"What time is it?" Bowen asked.

Stirring my homemade meatballs and tomato sauce as I waited for the pasta water to boil, I spared a glance over my shoulder and saw him swinging his legs impatiently as he watched the clock. "Twenty after six," I chuckled, "which means Sloane should be here in about ten minutes."

"But that's so far away," he groaned impatiently. "Do you think there will be time for me to show her my kitchen set before we eat dinner? She likes to bake, so I think she'll like it."

I suppressed a grin at how adorable he sounded, wondering if he had a little crush brewing. He'd certainly been playing with the plastic kitchen playset his parents had got him two years ago more over the last couple of days than he normally did. He'd also been buzzing with energy all afternoon after Sloane had accepted his dinner invitation.

Though if he did, I couldn't really blame him. She seemed to grab the attention of Nybergs without trying.

"There should be time," I replied, "but if there's not, you can always show it to her once we're done eating. She's not just going to eat and leave."

"Okay."

Two minutes later, I covered the saucepan to let the contents simmer, dumped a healthy portion of spaghetti into the boiling pot, and just when I started to clean the counter up a bit, the doorbell sounded.

"She's here!" Bowen exclaimed excitedly, jumping off his chair so fast that he nearly toppled to the ground face first.

I was there to catch him though. "Careful," I said as I righted him back onto two feet. "Why don't you go bring Scout in from the yard and I'll answer the door?"

His bottom lip jutted out in disappointment, but he didn't try to argue as he took off quickly toward the back door.

I, on the other hand, moved towards the front door and with each step I took, felt a clamminess rouse on my palms. Wiping my hands on my jeans, I opened the door to see Sloane standing there, tucking a flyaway strand of hair behind her ear. For a split second, I thought I saw a hint of stress in her expression, but it was gone before I could fully place it, replaced by an at-ease expression that had her brown eyes shining and perfectly pink lips quirking upward.

Enthralled, I couldn't help but take in the rest of her. Her long black hair was no longer in the signature ponytail she wore for work, instead cascading past her shoulders in big, bouncy waves that showed off the purple streaks she rocked. She'd also changed out of her work clothes and now wore a cropped denim jacket over an off-white, flowy dress that stopped right above her knee. To me, she looked just as good in this moment as she had earlier today while working, though I did have to admit, I was a massive fan of the way her dress's neckline swooped low, showing off her magnificent cleavage.

I knew for sure I hadn't been the most discreet as I lifted my gaze back to hers and noticed the pink flush that now coated her cheeks. "Hey," I greeted, finally letting my gaze drift past her to see there was no extra car in the driveway. A crease of confusion formed on my forehead. "Did you walk here?"

"Nope." She pointed at the bike that she'd propped up against the side of the staircase. "But I don't have a car. I don't really see the point, and if I really need to go somewhere out of town, I borrow my dad's."

"Isn't that hard in the winter though?"

Lifting a shoulder, she said, "I make it work. And speaking of work—" She held up a finger, signaling for me to wait a moment as she headed back down the stairs, opened the basket that hung from her handlebars, and pulled out a small box with the Wilma's logo on top. "—I brought a few leftover brownies for dessert."

"A woman after our hearts and our sweet tooth," I teased, accepting the box as I opened the door wider and stepped aside. "Come in."

"Thanks." I got a whiff of her perfume as she walked past me and quickly tampered down the spark of attraction it ignited before turning back to her. "Dinner smells amazing."

"Glad you think so, though I'm sorry it's not anything fancier."

She waved me off. "Don't worry about it. I love a classic dinner of spaghetti and meatballs."

"Then hopefully tonight doesn't disappoint."

Looking up at me, a soft smile pulled at her lips. "I highly doubt it will."

"I should warn you though," I said, leaning a bit closer to her and liking how she held my gaze confidently, "there's a very excited six-year-old around here somewhere who is looking to monopolize your attention tonight."

The laugh that left her lips warmed my chest. "Jealous?" she mused.

