Chapter 17
Mila
I watch in fascination as Jake squeezes half a small tube of red paint onto one side of his paper, his tongue poking out in mere concentration.
He swirls and dabs the thick colour with a paintbrush, then repeats the process with black and white paint, layering and blending until he’s completely satisfied.
With careful precision, he folds the paper in half, pressing down to spread the paint with his fingers.
When he slowly peels it open, a vibrant, symmetrical butterfly emerges, its colours mixed in a mesmerising display.
“Ta-da! Meet Bilbi!” he introduces, proudly revealing his artwork to me.
For the past hour, we’ve been gathered around the dining table, crafting a collection of unique butterfly paintings to match tonight’s insect theme—butterflies. Jake’s current masterpiece is that of his favourite species—the Cethosia Bilbis, better known as the Red Lacewing Butterfly.
Each painting was named after a specific breed, with Jake eagerly educating me on each one.
By the end, we created twenty different butterflies from around the world, and now the dining table is completely covered in a vibrant display of patterns and colours.
I have no doubt Jason will be pulling his hair out trying to find space to hang them all.
“That looks amazing, Jake! It’s almost like I’m looking at the real thing,” I say to him with my most encouraging smile.
He turns his painting around, examines it for a moment, and nods. “Yeah, it really does. And so do yours too,” he adds, giving my painting of a monarch butterfly a quick glance.
“Want to know something interesting, Jake?”
“Ah-huh.”
“I’ve actually got a tattoo of a monarch butterfly on my left shoulder blade. They’re my favourite. Do you want to see?”
Jake nods excitedly, his face lighting up with anticipation.
I tug the neckline of my yellow sweater down slightly, letting the strap of my camisole underneath slip just enough to reveal the bright orange and black butterfly tattoo—a symbol that has always held a deep and personal significance for me.
On my eighteenth birthday, the first thing I did was get a tattoo in honour of my father, who passed away from bowel cancer when I was eight.
I already knew I wanted a monarch butterfly.
My dad used to always say I reminded him of them—delicate and warm but bright, like sunlight on wings.
And each time my mother, Skylar, and I visited his gravesite, monarch butterflies would flutter around us, like it was a sign directly from him.
“Woah! That looks so cool!” Jake beams. “My dad has one just like that on his heart, but it’s not as colourful as yours. He said it’s to remember my nanna forever.”
I’ve always been curious about the intricate markings on Jason’s arms and chest, wondering what they meant to him. Now that I know we both bear matching tattoos in honour of the parents we lost too soon, I feel an even deeper connection to him.
“Well this tattoo is also a way to remember my daddy forever,” I gently explain.
A sad look crosses his adorable little face. “Is your dad gone, like my nanna?”
“Yes, he’s no longer here,” I reply softly. “When I was a little girl, he became very, very sick and though the doctors did everything to help him, he never got better. But even though he’s gone, he’ll always be with me through here.” I tap the spot where my heart is.
“I hope my dad never leaves me. He’s my best friend in the whole world,” Jake whispers, his voice softened with sadness.
I reach out and gently squeeze his hand. “Your dad won’t be going anywhere for a very long time. There’s still so much of your life he wants to be part of.”
As if we summoned him from thin air, Jason bursts through the front door and strides into the dining room mere seconds later, holding three boxes of pizza in his hand. “I’m home!” he says with a wide grin. “Now, who’s hungry?”
Jake leaps out of his chair and rushes towards Jason, practically flinging himself into his father’s arms. Jason is quick to catch him though, bending down and pulling him into a tight hug with one arm while balancing the boxes of pizza with the other.
“You’re home early.” Jake murmurs, his words muffled from his head being nestled against Jason’s chest.
“I know. It wasn’t very busy tonight at the restaurant, so I thought I’d spend the rest of the night with you guys. If that’s okay with you?”
Jake bobs his head up and down. Pulling away from his dad, he tilts his head up slightly, sniffing the air. “Is that pepperoni?”
“Sure is, bud! Want to help me set the table?” He looks over at me and winks, but his gaze soon shifts to the clutter of papers spread across the table.
“Looks like it’s already full. What were you guys up to?
” he asks, stepping closer until he’s standing just on the other side of the table from me.
“Jake and I were busy making butterflies.”
