Street Smart

She pulled his hand onto her lap, cradling it between hers, smiling at him. A womanly smile that blended with the charged atmosphere.

“Can we talk about something?”

“Of course.” They’d been talking all night. About anything. Everything. She was a great conversationalist.

“I mean really talk.”

“Certainly.” Focusing on her serious expression, he banked all passion for now. “What’s up?”

“Well…” She looked down, giggled.

Giggled? Melissa didn’t giggle.

“I, uh…” Meeting his gaze, she was completely serious again. “I don’t quite know how to start.”

“I didn’t realize we had a problem communicating,” he said, frowning, curious about what Melissa would say. He wasn’t used to seeing her embarrassed.

But the news wasn’t bad. He could tell by looking at her.

“I want to adopt a little girl.”

Wow. What an unexpected thing. Coincidental. He and Melissa really did think alike.

“Say something.”

“I’m not sure what to say.” They could exchange names of adoption agencies.

Her brows drew together, her eyes filling with concern made sharper by the candlelight. “Are you mad?”

“Of course not! Why would I be mad?”

“It’ll be a major change.”

“Change is inevitable.” He’d known it was coming for them, eventually. If not before, it would happen when he got his son. He’d have a lot less time to spend with her then.

“Luke?” She moved closer, her legs resting on top of his. “You are mad, aren’t you?”

She was beautiful. It felt damn good to spend time with her like this. “No,” he said, looking into her eyes. “I’m not mad at all.”

“So, what do you think?”

“Girls are nice.” Sounded inane, but he meant it. Nice for a family. Or a single woman. Not for a single man to raise alone. A girl had needs that only a mother could meet. “Do you have an agency in mind?”

He thought about mentioning Colter, but considering the fees the agency charged—due to their specialty in successfully maneuvering hard-to-complete adoptions—he decided not to. He didn’t want to steer her wrong. Being a woman, Melissa wouldn’t have to spend that kind of money. From what he’d learned during his frustrating rounds of applications in the past couple of years, adopting a child appeared to be much easier for a single woman, rather than a single man.

“No, but I have a child in mind,” she said, a sweet smile, an excited smile, spreading over her face. “Jenny came into the system a couple of months ago for counseling. Yesterday her parents’ rights were severed, making her eligible for adoption, and the foster parents don’t want to adopt.”

“How old is she?”

“Three.” The enthusiasm the single word carried told its own story.

“It’s a great age.” Of course, these days, to Luke any age was a good age.

“So, you think I should pursue this?”

“Absolutely.”

“And you’ll be okay with it?”

Running a finger along her cheek, down to her neck, he moved aside a lock of hair that had fallen forward. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“We-ell…” She was frowning again. Holding his gaze but frowning. “It’s going to affect you, too,” she said slowly. “At least I hope it is.”

He caressed her neck slowly, just beneath her ear where she was most sensitive. “You’re worried that we aren’t going to have alone time.”

“Well, yeah…” The frown didn’t dissipate. If anything it grew. “But…Luke, I thought we were building something here.”

“I agree!” There was no reason to frown. “What we’ve built is great. The best I’ve ever had. I wasn’t speaking lightly when I said the moment was perfect. I haven’t had a lot of that in my life.”

She pulled away. Emotionally more than physically, although there was nothing tangible to show him that. “What we’ve built,” she repeated. “Not what we’re building? You think our relationship is…static? That we can’t build it any further?”

“What? You’re upset because I’m happy with where we are?”

The ground was hard beneath his butt.

“I’m upset because I thought we were on our way to something more.”

“And we are,” he told her. “We always are, every single day that we wake up alive.” It was hot. Especially with all the candles around them. Damned hot.

What kind of bullshit was he spouting?

How long would it take the Jag to cool down when he turned on the air? Halfway back to the city? Three-quarters of the way?

“I thought we were moving toward a lifetime together.”

There was wine left in the bottle. He couldn’t take it in the Jag like that. It might tip over. He’d split the cork. He hated to waste it, but he supposed he could pour it out. Get a snake drunk.

“I have every hope of knowing you for many years,” he said, even though he knew the reply had been too long in coming.

“Uh-huh, I’m beginning to understand what that means.” Her tone was different than anything he’d heard from her before.

She was packing up the remains of their picnic, putting the bread back in its plastic bag, wrapping up the cheese, throwing used napkins in a separate bag. They’d finished off the roasted-chicken-and-rice salad.

“Beginning to understand what?” he asked, arms resting lightly on raised knees. Ordinarily he’d be helping her clean up, but she seemed to want to do it all herself.

“That you have no intention of having this relationship go anywhere but where it is. Like to the altar, for instance.”

He grabbed the wine. Dumped it out. Then wished he hadn’t. He could’ve used some to pour down his throat. That feeling was coming again. The one where he felt as if he was stuffed in a tube, his arms and legs cramped against his body, a constricting tube sealed top and bottom.