Raising Connor

“I’m glad, because I couldn’t love him more if he were my own.”

A strange expression—something between regret and annoyance—flitted across her face, and he didn’t know what to make of it.

“Well, in any case, I hope you’ll feel free to visit him anytime.”

Soon, I won’t need your permission.

Connor stirred slightly, and Hunter said, “Guess we’d better get out of here before we wake him. And that would be a shame—the poor kid’s plumb tuckered out.”

He followed her toward the hall, and as he pulled the door shut, his stomach growled.

“Talk about good timing,” Brooke said, jogging down the stairs. “I made extra sandwiches, so—”

His stomach rumbled again.

Brooke turned and looked up at him. “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.” She grinned, but quickly suppressed it. “Just like I’ll pretend that your pants aren’t two inches too short.”

Hunter peered down and realized if he’d worn white socks today, his ankles could have lit up the landing. He might have shared his absurd observation if she hadn’t already disappeared around the corner. Just as well. In the weird mood he was in, he might blurt out something reckless and stupid, like, It isn’t nice to poke fun at a guy who’s starting to like you...

...maybe a little too much...

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