Chapter Nine
Greyson
You could have knocked me over with a feather when Benji velcroed himself to Mya.
He had been a friendly, open little boy before his mother’s illness, glad to meet everyone who crossed his path.
We joked that we had to keep an eye on him, or he’d go wander off to pet a puppy in the park and end up having ice cream with another family.
But as soon as his mama got sick, he started to close down.
Around people he knew well, he could still be his sweet, charming self, but strangers were no longer his friends.
When I invited Mya to stay, I had planned to introduce them gently in the morning before I took him to Davy and Sonia’s and returned to help with the car situation.
My plans had gone sideways. In a big way.
Benji had made his own introductions and was now settling in for a second dinner with the two of us.
Or at least a light snack. The easy solution for everyone was sandwiches, so I got out the loaf of bread, the Tupperware of lunch meat, and condiments. We had lettuce and tomatoes, too.
“Ham and cheese? Salami?”
“Cheese cheese cheese, Daddy,” Benji chanted.
“And you, Mya?” I probably should have told him to use company manners, but I wasn’t about to do a thing to break whatever wonderful thing was happening here. Benji’s reaction was such a step forward, it needed to be encouraged. “Cheese cheese cheese, or would you like anything else?”
“Benji makes it sound so good.” She ruffled his hair. He let her. “But I would like some veggies and mayo?”
“Me too, Daddy. Veggies and mayonnaise.” Never in his life had Benji knowingly or willingly eaten mayonnaise. But okay.
“All right. Take your seat, Son.”
He climbed up onto the chair but frowned. “Where will you sit?”
I had put our guest in my seat and been sitting in Benji’s while I played doctor, but now I had a dilemma. One I had to handle carefully so as not to upset my son or make Mya feel uncomfortable. “I will sit in the empty chair.”
I half expected him to protest, to say it was his mother’s seat, something I’d actually made a big deal out of right after she died—and he overheard me.
But Benji just smiled and turned to babble to Mya about his favorite cartoon and how the character could change into a lion to save his friend.
It was a shifter story, but Mya did not bat an eye, just asking him if he’d ever met a lion.
Did Mya believe in shifters?
Would she feel uncomfortable if she knew our secret?
Considering how many were around this area, she’d better not be.
Or…would need to be if she was hanging around.
I finished making the sandwiches and sat down.
In my late mate’s chair. Talk about needing to be comfortable.
I took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
It was silly never to use Jeanine’s chair.
She would have laughed at that kind of behavior.
And it was one more way I was not moving on.
We hadn’t had anyone in the house much since she left, and the couple of times we’d had Davy and Sonia over, we’d barbecued and eaten outside.
Mya’s presence was showing me how much things needed to change. Benji did not need to grow up in a home where everyone was stuck in place, time passing outside while we were in forever sadness.
Goddess, was I doing that to him? I did my best to smile and be fun—but maybe I was failing. My son deserved better from me.
I put his sandwich on a plate and placed it in front of him before filling a glass with milk at the fridge. “Milk, Mya?”
“No…you know what, yes! I haven’t had a glass of ice-cold milk in forever.”
“It makes me strong!” Benji pushed up his pajama sleeve and curled his arm to display his muscles. “See?”
Mya shook her head. “I do. Thank you for reminding me about something so important.”
They spoke to one another while Benji ate his sandwich, Mya reaching out to dab his upper lip with a napkin. “You have a little milk moustache there.”
When I did that, he ducked and insisted he’d do it himself.
Not this time. My heart ached for how much he needed a woman’s touch in his life.
Not just with babysitters but someone who would be there every day and night.
I had no mate prospects in my life, and it wouldn’t be fair for me to hook up with someone just to give him a mother figure.
Not fair to any of us. But I could do one thing.
When Benji finished his sandwich and milk, Mya wiped his face and hands. “You have to brush your teeth again,” she said. “Don’t forget.”
“I won’t, Mya.” He climbed off the chair and offered her a smile. “Will you help me? Sometimes the cap sticks.”
I followed them upstairs and sat on the rocking chair in his room, listening to the comforting sounds of a little boy having his teeth brushed by someone kind and soft and feminine.
Dang. I’d missed that. But it wasn’t Jeanine.
I couldn’t put more behind this experience than it merited just because I’d been lonely.
When he was tucked into bed, I followed Mya out into the hallway and downstairs to the kitchen.
Together, we straightened the kitchen and loaded the snack dishes into the dishwasher.
As she handed me a milky glass, I broached the subject that was on my mind.
She’d be so good for Benji, as long as I could remember what I was asking. And no more.
“Mya, you’re so good with Benji.”
“He’s a sweet little boy.” She took the dishcloth and swept crumbs from the table into her cupped hand. “You’re a very lucky dad.”
“I know. But my mate—my wife passed away a while ago, and it’s hard to find reliable sitters. I really don’t want him in daycare all the time. Have you ever been a nanny?”