As Bryan drove me home and the streets leading to my apartment loomed before me, reality settled heavy on my shoulders.

We’d had sex. On the boat. Before the date. We still hadn’t talked about what it meant. We hadn’t even made additional plans after tonight.

Unable to draw a complete breath, I clenched my hands together on my lap, my thighs flexing with the memory of what we’d done. Though I didn’t have regret, I was disappointed in myself.

The fact of the matter was, I didn’t recognize myself with him. His body made me reckless, thoughtless, irresponsible.

That’s not true. It’s him. It’s all of him. I’d happily have sex with him again. Right now. On a boat. Or on a train. Or in the rain.

Man, I really need to read something other than Dr. Seuss.

Trivializing my desire for this man by relegating it to just his body was an oversimplification. His voice, a soft compliment, a look, the movement of his hands, a twinkle in his eye, anything he gave me made my nipples hard, my breath short.

That couldn’t be normal.

Worst of all, he wasn’t some bloke I could test the waters with and move on from should things not work out. This was Patrick’s father. For better or for worse, we were stuck with each other for the next thirteen years at least. And if things didn’t work out between us, then things might get ugly.

“What’s wrong?” Bryan covered my hand with his. I’d been twisting my fingers.

I looked at him and then away, giving him a tight smile. “Nothing is wrong.”

I wasn’t ready to talk about it, not yet. I needed to think, decide if it was something to worry about at all. Maybe this was great. Maybe I was being silly.

Or maybe this is the big mistake. Because this time, when Bryan leaves, it really will wreck me.

I tried to swallow but couldn’t, so I forced to clear my throat against the sudden tightness. His eyes were on me, I felt them on my profile so I tried to relax, deciding I could dwell on this later. No reason to ruin the evening by overthinking it.

Bryan parked and came around to offer his hand. I took it and we walked to the gate together, our fingers linked.

He was still stealing glances at me, so I decided to redirect our conversation by asking, “Did you send me the picture? Of us on the beach?”

“No, not yet. I want to add one of those Snapchat filters to it first, with the crown of flowers.”

I laughed. I loved how easily he could make me laugh. “Fancy a crown, do you?”

He nodded, grinning and standing straighter as we reached my front door. “I think I deserve one, to be honest.”

“Do you? What are you the king of then?”

He pulled me to a stop just to the side of the door and guided my back against the wall. Dipping his head to my neck he whispered, “Your body.”

I widened my eyes at his arrogance, but then shivered as he tongued my ear. Instinctively, my head fell back as I offered him my neck.

“Send the sitter home, love.” He placed a biting kiss just under my jaw, a calloused hand slipping into my leggings and grabbing my backside. He groaned, squeezing me. “You’re not wearing any underwear.”

“I know. You took them.”

Pressing his hard body more insistently to mine, I felt the length of his erection press against my belly. My breathing quickened.

“I’ll stay the night,” he said, his hand in my leggings sliding around to the front. “I’ll make you come.”

The sound of my neighbor’s door opening hit me like a bucket of ice water. I yanked his hand from my pants and pushed him away. He gazed down at me, rocking back on his heels, his eyes equal parts hot and amused.

I turned, frantically searching for my keys, and lifted my head to make eye contact with Mrs. Francis, the very nice elderly woman from next door. Whenever she saw me she told me she would pray that I found a husband like her Timothy. I’d tried telling her I didn’t need a husband and she’d patted my hand, smiling at me like I was a simpleton.

“Hi, Mrs. Francis,” I called, my hands shaking and my voice unsteady as I tried to unlock my door.

“Oh. Hullo there, Eilish. And who are you?”

“Bryan Leech, ma’am.” Bryan gave her a friendly wave.

“My goodness, you’re very tall, aren’t you?”

“Everyone says so,” Bryan replied evenly, reminding me of Josey’s bout of verbal nonsense. I grimaced just as I fit the key into the lock.

“Are you to be Eilish’s husband?”

I glanced at my neighbor and shook my head. “No, Mrs. Francis. Like I told you, I don’t need a husband.”

“Oh. I must be muddled, because I’m sure your son told me you were getting married.”

Frowning, I slid my eyes to Bryan. I’m sure my look of confusion mirrored his.

“Well, good night, Mrs. Francis.” I opened my door, giving her a tight smile and stepping into the apartment, Bryan trailing after me.

He closed the door and we traded bemused stares.

“What was that about?” Searching my eyes, he smiled. But there was something off about it.

“I have no idea.” I dropped my keys in my bag. “She’s always going on about me needing a husband. Maybe the talk confused Patrick.”

“We should ask him.” There was an odd edge to his voice that had me standing a little straighter.

“Sure.” I shrugged. “He’s not in bed yet, should be having a bath. Let me go relieve Becky.”