Perfect Kiss by Lacey Black
Chapter 14
Leni
“Trace, are you ready?” I holler, checking my watch for the umpteenth time since we got home from my parents’ house.
“Ready!” he proclaims, running from his room in a pair of jeans and cowboy boots.
Not what I laid out for him.
“What are you wearing?” I ask, making sure there’s snacks packed in the bookbag I’m taking with fresh clothes for Trace, a few juice boxes, and things he can eat if he gets hungry.
“My boots! Papa says they’re good for fishing. We’re going fishing, right?” he asks, his eager, hopeful eyes meeting mine.
“We are,” I confirm, checking the bag one more time.
Earlier, I had barely returned home from retrieving Trace when the text came from Malcolm. He still wanted to take us fishing and riding at his grandparents’ homestead just outside of town, and we made the plan to leave at one. That gave us the entire afternoon to enjoy our outing.
Just then, a knock sounds on the downstairs outside door. “Just a minute,” I holler before turning to my son. “Grab your tennis shoes too, just in case.”
When he takes off for his bedroom, I go down the stairs to unlock the door. Malcolm looks freshly showered and smells amazing. He’s wearing a light-colored T-shirt that hugs his upper arms and chest, well-worn blue jeans, and a pair of cowboy boots. Plus, a ball cap. I never thought they were sexy until I saw one on top of his head.
He looks positively edible.
“Keep looking at me like that and we’ll never make it to my grandparents’ place,” he mumbles.
“Sorry,” I state quickly, clearing my throat and the memory of our shared kisses from my brain.
Okay, let’s not go that far. There’s no way I’ll be forgetting those kisses anytime soon.
He steps forward, bends down, and slides his lips against mine. “You look beautiful,” he whispers before pulling the door closed behind him.
I glance down, taking in my fitted T-shirt, black shorts, and old sneakers. My hair is pulled through the back of a ball cap and I’m not wearing any makeup. “Mess is probably more accurate.”
Malcolm tsks and shakes his head. He leans down, somehow avoiding the clash of our hats, and kisses me on the lips. “Stunning,” he whispers before standing to his full height. “Where’s Trace?”
“Here! And ready,” my son exclaims, practically running down the stairs to join us.
“Let me grab my bag and keys. I’ll be right back.”
I triple check the bag before I finally concede I have everything, including a small baggy of first aid items. When I return downstairs, I find Malcolm and Trace already outside. Trace is telling Malcolm all about his sleepover with the girls last night, but I’m struck by the image they create. There, standing in the gravel, is a man and my son. They’re both wearing jeans, T-shirts, and boots, and while their features are completely different, it’s their mannerisms that catch my eye. The way they both have their arms crossed over their chests, Malcolm’s as he listens intently and Trace’s as he mimics the man in front of him.
I want my son to have this.
To have someone he can look up to and copy. Someone to teach him all the manly things a father can teach—the things I can’t.
Malcolm looks my way and smiles, the sweetest, most serene grin I’ve ever witnessed. It makes his harder features…soft. The bossy man in the council chambers and the courtroom is a big teddy bear. Completely adorable and…loveable.
No.
Not going there.
I clear my throat and jump in the first moment Trace takes a pause in his story. “Ready!” The word comes out all high and squeaky.
Malcolm arches an eyebrow but opens both the passenger side doors on his car. “Trace and I already grabbed his seat from your car.”
“All right.”
I don’t have an opportunity to help Trace into the car and buckle, since Malcolm is right there taking care of it. When I go ahead and sit in the front seat, I hear Trace ask, “What’s that?”
I glance over my shoulder as Malcolm answers, “That’s a picnic for later. We can eat dinner where we’re going. That okay, Champ?”
“Do you have peanut butter and jelly sandwiches?” my little one asks.
Malcolm gasps. “I do! I hope you like grape jelly.”
“It’s my favorite jelly!”
“Excellent,” Malcolm replies with a chuckle. “Watch yourself. I’m gonna shut the door.”
He comes around to the driver’s door while I try to swallow down the bubble of emotion that’s suddenly lodged in my throat, restricting my airways. The ride to his grandparents’ place is short, but I’m so grateful for Trace’s constant talking, because I’m not sure I could right now. I keep thinking about the kiss and how it made me feel, as well as the overwhelming vibes I get when I see Malcolm with my son. It’s too much, and I don’t know how to process it.
We pull down a long, winding lane that leads back to a gorgeous home. “My grandparents built this place after my grandpa retired from being mayor. He inherited the land from his father but waited to build the house until he was done serving the citizens of Mason Creek. He did dig the pond and kept up the property early on though. Grandma planted all those trees and flowering shrubs when I was a young boy. I fell out of that big oak tree there and broke my arm when I was four.”
I look at the large tree he pointed to and can practically see why a young boy would have been so interested in climbing it. It’s the perfect climbing tree, with low, wide branches and lots of cover.
Malcolm drives down the lane, continuing past the large house and garage. He follows the path back to the pond and parks in a large mowed grassy area. “Ready?” he asks Trace when he shuts off the vehicle.
