Chapter 17 Brooks #2
Eight heads swiveled toward me in unison. Tucker even set down his fork, leaving room for Brock to snag the last bite of his French toast.
Soren chuckled low, clearly enjoying the show. “Well, damn. I didn’t have that on this season’s bingo card.”
Normally, I’d have shut down their teasing.
I wasn’t in the business of letting my guys poke into my personal life, but the thing was, I was stuck.
Dani was special, and if I wanted to keep her, if I wanted to prove to her that I wasn’t going anywhere, I needed some tips.
And as much as I hated to admit it, the three knuckleheads closest to me—Soren, Pink, and Tucker—were the only men in my clubhouse who knew what being in a real relationship looked like.
“Cut the shit,” I muttered, though I didn’t push them away. “Things are good—better than good—but I need to show her I’m in this for the long haul and I don’t know where to start.”
“But you’re having a baby together,” Tucker said, as if it were new information.
“I’m well aware.” I spoke through gritted teeth.
They waited, forks poised, expressions expectant. What do I have to lose?
“I’ve told her shit I’ve never told anyone else, not even my ex-wife,” I started, keeping an even tone.
“I’ve bought out half the baby stores in Portland because apparently, babies need a fuck ton of stuff.
She gets along with my daughter like they’ve known each other forever.
We cook together, we do bedtime together, and we even made it through putting a changing table together without wanting to kill each other. ”
“Sounds like you’re already halfway down the aisle,” Tucker said, resting his hand over Brock’s.
“Yeah,” Pink added. “Building furniture together is definitely a cornerstone of every healthy relationship.”
Soren smirked, eyes gleaming. “I have a question.”
“Shoot.”
“When was the last time you took her out on a date?”
I swallowed hard. “What?”
“A date,” Soren repeated slowly, like he was explaining algebra to a toddler. “You know, dinner, a movie, mini golf. Literally anything that doesn’t involve your couch, your kid, or PBS Kids playing in the background.”
My stomach dropped.
Fuck. Me.
All this time, all these months, and I had never asked Dani out on one fucking date. What the fuck was wrong with me? Had it really been that long since I wooed a woman? Answer, yes.
Come to think of it, I hadn’t been on a date in years, not since well before Carolina had been born.
By the time I met Allie, we were already a decade deep into our careers, both of us too busy to waste time on candlelit dinners or late-night walks.
We dated off and on for a few years, circling each other whenever my schedule allowed, until it finally got to the point where we had to choose—commit or breakup.
We got married the following year, more out of practicality than whirlwind romance.
Carolina came a year after that. Diapers, bottle schedules, doctor visits—our lives had filled up with all the new demands of keeping a tiny human alive.
Nights out had turned into nights in, and “date night” had meant splitting takeout while the baby monitor crackled between us on the couch.
Eventually, even that had stopped. We hadn’t carved out time for each other anymore.
We’d been comanaging a household, partners in logistics instead of romance.
Maybe that had been the start of the end. We hadn’t dated each other, not really; we’d just gotten by.
And now here I was, years later, realizing far too late that I’d walked into the same trap again.
This time, though, I had someone I desperately didn’t want to lose.
Dani wasn’t just the mother of my future kid.
She was someone I wanted to choose over and over, the way I hadn’t done with my ex.
She deserved the chase, the effort, the full weight of my attention.
“Shit,” I muttered, raking a hand through my hair.
Soren smirked, clearly delighted. “Welcome to the twenty-first century, coach. We date now.”
Pink leaned forward, eyes lit with mischief. “You know what she would love? A trip to the farmer’s market. Women eat that stuff up. Fresh flowers, homemade candles, some guy playing sad acoustic covers—it’s a date factory.”
Brock jabbed his fork in my direction. “Or a bookstore. You could pick out books for each other to read.”
“I don’t know,” Soren said. “She’s really into the whole true crime podcast thing. Maybe there’s something there?”
“What do you want him to do? Murder somebody and then let her solve the case?” Pink taunted.
“It’s not your worst idea, Stinky Pinky.”
“Jesus Christ,” I muttered, but I couldn’t help the way my lips twitched.
Their voices blurred together as they continued volleying suggestions across the table, half-teasing, half-serious, but underneath it all was the truth I couldn’t ignore.
There were only so many times I could tell Dani that I wanted to be with her; I needed to show her. Not with another baby blanket or another night cuddling on my couch, but with something that made her feel chosen.
Because Dani deserved that—to be chosen out loud, publicly—and I was going to make sure she knew I already had.