A Cop's Honor. Emilie Rose

He’s a handyman? Is he single?”

      She shot Lucy a level look. “What does that have to do with anything?”

      “If you’re determined to keep your fixer-upper, you have to admit, you could use a man around.”

      “For repairs, yes. For anything else, no.”

      “But—”

      “Even if I didn’t hold him responsible for Rick’s death, the fact that he’s a cop makes him off-limits.”

      “That’s only two strikes.”

      The third was that Brandon made her feel things. Womanly things. She would never let herself fall in love again. Falling meant landing—hard—when it ended. And sex...well, for her, love and sex went hand in hand. “This isn’t baseball. Two strikes is enough.”

      “Girl, you don’t know what you’re missing.”

      Lucy was a single mom with an active social life. She fell in and out of love every few months and shared all the juicy details with Hannah. At first, the guy was Mr. Perfect and she’d extoll his virtues. Then she started to see his flaws and Hannah heard about those, too. She was convinced her friend was more in love with the idea of love than the practice of it. It seemed like she always wanted romance’s version of new car smell.

      “I’m not missing anything. I love my kids. I love my job. I love my house. Life is good.”

      “C’mon.” She leaned closer. “Don’t you miss sex?”

      Embarrassed, Hannah again checked to see if any of the other parents were listening, but they were too engrossed in their cell phones to care.

      “No.” Yes. But it wasn’t just the physical act she missed. It was all the rest: the companionship, the adult conversations, having someone who shared her hopes and dreams and understood her need to put down roots—deep roots. But no matter how great her relationship with Rick had been, nothing could fill the gaping hole his death had left behind. Her children had been too young to suffer much then. They weren’t now, and she would never put them through the loving and losing hell she’d endured. Which meant that bringing a man in—one who might leave—was out of the question.

      “But—”

      “Lucy, watch the girls.”

      The peace lasted five minutes. “Maybe if you did something at church besides volunteer for nursery duty you’d meet a guy.”

      “I know you find it hard to believe, but I’m not looking.”

      “Men with babies have wives,” she continued as if Hannah hadn’t spoken. “If you’d teach the older kids’ class you could meet some single Christian dads who no longer have that wife attachment.”

      “News flash. I don’t go to church to pick up men.”

      Lucy rolled her eyes. “Girl, you are blind to so many opportunities. Just think who you’d meet if Mason played sports.”

      “He doesn’t like sports.”

      “Then sign him up for a scout troop or a science club.”

      Hannah stuck her fingers in her ears. “La la la.”

      “Scoff if you want, but I’m worried about you. You spend too much time alone.”

      “I’m with people all day.”

      “I meant in your downtime.” She paused briefly before her next question. “So, is Brandon attractive?”

      Hannah’s ears burned. She shot her friend an end-of-my-patience glare that would have silenced her children.

      “That blush answers my question, but FYI, I meant for me, not you. I’m in the relationship Sahara right now. Invite me over after dance tonight. Introduce us.”

      “No!” Hannah spoke so loudly that the other mothers looked up from their gadgets. She didn’t know why she felt so strongly against the introduction. “He’s not your type. He doesn’t go dancing or hang out in bars.”

      At least he hadn’t back when he and Rick had been friends.

      “He’s a desk jockey?”

      With that body? Not likely. “He’s a cop who worked with Rick, remember?”

      “Then he’s my type. And who are we kidding? I’ll consider any man who is relatively intelligent, gainfully employed and in decent shape.”

      The problem was, Lucy might do more than date Brandon. And then Hannah would have to hear about the physical side of their relationship in excruciating detail. No, thanks. She turned away from Lucy. “Oh look. They’re practicing pirouettes. Aren’t they adorable?”

      She could feel Lucy watching her, but she didn’t turn or do anything else to encourage the conversation. This class couldn’t end soon enough. But once it did, she’d be going home to Brandon. To Mason, she hastily corrected. To Mason. Brandon was just a temporary affliction she must endure until she figured out what was going on with her son.

      * * *

      THE STORM THAT the day’s humidity had promised broke loose on the drive home. As if she wasn’t stressed enough about seeing Brandon again, Hannah had to fight through almost zero visibility and pounding water on the roads, grabbing and pulling her tires. She needed new wiper blades and tires. Pushing that worry aside, she pulled into the garage, heaved a sigh of relief and wiggled her fingers. They were cramped from having a death grip on the wheel.

      Belle sprang from the car and sprinted into the house. Her daughter ran everywhere. Where did she find the energy? Hannah followed more slowly, pausing a moment to register the lack of water falling over the open door before she pushed the button to close it. She passed through the laundry room and dropped her purse on the kitchen counter.

      The aroma of Italian food assailed her, making her wish she’d eaten more than a salad after dance class. She hustled to the den where Belle was chattering nonstop and demonstrating the new steps she’d learned tonight for Mason and Brandon. Both males reclined on the couch with an open, empty pizza box on the coffee table. Mason was wearing different clothes now and looked like he’d had a shower.

      Brandon’s smiling gaze transferred from Belle to Hannah, and a surge of...something...shot through her. Relief that Mason looked relaxed and content instead of combative. That was all it was.

      Brandon rose. “She’s quite a talented ballerina.”

      “Yes,” was the only thing Hannah could squeeze out through her tight throat. Why did his smile and gentlemanly manners make it hard to breathe? Then she realized it was because his jeans were damp and clinging to his—Ahem.

      “We saved some garlic knots for you. They’re keeping warm in the oven,” he said.

      She looked at the box and recognized the familiar logo. Her stomach rumbled in anticipation and her mouth watered. “From Giuseppe’s? I haven’t eaten there in years.”

      He turned to Mason. “Your mom was bloodthirsty. She used to threaten me with bodily harm if I ate the last garlic knot.”

      The pressure in her chest increased. “That was a long time ago.”

      He shrugged. “They’re as good as they used to be.”

      Mason perked up. “Brandon said we had to save the rest for you. But if you don’t want ’em...” He started to rise.

      “I do.”

      “Dang.” Her son flopped back down, a picture of total dejection.

      Brandon cut him a look. “How can you have room for more food?”

      Mason grinned, looking so much like the sweet child she loved that it choked Hannah up all over again. “I’m a growing boy. And man, you worked me hard.”

      Which