“Yes!” My son already has his buckles released and is reaching for the door handle before anyone can tell him to get out.
The sun is hot, but the view is simply stunning. The mountains look amazing in the distance behind a fairly big body of water and a massive, wooded piece of land. There’s a dock that extends out into the pond, as well as a decent-sized building off to the side. There are trees to provide shady spots and even a sandy area at the water’s edge for a beach with brightly painted Adirondack chairs.
It’s a great place. Quiet and inviting.
I turn to help Malcolm unload his trunk, and before I can holler at Trace to stay away from the water, he’s already gone. “Hey, Champ, don’t get too close until you have your life jacket on, okay?”
“’Kay!” he yells, returning to where we are to help unload today’s goodies. I grab the insulated bag from the back seat and smile when I see both of their arms loaded up with gear. I’ve always enjoyed fishing; even when I was a kid. My dad used to take me and my sister to the lake on weekends, and his insistent desire to wet a line stuck with me. My sister, not so much. She used to go, but always preferred reading at the water’s edge or on the boat.
We head for the dock and deposit our load under a shade tree. While Trace wiggles into his life jacket, Malcolm works to bait the small hook on the Spider-Man pole. “My grandpa stocks the pond every five years or so. There should be plenty to catch.”
“Can we keep ‘em?” Trace asks, eager to cast.
“If they’re big enough. We’ll clean and put them in salty ice water overnight,” Malcolm replies, handing the baited pole to my son.
“Can we have ‘em for dinner?”
Malcolm chuckles and leads him down to the edge of the dock. “No, not tonight. We’re having our picnic, remember?”
“Yes! With the good jelly.”
“That’s right. Do you want to cast?” he says, stepping back so he doesn’t get hooked, yet close enough he can jump in and help if he needs to.
“I got it.” And he does. Trace throws a pretty decent cast and sets the line. “Tomorrow?” he asks, clearly still thinking about eating the fish he plans to catch.
“Well, tomorrow night I have meetings. I’m done by six on Wednesday, though. What about you guys?” Malcolm asks, crouching down beside Trace.
“Mom? Do you have to work then?” he hollers, barely glancing away from where his bobber bounces in the water.
“My last client is at five, so I should be done by six thirty,” I reply, walking out to join them on the dock.
“Can we cook the fish with Malcolm?” he asks, his hopeful eyes pleading with me to say yes.
I glance at the man beside him, who just shrugs. “Well, maybe. You start school this week, and we were going to plan early bedtimes, remember?”
“Oh,” he replies, dropping his head for a brief moment. “Oh, yeah!” he adds, realizing he’s finally going to start kindergarten.
Malcolm goes and grabs one of the other fishing poles and baits the hook. He brings it over and hands it to me. “You know how to cast this thing?”
“Are you kidding me?” I quip, narrowing my eyes. “I’m practically pro-level.”
Malcolm snorts. “Well, let’s see it, Kevin VanDam,” he teases, referring to the successful Bassmaster fisherman.
It’s been a few years since I’ve done this, but it’s like riding a bike, right? I press the release button, position the pole at my shoulder like I used to, and let it fly. Only the hook and bait go straight down with a slap.
Trace giggles as Malcolm shakes his head and reaches for the pole. “Need a hand, Kevin?”
“No,” I argue, reeling in the line and getting ready once again. “I can do this.”
This time, when I throw the line and release the button, it soars across the sky and lands with a satisfying plop out in the pond.
“Not bad,” Malcolm states proudly before grabbing the third and final pole, baiting, and casting it with precision and expertise.
We all take a seat on the dock, our feet dangling near the water. Because of the summer heat and very little rain, the pond appears a little lower than normal, judging by the lines of foliage and dirt around the perimeter.
I glance over and watch Trace as he concentrates on the task at hand. His bobber moves, causing him to get ready. Just as it dips below the surface, he yanks up and starts to reel. It’s entertaining watching him and Malcolm work together, one spinning the Spider-Man reel while the other coaches him along. Malcolm runs and grabs the net, dipping it into the water and pulling a decent sized bluegill out of the pond.
“Look at that!” my son proclaims.
“Hold the line,” Malcolm instructs, pulling out his phone and snapping a photo.
My heart melts seeing the giddiness and toothless smile on his face.
“Look, Mom! I did it all by myself,” he announces, as they carefully set the fish on the dock.
Malcolm works to remove the hook, with Trace bending down and taking in his every move. Once it’s free, the older of the two announces that it’s the prefect size to keep, so my son runs over to grab the live trap to tie on the dock. It’ll keep the fish alive yet contained until we’re finished.
They bait the hook a second time, cast it into the pond, and take a seat, side by side. Trace glances up, squinting against the sun, and smiles at Malcolm. He looks down and returns the grin, only to remove his ball cap from his head, tighten the strap in back, and place it on my son’s head. Trace reaches up and adjusts it, offering another toothy grin and a happy, “Thanks.”
That’s how we spend the next hour and a half, catching fish and adding them to our catch trap. When we have enough for more than one meal, Malcolm announces it’s time to go for a ride around the property. Before Trace can take off in his excitement, he helps clean up the fishing gear and takes it over to the tree.