"I'll let you know in a bit." A bark sounded throughout the house, and a scampering of footsteps grew louder and louder. "Though for now..."

"Miss. Montgomery!" Bowen's voice echoed loudly as he rounded the corner. "You're here!"

"I am. Thanks for the invitation." She smiled down at him. "And you can call me Sloane. I'm not your teacher anymore."

"Sloane," he repeated, as if testing the name out. "Okay, Sloane, did you want to see my kitchen set? I have a stove and fridge and pots and pans and a whole bunch of food."

With the way he was bouncing in excitement, I don't think there was any possibility of him receiving a no.

"That sounds amazing," Sloane replied with elevated astonishment. "I'd love to see it."

Bowen squealed, causing Scout to bark happily, and the former quickly reached for Sloane's hand, wanting to lead her into the living room.

"Just remember, dinner will be ready in a few minutes," I said.

"I know," Bowen replied offhandedly.

Sloane flicked me an amused look as my nephew tugged her away, and I felt slightly taken aback as I felt my heart skip a damn beat.

Fuck. This woman was not only beautiful and a good friend, but she was slowly worming her way into my life like she'd done when we were kids. Even if it was unknowingly. And while I knew it would probably be smart to put some distance between us, I simply didn't want to.

***

Dinner was a lively affair—the three of us sitting around the table with a constant stream of chatter as we chowed down on both the food I'd made and then the desserts Sloane had brought. Or more specifically, there was a constant stream of chatter between Sloane and Bowen while I sat listening, mostly silent and thoroughly amused.

My nephew was absolutely charmed by our guest, and if he wasn't telling her about the fishing trips we'd taken recently or how excited he was to have Scout around, he was hurling questions her way.

What was her favorite color? What was her favorite thing to bake? What was her least favorite thing to bake? How long had her and I known one another? Why did she have purple in her hair? Did she like her job? Did she miss being a teacher?

Overall, Sloane took everything in stride, the smile on her face never wavering until the last two questions spilled from Bowen's mouth. It was a flicker of hesitation—not enough for him to notice he'd pushed too much or said something wrong—but I caught it. Pocketing it away to ask her about later, I didn't interrupt as she skillfully skirted around the questions and pivoted away from the topic, asking Bowen what he wanted to be when he grew up.

As he dived quickly into his answer, yammering about being a vet or a fisherman or an astronaut, I extended my leg under the table, tapping Sloane's ankle lightly with my own in support. To let her know I was sorry something about his line of questioning had momentarily upset her.

She shot me a grateful look and returned the gesture, but stayed engaged with Bowen through it all. It was admirable, and I could totally see by just the way she interacted with him how wonderful she must've been as a teacher.

When we all finished eating, I expected to clean up while Bowen dragged Sloane off to play with him, but instead, as I made a move to stand up and clear the table, he held out both his hands to stop me.

"Don't do that now. You can do the dishes later," Bowen said, giving me puppy-dog eyes. "I want us all to watch Princess and The Frog before Sloane has to leave."

I could tell Sloane was holding in a laugh at the look of surprise that crossed my face. I'd watched many animated movies over the years with Bowen, but they typically weren't princess movies. Not that there was anything wrong with princess movies.

"The Princess and The Frog?"

He nodded. "It was one of mommy's favorites. It has talking animals AND yummy food and I think Sloane will like it," he explained, turning to grin at her.

I swallowed down the lump in my throat at the mention of Thea as Sloane said, "I'd love that."

"Then I guess I can't say no, can I?" I said and Bowen cheered happily. "Let me just put the dishes in the sink for now and I'll join you guys in a second."

"Okay, but hurry," Bowen said, grabbing Sloane's hand to lead her into the living room. "We have to start it soon or else I'm going to fall asleep before the end."

"You heard him," Sloane added teasingly, "you better hurry."

Rolling my eyes at their antics, I quickly collected the dirty dishes into the sink, leaving them to be cleaned later as I joined Bowen and Sloane on the sofa. Scrolling through until I found the movie, I hit play, and Bowen, who sat in between Sloane and myself, grinned as his gaze turned from me to her. "You're going to love it."

