honey. The yearning became an ache. Though she told herself to look away, her eyes remained locked on his. “I was the worst one on the squad.”
Max didn’t bother to dispute the assessment, which only confirmed she’d been right. “I never understood why you did it.”
“I know.” She sighed. “I wasn’t the type.”
“Cheerleading—” He paused as if searching for the right words. “Just never seemed in your wheelhouse.”
He was right. While Fin and Marigold loved performing, for her being in front of crowds had been pure torture.
“My mother was big on us girls trying everything from dance to cooking to cheer. I tried out the year my mom was diagnosed with cancer.” Prim swallowed hard against the sudden lump in her throat. How odd that after all this time, the fear and grief of those days could appear out of nowhere, the pain just as swift and intense as it had been back then. “I knew it would make her happy to see that I was willing to at least try out. Never in a million years did I think I’d make the squad.”
“You brought elegance and grace to the field,” he said gallantly.
“Yeah, right.” She rolled her eyes. “You’re being way too kind.”
“Not at all.” Max waved aside her protests. “In addition to elegant and graceful, you’re smart and kind and beautiful. You, Primrose Bloom, are a rare blossom.”
It was obvious by the way he pressed his lips together that he’d said more than he’d planned. But the sweet words lingered in the air.
His eyes were dark as midnight, and, as she stared into their depths, Prim forgot how to breathe. She forgot how to think. She forgot why she should keep her distance.
The loud chatter of a squirrel perched on a tree branch, the strong scent of lilac from the row of bushes across the street, all disappeared.
All she knew was him. All she wanted was him. Her heart agreed, pounding out a primitive rhythm.
Kiss him. Kiss him. Kiss him .
As if he heard the seductive beat, Max stepped closer until he was right. There.
Her heart was a sweet, heavy mass in her chest.
Max held out a hand to her as if asking her for . . . something.
Prim held her breath and waited. For what, she wasn’t sure, but the moment seemed important, monumental even. Almost as if the years that had passed had fallen away, and they were being given another chance to be—
Callum’s voice echoed across the yard. “I got it!”
Max’s hand dropped to his side.
Prim hid her disappointment behind a Mona Lisa smile.
The twins raced toward them, Max’s glove held high in the air as if it were an Olympic torch. They came to a skidding stop directly in front of Max.
“Good job.” Max grinned and took the glove, slipping it on, then giving the pocket a punch. “Now, let’s have some fun.”
Prim rested her back against the solid oak and watched her boys soak up Max’s undivided attention.
He lobbed the ball straight to Callum, the move so slow and easy Prim was sure she could have caught it.
The ball wobbled in the pocket, but Callum gripped it tightly, a big smile spreading across his face when the glove fully encased it.
“Toss it back to me.”
The boy did as Max instructed. Though it veered to the side, Max easily snagged it from the air. “Good throw. You have a strong arm.”
Callum beamed.
Despite her son’s often-cocky bravado, Prim knew he wanted so much to please. They both did. They wanted male approval. Needed it.
Tears filled Prim’s eyes. Rory was missing so much. A pang of regret for what never would be was followed by a hot burst of anger. Had climbing another mountain really been that important?
She shoved aside the ugly thought and refocused in time to see Max gently toss the ball to Connor.
The boy stood in the ready position but his gaze had shifted to Boris. The wolfhound had gotten up from his nap on the porch to put the noisy squirrel on notice with a series of staccato barks.
The ball hit Connor square in the chest,
Max didn’t bother to dispute the assessment, which only confirmed she’d been right. “I never understood why you did it.”
“I know.” She sighed. “I wasn’t the type.”
“Cheerleading—” He paused as if searching for the right words. “Just never seemed in your wheelhouse.”
He was right. While Fin and Marigold loved performing, for her being in front of crowds had been pure torture.
“My mother was big on us girls trying everything from dance to cooking to cheer. I tried out the year my mom was diagnosed with cancer.” Prim swallowed hard against the sudden lump in her throat. How odd that after all this time, the fear and grief of those days could appear out of nowhere, the pain just as swift and intense as it had been back then. “I knew it would make her happy to see that I was willing to at least try out. Never in a million years did I think I’d make the squad.”
“You brought elegance and grace to the field,” he said gallantly.
“Yeah, right.” She rolled her eyes. “You’re being way too kind.”
“Not at all.” Max waved aside her protests. “In addition to elegant and graceful, you’re smart and kind and beautiful. You, Primrose Bloom, are a rare blossom.”
It was obvious by the way he pressed his lips together that he’d said more than he’d planned. But the sweet words lingered in the air.
His eyes were dark as midnight, and, as she stared into their depths, Prim forgot how to breathe. She forgot how to think. She forgot why she should keep her distance.
The loud chatter of a squirrel perched on a tree branch, the strong scent of lilac from the row of bushes across the street, all disappeared.
All she knew was him. All she wanted was him. Her heart agreed, pounding out a primitive rhythm.
Kiss him. Kiss him. Kiss him .
As if he heard the seductive beat, Max stepped closer until he was right. There.
Her heart was a sweet, heavy mass in her chest.
Max held out a hand to her as if asking her for . . . something.
Prim held her breath and waited. For what, she wasn’t sure, but the moment seemed important, monumental even. Almost as if the years that had passed had fallen away, and they were being given another chance to be—
Callum’s voice echoed across the yard. “I got it!”
Max’s hand dropped to his side.
Prim hid her disappointment behind a Mona Lisa smile.
The twins raced toward them, Max’s glove held high in the air as if it were an Olympic torch. They came to a skidding stop directly in front of Max.
“Good job.” Max grinned and took the glove, slipping it on, then giving the pocket a punch. “Now, let’s have some fun.”
Prim rested her back against the solid oak and watched her boys soak up Max’s undivided attention.
He lobbed the ball straight to Callum, the move so slow and easy Prim was sure she could have caught it.
The ball wobbled in the pocket, but Callum gripped it tightly, a big smile spreading across his face when the glove fully encased it.
“Toss it back to me.”
The boy did as Max instructed. Though it veered to the side, Max easily snagged it from the air. “Good throw. You have a strong arm.”
Callum beamed.
Despite her son’s often-cocky bravado, Prim knew he wanted so much to please. They both did. They wanted male approval. Needed it.
Tears filled Prim’s eyes. Rory was missing so much. A pang of regret for what never would be was followed by a hot burst of anger. Had climbing another mountain really been that important?
She shoved aside the ugly thought and refocused in time to see Max gently toss the ball to Connor.
The boy stood in the ready position but his gaze had shifted to Boris. The wolfhound had gotten up from his nap on the porch to put the noisy squirrel on notice with a series of staccato barks.
The ball hit Connor square in the chest,
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