Maxwells Smile

like to fall in love, and I want that for her. Are you going to kiss my mom, Sam?”
    “I, uh…” Wow. That one had come from out of left field. Sam straightened on the chair and rubbed his neck.
    “Because I’d be okay with it,” Maxwell said. “In fact, I give you permission to kiss my mom.”
    “Well, uh, thanks. I’ll keep that in mind. I think I should go after that coffee she offered earlier. How about we take a break?”
    Maxwell checked his wristwatch. “Yep. Time for a break. Meet you out on the patio?”
    “Deal.”
    * * *
    Maxwell fell asleep on the hammock with a dripping Popsicle stick in his hand. Rachel carefully removed the purple-stained stick and set it on the iron table before joining Sam, who sat on the bench beneath the willow tree. Her yard was small and she shared the willow with the backyard neighbors. She’d love to find a bigger lot where Maxwell could run around, but truth was, he was more into mental play than physical.
    Of course, she could entirely imagine her son tossing a baseball with Sam. That thought made her blush and she looked aside so Sam wouldn’t notice. What was with all the blushing lately? Get a grip, Rachel .
    “Did you and Maxwell get a lot done?” she asked.
    “Yep. We started the posters, and one of the sisters at Kid Flicks emailed some guidelines for how to handle the drive. Maxwell plans to put up posters at his school and church, and I’ll take some around for grocery stores and community bulletin boards. Your son is one smart little man. Too smart for me, I think.”
    And that was it, wasn’t it? Maxwell did tend to intimidate most of her dates. If it wasn’t because the man couldn’t imagine taking on a girlfriend with a nine-year-old son, it was because said nine-year-old was often smarter than the adults and wasn’t afraid to show it. She’d never admonish Maxwell for his intelligence. If a guy couldn’t handle the kid, then he wasn’t the right man for her or her son.
    And really? This was not a date. So what was she thinking?
    “He really needs to learn how to play,” Sam suggested. “All work and no play makes for a dull boy.”
    “You think Maxwell is dull?”
    “Far from it. There’s enough going on in that kid’s brain to entertain masses. What I mean is, well, I shouldn’t say anything. I’m not a parent.”
    “No, you’re not.” She had raised her son just fine without unwanted advice from the peanut gallery.
    “Right, though I do have some experience with kids. My younger brother, Jeff… Well, I feel like kids need to run around, toss a ball, maybe fall off a bike once in a while. Heck, Maxwell is only nine and he thought he was too old to watch a cartoon.”
    “He said it was about a toaster who could talk.”
    “Yeah, but did he tell you about the toaster’s awesome quest? And the blankie? Such a great actor, that blanket.”
    “Still. Like you said, you’re not a parent, and I think my experience trumps yours.”
    Sam’s heavy sigh tweaked Rachel’s conscience. She’d been direct with him, but it was a practiced defense. The fact that it bothered her was a revelation.
    Take it down a notch, Rachel, she admonished herself. Just chill.
    “You know what happened first time I hit a ball?” Sam asked.
    “Something worthy of Funniest Home Videos? ”
    Sam chuckled. “No crotch shots, but I did take out my mother’s gnome. Sheared that ugly red hat clean off the bugger.”
    Rachel laughed and Sam slid his hand into hers. When he pulled it up to rub her fingers against his cheek, she suddenly went quiet.
    “You smell like a grape Popsicle,” he said. He looked down and smirked, as if he’d just thought of something funny, yet wasn’t sure if he could share.
    “What is it?”
    He kissed the back of her hand. “I’ll have you know your son gave me permission to kiss his mother.”
    “Is that so?”
    Her cunning little boy was playing matchmaker? She would have words with him later about his sneaky tendencies.
    Or perhaps not. Could she rush right from being cold, her emotions walled up, into open and ready for a kiss? Everything about Sam oozed sensuality, from his liquid brown eyes to that soft smirk and his wide, strong hand clutching hers.
    A kiss? Kisses never harmed anyone.
    “So, Handy Sam, what are you going to do with that permission?”
    “Let’s see.”
    He kissed the side of her hand, where she knew he could taste the sticky grape juice, and then leaned closer. She followed his cue, her