And while it definitely wasn't something I would watch in my spare time, I found myself enjoying it. Especially with Bowen's additional commentary. His features were expressive despite likely having seen the movie a handful of times, he wiggled around in his seat to dance to the music, and when the characters seemed to be at the end of their ropes, he reassured us that everything would be okay.

By the time the credits rolled, and everyone got their happily ever after, it was about half an hour past Bowen's bedtime and he was trying to hide his yawn.

"Okay, kiddo," I said, clapping as I stood up, "say goodnight to Sloane and get yourself in the shower."

He huffed out a dejected sigh but knew there was no point in arguing. "Thanks for coming to dinner Sloane," he said, inching closer to her to wrap his arms around her middle. I saw that her expression softened as she returned the hug and she smiled down at him as he pulled back. "And for watching a movie with me."

I cleared my throat jokingly.

"With us," Bowen corrected.

Sloane laughed. "No problem. Thanks for inviting me."

"Do you think you can come over again?" Bowen asked. "Like tomorrow?"

"I'm actually busy tomorrow," she replied before I could tell him to slow his roll. And when the smallest hint of sadness seeped into his expression, she quickly continued, "But I'm sure your uncle and I can figure out a time soon that would work."

"Great," he said happily, hopping off the sofa. He waved to her before heading for the stairs, Scout on his heels. "Goodnight."

I let a few seconds pass, until I figured he was no longer in earshot. "Sorry about him," I apologized.

"Don't worry about it. He's always been enthusiastic," she said, pushing herself up to stand in front of me. "Before I go though, I was going to ask if you wanted help with the cleanup from dinner. It'll go faster with two people."

"If you're offering," I started, pausing to let her back out if she wanted. She kept quiet. "I'd love the help."

Waving me ahead of her, I walked into the kitchen with her right behind me. "So, what did you think of the movie?" she mused.

"Well, it definitely wasn't the kind of movie I'd normally watch," I chuckled, "but it was cute."

"Considering you're now in charge of a six-year-old, you're going to have to get used to watching Disney movies," Sloane quipped, sidling up next to me at the sink.

"I guess I will." Turning on the water, I handed her a clean towel and quirked a brow. "I'll wash, you dry?"

Taking the towel, she replied, "Sounds good to me."

For a few minutes, we focused on the task at hand, not bothering to fill the silence. Pots and pans were washed and dried, as were the plates and utensils, but just as we were finishing up the look that'd momentarily crossed her face at Bowen's questioning earlier that night reappeared in my head.

"Hey, do you mind if I ask you something?"

She glanced sideways at me and I saw the corner of her mouth lift. "Depends on what it is."

"Well... feel free to tell me to mind my own business, but did something happen at work this afternoon?" I could tell immediately by the way her shoulders tensed what the answer was. "I know when Bowen asked you earlier, you kind of avoided it, so...?"

"No. Yes? I don't know. Maybe." She dried the last of the plates, resting it on the counter along with the towel before letting out a long breath. "I don't know what to make of it, honestly. A guy—probably ten years older than us—came in and asked how to contact the owner. Then when I told him I owned the place, he told me he was a condo developer and thought the store was in a perfect location."

I frowned, leaning against the counter next to her. "A condo developer? In Neptune Bay?"

"And now you get my confusion," she said. "But yes, that's what I understood. He basically told me straight up that Wilma's was a great location to construct a high-rise for the town to pull in new residents."

"Was he for real?"

"I think so, considering when I told him I wasn't looking to sell he just replied that everything could be bought for the right price."

Unfortunately, I knew plenty of rich, over-confident men like this. They frequented banquets and fundraisers out in Boston—which they only attended to make themselves appear charitable. They were nothing of the sort, however. Most men like that were downright dirty in their business deals and didn't care who they had to stomp on to get to the top.

"If you're not willing to sell, he can't do anything about that."

