Page 7 of Forbidden Dreams
“I don’t know,” I lie. “I didn’t really look at her like that.” Yes, I did, my head screams. She’s got the prettiest eyes I’ve ever seen, and her ass is fire. She also has the biggest piece of shit for a husband, I remind myself.
“You need to find someone and settle down,” he says. I get up, not really in the mood for this. “I’m not kidding. You need someone to?—”
“I think I have it covered,” I assure him, grabbing the plate.
“I’m not talking about keeping your bed warm.”
“Jesus, Dad,” I snort.
“I’m talking about someone to share your life with.” He takes a deep breath. “I want to know that if anything happens to me, you’ll have someone to hold your hand.”
“I’ll put this on a plate inside and wash this to return it to”—I almost say her name but stop myself—“my neighbor.”
“Yeah, you do that, and ask her to make me another one.”
I gasp. “I’m not going to ask her to make you another pie, Dad.”
“Why?” he asks. “Tell her I’m dying.”
“Dad,” I snap.
“What?” He lifts his hands. “If I can’t use this excuse now, when am I going to use it?” I shake my head because how do you argue with that? “Fine,” he huffs, “tell her I’ll pay her to make me one.”
“I’m not going to tell her anything.” I walk to the door. “I’ll get you one from the bakery.”
“It’s not as good. This one I think had a hint of caramel.”
“I’ll tell her you enjoyed it,” I finally say, “and if she bakes me another one, you can have it.”
“Fine, or I can return the plate myself and charm her.”
I walk into the house before he comes up with another plan to get some more pie. I walk to the kitchen where I grew up, placing the last piece of pie on a plate before washing her dish. The whole time, I thought of my father’s question about whether she is pretty. There is no mistake about it, Harmony Cartwright is one of the prettiest women I’ve ever seen. She is also so off-limits. We aren’t in the same universe.
CHAPTER 6
Harmony
I grab the cup of coffee in my hand, taking a sip as the alarm rings from the phone in front of me. I turn it off and see it’s just a little after seven thirty. I take a deep breath, getting up from the chair at the table before going to the steps. I slowly walk up them until I get to the primary bedroom Wyatt has been sleeping in. Over the past week, I’ve unloaded my stuff in the second bedroom that has a twin bed. I didn’t really care how big the bed was as long as I didn’t have to put up with Winston for the rest of my life. Fuck, I’d sleep on the floor if I had to.
I walk to the side of the bed he sleeps on and sit down, my hand coming out to brush his hair away from his forehead. The tiny little freckles on his nose only come out during the summer months when he’s in the sun. His long lashes lie against his cheeks as he sleeps. If Winston did anything good in his life, it was giving me Wyatt, but that was about it.
“Hey, baby,” I say softly, bending and kissing his neck. His back arches as he stretches his hands over his head. “Time to get up for school.”
His eyes flutter open, showing me the warm brown ones that fill my heart. “Already?” he asks me, turning to his side. “Five more minutes,” he mumbles, and I laugh.
“Okay, five more minutes.” I get up and walk over to the wooden chest of drawers that looks like it was bought in the seventies and came with the house. When I pull open the drawer, it rubs against the bottom wooden part. I pick out a white polo with blue cargo shorts and put them on the top. “Your clothes are here,” I say, and he just mumbles. “I’m going to go make your pancakes.”
“Eggs,” he says, and I smile. “Bacon.”
“Gotcha.” I remind him, “Five minutes.” It’s the last thing I say before I walk out of the room and head back down to make him breakfast. Only when his sandwich is done do I walk to the bottom of the steps and call up, “Time’s up, buddy.”
“Ugh,” I hear him groan before his feet hit the floor.
“Boy,” I mumble, “same.” I chuckle, walking to the kitchen and waiting for him to come down.
He walks into the room wearing what I put out, going to the table and taking a bite of his sandwich, while I lean on my elbows on the counter, facing the table. Sipping my coffee, I make the mistake of looking out the window. My eyes go to the table on his back porch, seeing him sitting there with a coffee in his hand and his phone in the other. His hair is all over the place, and I wonder if it’s as silky as it looks. His bare chest is tanned and perfectly sculpted, and he has a little dusting of hair just under his belly button and going down. I shake my head. What the fuck is wrong with you lusting over your neighbor? You haven’t had sex in seven years, that’s what’s wrong with you. Even so, the last one you want to jump into bed with is the man who hates you and hates your ex-husband and his family. You’ve been here about a week, and he’s already come to your rescue twice. At the same time, he’s probably calling real estate agents to sell his fucking house and get away from me and my crazy-ass, soon-to-be ex-husband. If only he would sign the fucking papers.
“You done?” I ask when Wyatt gets up and brings me his plate. He nods. “Go brush your teeth. We have to get going.”