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“Brian, you can’t be bothering Mark all the time,” April told her son gently. “I’m sure he has more important things to do than teach you to throw a rope.”
“Maybe tomorrow,” Mark said, hating the fact that despite his intentions, something in the boy’s eyes got to him.
“Great,” Brian agreed eagerly.
When they arrived at the cottage, April opened the trunk and handed Mark his packages. “Thanks, Mark, for the town tour and all your help.”
He nodded and pulled the hat from his bag. “Brian.” He tossed the boy the black hat.
Brian caught it with both hands, his eyes widening as he realized what he held. “Wow!” he exclaimed. “A hat just like yours.” In three long strides, he reached Mark and wrapped his arms awkwardly around Mark’s waist.
“Thanks, Mark.” Brian stepped away from him, his cheeks pinkened as if his display of affection had embarrassed him.
Mark turned to walk away, trying to ignore the sun-burst of warmth in the pit of his stomach.
“Mark.”
He paused and turned back to April. “Yeah?”
“Thank you.” He was rewarded by a smile from her that warmed him down to his toes and twisted something deep in his gut.
He suddenly realized he had to be careful. For some reason this woman and her son had the potential of touching him where he’d sworn he would never be touched again.
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