At least I hoped he couldn't.

A sigh left her lips. "I hope not."

"Though, while we're on the subject," I started, choosing my next words carefully, "have you really not considered selling?" She blinked in surprise. "Not that I necessarily think you should," I was quick to say, "but you were a teacher before your mother passed, right?" She nodded. "So, what made you choose to move away from that to take up a spot in the family business?"

I could see the gears turning in her head. "I think a lot of things went into the decision I made," she confessed slowly. "The emotional stress of dealing with my mom's death was definitely something I struggled with last summer, and when the time came to start preparing lesson plans, I didn't have the same energy or enthusiasm I'd had before when it came to teaching."

"Really?" I asked softly.

She nodded. "I ended up requesting a sabbatical and going to therapy pretty regularly to help process everything going on inside of my head, and then just when I thought things were looking better, my dad got sick."

I could hear the ache in her words. The small waver before she paused and wrangled her composure.

"Even with his injury—he'd busted his leg up on a call about a month or so before my mom passed—he'd been helping run the store with June, but after the diagnosis things went downhill health-wise for him. June stepped up big time, but to me, it was like the only option was to shift my priorities around. Before my dad even started chemo, I'd had all the paperwork drawn up to sign the store over to me, just in case, and from that moment on, running the store and taking care of my dad have been at the forefront of everything I do."

"So, do I miss teaching now that I've been away from it for about a year?" she continued. "Yes, absolutely. But I'm not sure that I have the strength to let go of the legacy my family built with Wilma's to go back."

"I get that," I said. "And I'm sorry if I crossed the line asking about it."

"You didn't." She shook her head. "You're curious and that's okay. It's not like I didn't ask a lot of questions when it came to your situation with Bowen. Which, if tonight was any indication, seems to be going well."

"It is," I agreed. Offering her an encouraging smile, I continued, "Though for what it's worth, if you interacted with your students like how you do with Bowen, I'd say the local elementary school is missing out on someone pretty great."

She bit gently down on her bottom lip and said, "Thanks."

And only in that moment did I notice, somehow, the space between us had gotten smaller and smaller as we'd spoken. So much so that we now stood next to one another with no more than a sliver of space between my left arm and her right.

I could feel her body heat radiating next to me, and when I noticed her eyes flicker down to my lips, a yearning erupted. For a brief moment, time stood still.

Then she slowly turned her body towards me, and following her lead, I couldn't hold myself back from replicating the action. There was a hitch in her breath, but she didn't move away. Instead, her tongue darted out to wet her lips and I wanted to groan.

She had to know what she was doing to me, didn't she? That she was making me want to forget why starting something was a bad idea. Making me think we should throw caution to the wind.

Slowly lifting my hand, I brushed my fingers against her cheeks and felt her shiver underneath my touch. It was a captivating feeling. One that had me leaning closer. So close that my breath fanned over her lips and I saw them part in anticipation.

It would've been perfect. If only I'd actually gotten to kiss her.

"Uncle Ryan," Bowen called, his voice riddled with worry as it echoed throughout the house, startling Sloane and I.

Moment broken.

Taking a step back from Sloane, I ran my fingers through my hair. "What is it?" I replied loudly.

"I can't find my penguin!"

Getting cockblocked by a missing stuffed animal. That was a new one. And I guess something that was probably going to happen more frequently.

I clenched my eyes shut for a second. "I'm coming!" I shouted before shooting Sloane an apologetic look. "I'm so sorry. Can you give me two minutes? I promise I'll be quick."

"Yeah, no problem." She seemed flustered, her cheeks glowing red as she chewed on her bottom lip. "Take your time."

I must've looked like an Olympic sprinter given how fast I booked it out of the kitchen and up the stairs to find Bowen with a distraught look on his face. After getting out of the shower and changed into his pajamas, apparently he'd looked "everywhere" for his favorite stuffed animal. His search must not have been all that thorough, however, as a quick look around his room was all it took to find the penguin underneath his bed.