She lets me hold her for a few minutes, her breathing evening out. The emotion seems to pass as quickly as it came. She inhales deeply and dabs under her eyes with a tissue. I have no idea where it came from, but it’s definitely seen a lot of tears based on how mangled it is.

She waves her hands in front of her face. “Every time I think I’ve got myself under control this starts up again. I thought teenage hormones were bad. They have nothing on this perimenopausal shit.”

“Aren’t you a little young for that?”

She arches a brow. “Now you’re being obtuse.”

I hold my hands up in supplication. “Seriously. I didn’t think that was a thing before fifty.”

“Oh. Well, that would be ideal if that were the case, but it can start way earlier than that. Just depends on how much of an asshole your body wants to be.” She closes her eyes and shakes her head. “It’s bad enough that I cried all over your suit. I’m not going to subject you to the horrors of perimenopause.” She purses her lips. “I really need to stop talking.”

“I have something for you.” I figure I’ll save her from having to fight her way out of a conversation that’s making her uncomfortable. Sometimes I forget that Hanna is slightly older than I am.

“What?” She frowns, as if she’s not quite following the new direction of our conversation.

“A gift.” I pull the small, wrapped box out of my pocket. “Just a little something to say thank you. I meant to give it to you earlier, but I forgot.” I pass her the box.

“You didn’t need to get me a gift.” She bites her lip. “I didn’t get you anything.”

“You don’t need to get me anything. You’ve been so great with Queenie. With everything. I would have been totally lost without you.”

“You underestimate yourself. You would have been totally fine.”

“We can agree to disagree on that.” And I recognize, maybe not for the first time, that through this whole thing, I’ve felt like I had someone I could rely on for support and who was there for my daughter unfailingly.

My mouth goes dry, and I reach for my scotch, which I set on the dresser when I first walked in. The liquid burns but makes it easier to swallow. The sudden nervousness doesn’t make sense. It’s just a token of my appreciation.

Hanna pulls the bow and it flutters to the floor. “Oh, wow. I don’t think anyone has ever bought me something from Tiffany’s.”

“The last time I shopped there was for Queenie’s sweet sixteen.”

“She’s a lucky girl to have such a thoughtful dad.”

“She never really had a mother figure. There were things I couldn’t do for her, or be for her, and you stepped in so graciously, even when it was hard for you.” I’m going to miss Hanna’s regular visits now that the wedding is over.

“I feel the same way. Lucky, I mean, to have you both in my life as well.” She lifts the lid from the box and inhales sharply. The chain is thin, and a small rose gold infinity heart is suspended from a diamond encrusted bar. I didn’t even ask for help picking it out. It just seemed to fit Hanna. The room in her heart for the people she cares about always seems infinite.

“Oh, Jake, this is beyond stunning.” She blinks several times rapidly. “I’m totally blaming you if I start crying again.” She starts to wave her hands around in the air, so I take the box from her and quickly grab a tissue from the nightstand.

“These are good tears this time, though?”

She nods. “This is so beautiful.”

“Exactly like you,” I tell her.

“I’m a hot mess.”

“Well, you’re hot, I’ll give you that. And if you’re a mess, you’re a beautiful one.” I give her a long, lingering once-over.

“Don’t look at me like that right now. I’m weak, and that smirk is too tempting.” She turns around. “Can you help me with the necklace, please?”

“Absolutely.” I sweep her thick dark waves over her shoulder. She often wears it up in a messy bun that shows off the slope of her elegant neck. Which is exactly what I’m looking at right now. The back of her dress is cut in a V. The style of hers is different, the straps slightly thicker, the dip in the back not quite so deep. A bit more modest. But still so damn sexy.

When she’s thinking, her fingers often drift along the smooth skin. And all I want to do is follow the same path, but with my lips.

I unclasp the necklace she’s currently wearing and replace it with the new one. We’re facing the mirror, and our gazes meet and lock there. Her bottom lip catches between her teeth as she turns her head toward my mouth and reaches up, fingers brushing the edge of my jaw.

“Should we head back?” I dip down and press my lips to her collarbone.

“Maybe not quite yet.” She leans into me, her back meeting my chest.

I settle my hands on her hips. “I don’t know that I should be starting something I can’t finish for a few more hours.”

“We could be quick. Take the edge off.” She arches, her butt pressing against my erection.

“Ah, fuck, Hanna.”

She spins around and grabs my tie. “I think that’s a really good idea.” She pulls my mouth down to hers.

Every time I kiss her it’s the same. It’s like the first bite of a piece of cake snuck from the pantry when no one is looking. The delicious anticipation of having something you’ve waited for, only to discover it’s infinitely more decadent than you expected.

I wrap one arm around her waist, savoring her moan as we tip our heads and open wider for each other. Lust overwhelms, and I feel like I’m being caught up in a vortex. Even after all these months, we still consume each other with the same fierce desperation, like each time is the first and last. Because even though we know we probably shouldn’t be indulging in each other like this, we can’t seem to stop ourselves.

I break the kiss long enough to grind out, “I want in you.”

CHAPTER FOUR

The Perfect Distraction

Hanna

IN THE BACK of my mind, I recognize that now isn’t the best time for this. And that Jake and I need to have a very real discussion about what exactly we’re doing and that it should also probably stop, but today has been difficult on so many levels, I can’t find it in me to put the brakes on. I need this. I need him. Which is its own problem. One I’ll have to tackle before I leave on Sunday night.

But for now, I give myself over to sensation, to feeling good instead of conflicted, or sad, or lost.

“We can’t go back out there rumpled,” I mumble into his mouth as I loosen Jake’s tie.

“Good call.” His hands roam my curves with familiarity.

Because we’ve been doing this for months now. And tonight I feel a heightened level of desperation for him, knowing we can’t keep sleeping together indefinitely, that it’s going to end. And I feel a lot like I’m losing something else. Something bigger than I want to admit.

I quickly and carefully unbutton his shirt, all the while we’re still kissing. He tastes like scotch and faintly of cigar, probably because someone handed him one earlier and he wanted to be polite. I’ve never seen Jake smoke anything before.