addressing Tucker. “What does your mom usually make you for breakfast, Tuck?”
Tucker stopped kicking