She squints at his lips. Is there a smile beneath that beard? She can’t tell.
As she wordlessly picks through the racks of clothes, Solomon looms like a quiet giant behind her, watching close, careful. Her hands move fast. Searching for what she likes, what will look good on him. That is, if they have his size.
Enjoying herself, she drapes garments over her forearm. Linen shorts, swim trunks, polos, sleeveless T-shirts, and, to top it off, a fun, floral Hawaiian shirt. Every item curated with a true Solomon vibe. Masculine, no-bullshit, sturdy.
She turns, pleased with her finds, and her stomach bumps into Solomon’s hip. He’s so close she can smell him. Desire prickles in her stomach.
Clearing her throat, she takes a step back. “What do you think?” she asks, lifting the hanger.
His dark brows shoot to the sky. “Pink?”
“Dusty rose. Pantone color 17-1718. It’d be a bold fashion statement. You could pull it off.” Somehow, despite his Alaska zip code, the man has a tan. So very unfair, it should be illegal.
He rolls out his broad shoulders.
“Fine.” She sniffs. “I’ll add a black one too.”
A disgruntled sound escapes him.
“As you can see,” Tessie tells the salesgirl who’s stepped up to help them, “he needs clothes.”
The young woman takes the pile of clothes and waves at Solomon to follow her to a fitting room.
He frowns, looks down at Tessie. “I have to try them on?”
“Yes.” She laughs at the mild panic in his eyes. “Go.”
He grunts unhappily but obeys.
Amused, Tessie perches on the wide arm of a dark blue bench painted with light blue waves. Solomon’s so tall, the back of his dark head pokes above the changing curtain. Her stomach growls as she waits. “I’m sorry,” she whispers, rubbing her hands across her tight stomach. She forgot all about breakfast. She needs to feed Bear.
Once again, her attention strays to Solomon.
She huffs a sigh. She enjoyed this morning. Bonding over their baby. Learning more about his father. Peacefully coexisting without that awkward need to fill the silence. It was strange. It was perfect. Strangely perfect.
With a sigh, Solomon pushes back the curtain. His big body emerges from the fitting room wearing warm gray swim trunks and a black tank. “Well?” He extends his massive arms. “What do you think?”
Tessie shoots to her feet. Her mouth drops.
She thinks a lot of things.
Like no man should be allowed to look this good.
Like is it wrong to openly fan herself?
Like if she goes into labor here and now, she has no one to blame but Solomon Wilder.
Because Solomon’s the most beautiful specimen of a man she’s ever seen. He’s built like a wall of solid steel. His broad chest, the bulge of his biceps in the tank top, the shorts clinging to his muscular thighs have Tessie’s core sparking, and she wonders if the baby can feel it. Solomon’s thatch of dark chest hair is barely visible, but Tessie knows it’s there. She remembers curling her fingers in it the night they met, smelling his masculine woodsy scent, running her tongue along the veins in his forearms.
Oh God.
Weak-kneed, she sags against the wall, clenching her thighs together. She pulses down below. Holy shit, what’s wrong with her?
Horny, her mind says. You’re horny as hell and staring at a great big burly body isn’t helping you any.
“Tess?” Solomon’s frowning.
She shakes her head, clearing her daze. She’s supposed to be critiquing; not objectifying.
A toss of her hair. “It looks. . .fine.”
His frown deepens. “Fine?”
“More than fine,” a flirty voice opines.
Solomon and Tessie both swivel toward the salesgirl breezing their way. “It looks phenom. Except you need to go a size up in those shorts.”
Tessie glowers. Watches as the woman practically floats over on a cloud nine high to deliver Solomon another pair of shorts.
Back into the fitting room Solomon goes.
Tessie walks slowly to a rack, absentmindedly picking through the shirts. “Where do you shop in Chinook?”
His gruff voice is loud behind the curtain. “I don’t.”
“Let me guess, you’ve worn the same clothes for the last four years?”
“Something like that.”
The curtain opens. There stands Solomon in a T-shirt and the larger pair of swim trunks.
“Perfect,” Tessie says. “Try the rest of the T-shirts.”
Solomon rolls his eyes. Then he grabs his shirt by the back of the neck and tears it off. The cashier gasps. He stands in the open fitting room, half-naked. Body, abs, scowl on display for everyone to see.
Tessie gapes. “What—What’re you doing?”
“It saves time,” he says sensibly, reaching for another T-shirt.
“Stop. Don’t. Just”—she pushes at him with her palms—“put those away,” she hisses.
“Put what away?” Brow furrowed, he glances down at himself. “The T-shirt?”
“The abs.” She gets close and knuckle taps his muscled chest. Huffs. “I mean, do you have to flaunt the fact that your body is just solid rock?”
He sighs, pained. “Tessie.”
The salesgirl approaches, more clothes in her hands, her face giddy as her eyes light on a half-naked Solomon.
Tessie narrows her gaze and snatches the stacked pile from the girl’s arms. Pregnant or not, she will lineback this bitch. “Thank you. I’ll take those.”
She shoves the clothes at Solomon, shoves at his enormous arm. “Go. Change. Inside.”
He growls and pulls the curtain closed.
After a second glance at the fitting room where Solomon is busy changing, Tessie checks her phone. Earlier, she got the feeling that if she kept working, her phone would be at the bottom of the ocean.
At the sight of the blank screen, she breathes a sigh of relief. All quiet on the Atlas front.
Tessie relaxes. Today. Today is for the beach and then lunch.
Oh God, lunch.
Tacos. Definitely. Maybe another mocktail. Solomon can choose. She supposes they’ll spend the day together. And why wouldn’t they? They still have to talk about Bear. It might not be so bad. She liked learning more about Solomon this morning. It felt right. Like their night at the Bear’s Ear bar.
The shove of the curtain tears her from her thoughts.
Hands clasped to her chest, Tessie gasps. A high-pitched squeak of admiration falls out of her mouth. Solomon wears a black polo shirt and linen pants, making him look casual and sexy. If he looks this good now, what will he look like with a baby in his arms?
Stop.
Abort thought.
“Oh.” She resists the urge to check for a pulse, because where she lost her heartbeat, she isn’t quite sure. “Oh wow. That looks. . .” Finally, she gives up the fight on her emotions, choosing honesty, no matter how weak it makes her look. “That looks so fantastic, Solomon.” She strides to him, adjusting the collar with a flick of her wrist. “There. Now you don’t look so very serial killer with a forest fetish vibe.”
His rumble of a laugh has her jumping. “That’s my vibe, huh?”
“Oh, it is very much your vibe.”
He regards her with a skeptical arch of his brow, concern flashing over his handsome face. “Suppose you want me to shave the beard.”
“God no,” she says without thinking. “I love the beard.”
She can’t resist pressing up on her tiptoes to run a palm down his thick black beard. The coarse strands tickle her palm. Her core fires, sparks, as she resists the very idiotic urge to lean forward and sniff. Just inhale Solomon like the best kind of bong hit.
He stares down at her, his expression tormented. With one massive hand, he palms the small of her back to steady her. To keep her close. “Tess. . .”
That’s when she catches a glimpse of them in the full-length mirror. The juxtaposition is staggering. Riveting. He’s at least a foot taller. The epitome of tall, dark, and handsome. And she—blond and petite. But they don’t look mismatched. They look perfectly matched.
And then there’s the bump between them. Their little link.
Their only link.
She drops her hand from his face and lowers herself.
Anchors herself.
“I think we’re done,” she says quietly.