Then, he’s practically running right alongside Malcolm as he goes to the small building and removes a padlock. Inside, there’s a four-seater MULE UTV, and the moment the door is rolled open, Trace jumps onto the seat.
“Come here,” Malcolm instructs, picking him up and setting him on his lap.
I stand back and watch as he starts the UTV, slowly pulls it out of the building, and heads my way. The look on Trace’s face says it all. He’s completely beside himself with excitement as he holds the wheel, helping Malcolm steer.
“Can I drive?” my son asks, making both adults laugh.
“Do you have a driver’s license?” Malcolm asks in a teasing tone.
“No, silly, I’m five.”
“Then, I’m afraid you can’t drive. However, you can sit beside me in a seat belt. Deal?”
Trace shrugs and moves to the other seat. “Okay.”
“Ready?” Malcolm asks, reaching over and pushing a strand of hair that fell from my ball cap behind my ear. The way the sunlight hits his face, I can see the dark stubble from the day really coming through. I wonder if it’s coarse or soft, and my fingers itch to find out.
“Maybe you two should go,” I reply, staying right where I am, a bit nervous to ride that big utility vehicle.
“I won’t go fast, I promise. Not with you and Champ on board. You’ll enjoy it,” he insists, his finger lingering on my cheek just a touch longer than expected.
With a quick nod, I hop in the back seat and buckle my safety belt too.
We cruise around the property, following trails in the dirt and grass. Malcolm points out several areas to Trace, including markings on a tree where deer have been scratching to shed antlers. After another hour, we wind our way back to where we started and put the UTV away. When Malcolm and Trace return from the shed, they have a blanket and spread it on the ground under the big oak tree.
As Malcolm sets out the food, involving Trace’s help, I can’t get over the fact this is a date. Not just any date, but a great date. Never have I been asked to include Trace. With Greg, it was always drive-thru dinners, and on the rare occasion we’d find a sitter for our young son, he always wanted to go to the bar and hang out with his friends. Eventually, it turned into just him going.
Now, here we are, our first official date, and my son is an active, prominent part of it. As a single mom, that means more to me than any fancy dinner I could have been taken to. The fact he kept it casual and to the things my child likes to do speaks volumes for the man himself.
“So, Champ, when you take a woman out on a date, you have to make sure you treat her special. And your mom is special,” he says, placing the first sandwich container in front of me. “You always serve the lady first or allow her to order first at a restaurant. It’s the gentlemanly thing to do.”
Trace nods, hanging on Malcolm’s every word. “But girls are gross!”
We get a good chuckle at Trace’s candor. “Well, I, too, once thought girls were yucky, but I promise you, you’ll eventually change your mind. Girls are pretty great,” he replies, looking up and winking at me.
Trace makes sure to give me grapes first, even though I can tell he’s ready to dive into his own food, but he heeds Malcolm’s words. When the food is finally distributed, he looks up at Malcolm, as if asking for permission to eat. “Go ahead. I hope you like the PB&J. Made it myself,” he boasts proudly.
He does, diving in with both hands, and it gives Malcolm and me an opportunity to quietly eat and visit. “Have you always wanted to be mayor and an attorney?” I ask, popping a grape into my mouth.
Malcolm nods and swallows his bite. “Always. I watched my grandpa and dad succeed in both the courtroom and the council chambers. I took in everything, thriving on their work and determination to make Mason Creek a better place. I knew at a young age I wanted to do that too. I was elected the youngest mayor in town history, less than a year ago, and have loved it.”
“That’s amazing,” I reply between bites of my sandwich. “If I had been what I wanted to be when I was a young girl, I’d be a dolphin trainer right now.”
He laughs, that deep, rich sound so soothing and sexy. “Not a lot of dolphins in Montana.”
“Definitely not. Even in high school, I had no clue. I picked accounting because I enjoyed math, but turns out, it wasn’t the job for me. And cleaning is…I don’t know. Fun? Everyone thinks I’m weird to actually enjoy it, but I do.”
“Who cares what everyone else thinks?” he asks, meeting my gaze.
I consider his question and realize I don’t. Not really. This place is a small town and yes, everyone knows everything about you, usually moments after it happens, but it doesn’t really matter to me.
“I always thought my future was to serve on a bigger stage,” he says, pulling me away from my own thoughts. “Governor, maybe? Senator? I was never sure which but knew that’s where my road would lead me. Now, I guess I’m finding my niche here. Maybe a small town isn’t so bad, you know? It has some of the best things to offer in life. Some of the most amazing people are here.”
When he looks at me, there’s something very settling in his eyes. As if he’s discovered there’s more to life than work or big political dreams. Maybe I’m looking too much into it, but it’s as if he’s found something worth staying for. “That’s a very bold and admirable goal.”
He gives a weird nod, shrug thing, but doesn’t say anything more on the subject. Instead, he gives me a big grin and whispers, “Admirable enough for a goodnight kiss?”
I can’t stop the giggle as I pop a grape into my mouth. Slowly, I chew and smile. “Maybe.”
