She stepped from the shower, feeling almost human—at least well enough to watch Magda now. How wonderful it had been having Grayson with her through the night when Magda had been sick. Then taking care of Magda while Lori had slept, sleeping on the couch himself the second night until she'd recovered.
She couldn't hide from the truth. She wanted him back in her bed. Not that she had a clue where they were headed. They likely wouldn't head anywhere as long as she had to compete with his job. Which brought her back to her crazy, tempting thought.
Gray leaving the military?
She knew better. Hadn't he told her the military was his life?
But her mind couldn't help wandering along scenarios of him settling in Charleston, opening a practice, maybe serving time in the reserves. Reservists didn't move around or pull nearly the same number of hours. Weekend warriors, she'd heard them called.
He could stay in Charleston near his family, where he'd spent more time than anywhere else in his life. If there was one place he might put down roots, this was it. She would have the time to get to know him as she hadn't when they'd first been together. The man who brought her crackers and watched over Magda entranced Lori as much, if not more, than the man who had given her smiles—and the sex of a lifetime.
Gray leaving the military.
The idea spun in her mind with taunting power.
Fantasy. Pure fantasy. Changing Gray would take away much of what fascinated her. A Catch 22 since so many of the things that enticed her were the very traits that made any relationship between them unworkable.
Time to get dressed and take care of her responsibilities with Magda. Lori tossed aside the towel and opened her antique wardrobe. She'd had such great plans for their first day together, hours full of finger paints and paper dolls.
Gray had done more than his share. More than dishing out food and playing with Barbies, he'd dealt with heavy-duty emotional fallout.
His eyes dark with worry, he'd checked in on Lori with toast and a recounting of Magda's dollhouse revelation once Magda had drifted off for an afternoon nap. His handling of the incident had been worthy of any play therapy session with a certified counselor.
While she felt guilty for not being there for Magda, she couldn't fault the way Gray had managed. And honestly, it felt so good to have someone to share the problem with.
She slipped on a long, cotton sundress, a straight-cut burgundy favorite of hers that matched her painted toenails. She combed out her wet hair and swiped lip gloss over her mouth for color. Gray had always been fascinated with her mouth.
She stopped midswipe. She wasn't actually dressing up for him, was she?
Duh. Of course she was.
No matter what they said about learning to say goodbye, she was rapidly realizing she needed additional time to sort out her feelings. The more she learned about Gray, the more confused she became. Wary but resolute, Lori opened her bedroom door.
Gray's latest serenade wafted from the kitchen. "Old MacDonald had a farm. Eeeee-yi, eeeee-yi, oooooh."
Lori smiled. Enthusiasm had a musicality all its own.
"And on that farm he had a cow."
"Cow!" a hoarse, childish voice echoed.
Magda. Lori's heart tripped over itself, her feet following suit as her knees turned to pudding. She flattened her palm against the wall.
"With a moo-moo here," Gray sang, Magda joining in with off-key harmony for animal sounds. "Moo-moo there"
Lori rounded the corner and paused unseen in the doorway. The scene before her was so beautiful it hurt her eyes almost as much as her heart.
Magda perched on the edge of the counter clutching the cow cookie jar in her lap. Her clothes didn't match, clashing stripes and polka-dots from differing outfits, but she was clean, a red bandanna tied around her head. Gray wore the blue one this time.
Dropping pieces of bread into the toaster, he simultaneously serenaded into a wooden spoon. "Here a moo, there a moo…"
He afforded Magda equal "microphone" time as he sang. She kept the beat, her tiny heels drumming against the cabinets.
Gray danced his way around the kitchen as he cooked oatmeal and set the table. Jogging shorts displayed his muscular legs flexing with each weaving step.
He might as well slide her right into that toaster along with the next round of bread, because at the moment she was toast. He had her attention, completely, just as he'd done a year ago when he'd smiled at her that very first time.
Even more so.