19. Ginger #2
Tyler moves with easy familiarity through the space, opening a wine refrigerator I hadn't initially noticed and selecting a bottle.
"Sauvignon Blanc okay?" he asks, holding up a bottle with a label I didn't recognize.
"Perfect," I nod, though my wine knowledge began and ended with 'red or white' and 'do I need a cork screw to open it?’ The gap between lottery winner and billionaire suddenly feeling like a chasm.
As Tyler opens the bottle and poured two glasses, I lean against the counter, watching him.
There was something profoundly intimate about seeing him in his own space, performing these everyday rituals.
It feels like being granted access to a side of him that most people never witnessed—Tyler Reed, billionaire businessman, performing the utterly ordinary act of opening wine for a guest.
"What?" he asks, noticing my observation.
"Nothing," I smile, accepting the glass he offered. "Just... this. Us. Here. It feels..."
"Weird?" he suggests when I trailed off.
"Normal," I correct. "In the best possible way."
He touches his glass to mine. "To normal, then."
"To normal," I agree, taking a sip of wine that probably cost more than my monthly grocery budget. "Though I reserve the right to maintain that private elevators and wine refrigerators are not normal in the broader sense."
He laughs, the sound warming me more than the wine. "Fair enough. Normal is relative, after all."
A comfortable silence falls between us as we sip our wine, the muted sounds of the boys' video game drifting from down the hall.
"I missed you," Tyler says after a moment, his voice softer. "More than I expected to."
"Me too," I admit, setting my glass down on the counter. "The video calls helped, but..."
"Not the same," he finishes, moving closer.
"Not even close," I agree, tilting my face up to his.
This kiss was slower, deeper than the greeting we'd shared earlier. Without the boys as audience, there was no need to keep it brief or restrained. My arms wind around his neck, his hands settle on my waist, pulling me closer until there was no space left between us.
"Definitely missed that," he murmurs when we broke apart, both breathless.
"Agreed," I smile, making no move to step away from his embrace. "Though we should maintain some semblance of propriety while the kids are awake."
"Probably," he nods, though he stole another quick kiss before releasing me. "I've got two weeks of missed kisses to make up for, though."
"We have all weekend," I remind him, picking up my wine glass again to give my shaky hands something to do.
"Not enough time," he sighs dramatically. "But I'll take what I can get."
The security intercom interrupts whatever response I might have made, followed by twin shouts of "PIZZA!" from the game room.
Dinner was a lively affair, with the boys dominating the conversation—Julian telling Karl about his school and friends in New York, Karl reciprocating with tales from Boston, both of them planning their weekend activities with increasing elaboration and decreasing feasibility.
"I don't think we can fit the museum, Central Park, Times Square, the Empire State Building, AND a Broadway show into one Saturday," I point out when they paused for breath.
"Watch me," Tyler counters with a wink. "I've arranged for the city to compress itself temporarily for maximum tourism efficiency."
The boys giggle, but continued their planning undeterred, now adding the Statue of Liberty and something called "The Beast" that involved high-speed boat rides and guaranteed splashing.
"They're going to collapse from exhaustion around 3 PM tomorrow," I predict in an undertone to Tyler.
"Almost certainly," he agrees cheerfully. "But what a way to go."
After dinner, despite their earlier enthusiasm for the game room, both boys were fading fast—the excitement of the day and the travel catching up with them all at once.
Karl's eyelids droop, his head bobbing forward before he jerks upright again. "I think it's bedtime for world travelers," I suggested, catching Tyler's eye with a knowing smile.
"I'm not tired," he protests, though the effect was somewhat undermined by another massive yawn.
"Me neither," Julian chimes in with similar lack of conviction.
"Tell you what," Tyler proposes. "Bed now, early start tomorrow for maximum adventure time. The faster you sleep, the faster morning comes."
This logic, while not particularly sound from a temporal physics standpoint, seems to satisfy the boys. After token resistance, they allow themselves to be shepherded through bedtime routines, with Julian proudly showing Karl the guest room where they'd be sleeping.
"Both boys in one room?" I ask Tyler quietly as we watches Julian demonstrate the "awesome" features of the Murphy bed that pulls down from the wall in what had been designed as a home office.
"Julian insisted," Tyler explains. "Said Karl might get scared being in a strange place. I think he wants to stay up all night whispering."
"Almost certainly," I agree. "But it's sweet that he was concerned."
Once teeth were brushed, pajamas donned, and final drinks of water negotiated, we bid the boys goodnight—extracting promises of actual sleeping that I gave about a 50/50 chance of being honored.
"They'll be out within twenty minutes," Tyler predicts as we closed their door. "Julian can't keep his eyes open as it is."
"I give Karl thirty," I counter. "He's riding that second wind that always precedes a spectacular crash-and-burn."
"Care to make it interesting?" Tyler suggests with a raised eyebrow.
"What did you have in mind?"
"If they're asleep in twenty minutes or less, I get to pick our Sunday activity. If it takes longer, you choose."
I consider this. "And how do we verify their sleeping status without possibly waking them up?"
Tyler grins, pulling out his phone and opening an app. "Welcome to the digital age of parenting," he said, showing me the screen where a crystal-clear night-vision view of the boys' room was displayed. "Nanny cams. I had them installed when Julian started having nightmares after the divorce."
"That's... actually really smart," I acknowledge, peering at the screen where Julian could be seen already snuggling into his pillow while Karl arranges and rearranges his own bedding.
"I have my moments," Tyler agrees modestly. "So, bet accepted?"
"You're on," I nod. "But no interference. No sneaking in to bore them to sleep with tax law discussions or anything."
"As if I would," he protests with mock offense. "Though for the record, my tax discussions are fascinating."
"I'm sure they are," I placate him with a pat on the arm. "To accountants and insomniacs everywhere."