Chapter 10
JACE
“Alright, sir, it’s bedtime,” Presley announces, shifting to face Otis and me on the couch.
Little Man groans, snuggling up against me more, nuzzling his head against my chest. How on earth am I supposed to withstand this? I am not strong enough. Not even close. My insides melt, instantly becoming goo with each new little murmur that escapes this kid.
“’Nother?” he counters, his words vibrating gently against my chest.
There’s no holding back my smile—the damn thing has a mind of its own, spreading across my face, every inch of me loving that response.
We’ve already watched both Rescuers movies, my discovery that Otis hadn’t seen the original either making a double feature the obvious choice.
There was a brief interlude shortly after starting the Rescuers Down Under for a sick break, this one thankfully coming with an advanced warning, so that all three of us didn’t end up covered in vomit.
Had I realized that not being a sympathetic puker was going to come in handy post college graduation, I would have listed it on my resume. Maybe I still should.
It's been a couple of hours though, and he successfully kept the soup I heated up for him down, so maybe we’re on the backside of this thing. Or maybe that’s famous last words.
“Not tonight,” Presley says.
Otis grumbles something unintelligible, but unmistakably an argument against bedtime.
“Listen to your mama,” I tell him.
Running my hand over his head, I fight the urge to press a kiss against his soft hair, the same way Auggie or Miss Belle would when I was his age.
I know full well that I shouldn’t feel this attached to a kid I’ve met twice, but there is something about him.
Some kind of connection between us. There’s no stopping the need I feel to protect him and make sure he’s taken care of.
“Jace do bedtime?”
Well, hell…
That’s a request I didn’t see coming. Three words to crack my heart wide open, that’s all it took. And they weren’t even those three words. The three big ones. These feel bigger though. Weightier. Deeper. Then again, I’ve never said that other three, so what do I know.
Still, I don’t know that they’ll compare.
Because if I thought I was goo before, I’m molten now. And I absolutely know there is no recovery from this. I am going to be in this kid’s life for good now. How, I don’t know. Details can be figured out later. But I’m not giving up this feeling.
I start to respond, but Presley cuts me off. “We should let Jace go home. Enjoy his Friday night.”
She peels him off, his tired body going willingly.
“I don’t mind,” I offer, the words out of me before I can think better of it.
Presley stops, holding Otis against her, giving me a look that could stop traffic. It’s not quite as perfected as the one my own mama gives, but it’s close. Give Presley time and I think she might rival Miss Belle with that look.
Note to self—don’t let them trade notes…
“I’ve got this. Bedtime is a whole routine.”
There’s no missing all the things she isn’t saying—I don’t know the routine, I’m not a parent, I’m still technically a stranger, and despite this cozy night at home, she doesn’t fully trust me with her kid.
You’re not even an uncle…
I nod, letting her ruling stand. I can’t blame her—because she’s not wrong. I don’t know the bedtime routine. Beyond that, her own wariness of who she is letting around her kid is commendable. Despite all the shit I’ve given her for being a bad parent, tonight has proved me dead wrong.
Meaning she’s probably right about the stranger danger series being a sure-fire hit.
“I have no other plans tonight. So once you get him down, if you want to go over the stuff for the project…” I offer, trying to sound casual.
Presley looks at me, surprise written all over her. Understandable, since I fought tooth and nail to not do this thing in the first place. Still don’t want to, if I’m honest. But I don’t want this evening to end, and this is a way to drag it out a little more.
“Sure.” She pushes up off the couch, the extra it takes while holding Otis rippling through her. I hold back, knowing that offering again to take him would not be helpful right now. “If you want to take a look at some of the videos I sent, that’s the dance trend I think we should start with.”
Errrr…what? Dance trend?
Yeah, that’s where I draw the line.
“I don’t dance.”
At least not like this. I’ll push a girl around the dance floor like the best of them when the occasion is right. But I’m not doing the Macarena Shuffle for an Internet video.
Otis’s head pops up, like he’s one of those animatronic vermin in a whack-a-mole game.
“I dance! I dance!”
Wiggling in Presley’s arms, he tries to show off his moves. I lurch forward, my instincts kicking in faster than my brain telling me I don’t have to. I should probably be grabbing the bowl that we set next to the couch in case he threw up again, ready for another moment.
“We dance togever!”
“Not tonight, Little Man.” Straightening myself, I hold out my fist, prompting him to bump knuckles. Otis meets his fist with mine, giggling. “We can dance another time, okay? Right now your mama says it’s bedtime.”
Presley mouths thank you at me, and I can’t help but notice a softening in her eyes. One that matches what I’m feeling. A weird easing of the tension between us, all our history evaporating into a vacuum. A feeling I don’t want to fight. Instead, I want to lean into it. Discover where it leads.
Hopefully more nights like this.
“Say goodnight, Otis.”
“Night, Mr. Jace.”
“It’s just Jace,” I tell him. “Good night, Little Man.”
Presley turns to walk down the hall that leads to the bedrooms, leaving me standing in the living room by myself. I watch as they go, unable to tear my eyes off her, one thing perfectly clear. Maybe the clearest anything has ever been.
I want a lot more nights like this.
And no part of that scares me. Even though it should. Not just scare, but terrify. But what my head tells me should be off-putting instead pulls me in like a magnet to metal. The only thing I feel is calm, backed up by an urge to provide and defend.
Crashing back down on the couch, I let out a long, hard exhale, pushing all the air out of my lungs until they hurt, wondering what the fuck I’m doing. I don’t even like this woman. I’ve never liked her.
Except, that’s not exactly accurate.
Hux wasn’t entirely incorrect last week when he made his jab about what I wanted in high school.
She was without a doubt the subject of my fantasies from the second she walked into this town, despite all the other crap that was going on between us.
It took me a lot longer than I want to admit to get her out of my head after graduation.
A space she’s effortlessly moved right back into. Picking right back up in that starring role when I close my eyes, my mind wandering to places it shouldn’t.
Like I am right now.
I need a distraction.
Leaping to my feet, I look around, taking in the scene.
A single blanket is strewn over the couch from where Otis kicked it off almost immediately after we tried to cover him.
I fold it, tossing it back on the couch cushion, not exactly sure where Presley pulled it from.
The bigger problem is that did nothing to distract me.
Dishes.
Presley brought the dishes into the kitchen after we ate, but I don’t think she washed up. That should do the trick.
Rushing into the kitchen, I find not only the used bowls and plates from dinner, but the mess I had left as I heated it all up.
That needs fixing. Not only because that’s not how I like to leave things, but the last thing Presley needs right now with a sick kid is to have to worry about the state of her kitchen.
I get to work, trying to focus on the task at hand—the dishes themselves, the soap, the hot water, anything—to keep my mind from going to places it shouldn’t. Places it’s probably not welcome.
Then I hear the little voice.
“I help?”
I freeze, the squeaky tone filling my ears and surrounding my heart. Spinning around, I expect to find Little Man, but there’s nothing. No one. I’m all alone in the kitchen.
And now I’m hearing things…
“I’m a good helper!”
Presley’s laugh immediately follows, stealing all of my attention. Fuck, is that a beautiful sound.
“You are a good helper,” she confirms.
Looking around, I scan the kitchen, trying to figure out where their voices are coming from. They’re too clear to be wafting down the hall, but they are absolutely not in here. Or in my head.
Then I see it—the baby monitor. Or, well, kid monitor, I guess. Otis isn’t a baby. The small little device is resting against the backsplash, green lights flickering as Otis starts up again.
“I know all ’bout stranger danger. I taught Socks. I teach Jace too.”
I laugh, loving his spirit. He’s a smart kid—just like his mama—with a wild curiosity.
He also doesn’t seem to have ever met a stranger.
Something that I’m sure has made Presley all kinds of anxious.
It also explains a lot about that day at the farmers’ market, and why this topic came to mind so quickly. It’s one she’s well-versed in.
“We can talk about that tomorrow. Right now, it’s sleepy time. Do you want to share your sunshine and rain first?”
Sunshine and rain? I stop what I’m doing and turn my attention to their conversation, my desire to know why they are discussing weather as part of their bedtime routine getting the better of me.
“Rain, I frowed up. Sunshine, Jace came over and we watched movies.”
At this point I think I should just carve my heart straight out of my chest and hand it to the kid on a plate.
“Can Jace come over again?”
The question hits me like a Mack truck, and it’s all I can do not to fall over. A long pause fills the air, and for a moment I think I’ve missed Presley’s response.
“You really like him, huh?”
Another beat of silence, one I can see being filled with Otis nodding his answer.
“You like him too.”