In the same moment, Jake appears beside his father, picks up one of the paintings, and hands it to him. “Yeah, Dad, we made twenty different kinds of butterflies. But I’ll tell you their names tomorrow. I’m too tired to talk right now. Just don’t move them, okay? They’re still wet.”
Jason chuckles. “I won’t. I promise. How about we eat outside by the pool instead? The weather is perfect. It’s not too hot, not too cold tonight.”
We all happily agree, each of us pitching in to set up our little picnic outside on the deck.
For the next hour we unwind by the pool, indulging in mouth-watering woodfire pizzas as we chat and laugh, mostly at Jake’s endless stories about his school teacher, who the kids call ‘Mr Snorlax’ due to his habit of falling asleep and snoring pretty much anywhere, just like the Pokémon.
How he manages to still have a job is beyond me.
The night is unfolding effortlessly, everything flowing smoothly between the three of us, like we’ve been doing this for years.
I’m well-fed and completely relaxed, that is until my phone buzzes with an incoming text.
Glancing over at Jason, whose eyes are locked on Jake, now lounging in an inflatable donut in the heated pool, I quickly pull out my phone from the pocket of my jeans and check the message.
Dean: Hi, baby. Just checking in to see how your night is going.
Me: Hey you! I’m having a really good night actually. I’ve learnt about twenty different species of butterflies from a five-year-old, and now I’m just relaxing by the pool with a massive food coma.
Dean: LOL! You guys are adorable! I bet you still look sexy with a bloated belly.
Me: I don’t know about that. It looks like I swallowed a small watermelon. If Jason wasn’t sitting next to me, I’d be popping open the top of my jeans.
I watch as the text bubble appears, disappears, then reappears—again and again, as if he’s struggling to settle on the right words. Minutes pass before his reply finally comes through.
Dean: Jason’s home?
Me: Yes, he is. The restaurant was quiet tonight, so he came home early.
Dean: How long has he been home?
Me: About an hour. He brought home pizza for us. I didn’t want to be rude and just leave.
Dean: So you’re telling me you’ve spent the last hour eating and relaxing with Jason, when we could’ve hung out sooner?
Me: It’s only pizza, babe. And Jake is eating with us too.
Dean: Oh, how fucking convenient! He has you playing happy families with him now. You should’ve texted me first, Mila!
My jaw drops in disbelief, stunned by his reaction.
He’s making such a big deal out of nothing and it’s honestly pissing me off.
I’ve always been aware of his strong dislike towards Jason, and I’m not even entirely sure why.
But his constant, jealous outbursts whenever I mention my boss are starting to get out of hand.
We’ve been dating exclusively for a few months now, and while things have mostly been good between us, I’ve quickly learned that Dean can be very jealous—and at times, a little possessive whenever Jason is around.
I’ve never given him a reason to doubt me.
He knows I’d never do anything to hurt him.
So, I just don’t understand why he gets so frustrated.
“Everything okay?” Jason’s deep baritone snaps me back to the present.
I slip my phone back into my pocket, ignoring Dean’s message. I won’t allow him to spoil the night, not when things have been going so well. “Yeah, everything’s okay. It’s just Dean asking how my night is going. I’ll give him a call later tonight,” I assure him.
“I take it you and Dean are going strong?” His gaze now fixed solely on mine.
I give a slow nod. “Yeah, but we’re still getting to know each other.”
“And he’s treating you alright?”
“He is. I mean, he has his moments, but for the most part he’s been really sweet and attentive.”
His brows furrow. “What do you mean he has his moments?”
“It’s only minor things, nothing worth worrying over.”
He nods slowly, but I can tell he wants to press for more details. Instead, he asks, “So, you think he’s the one?” His gaze lingers, soft and questioning, as though he’s searching for something. Reassurance, maybe. But for what, I’m not too sure.
“Are we back to playing twenty-one questions again?” I chuckle softly.
Over the past few months, our little game had gradually fizzled out as I spent less time with him and more time with Dean.
I’d leave as soon as he got home, and though he still offered me a beer each time, I’d often turn it down.
But it’s during nights like this, when I find myself really missing those earlier days.
The last time we played, he’d just admitted that he and Gemma had broken up so he could focus on growing his business and spending more time with Jake. From what he told me, their relationship was casual from the start, and that it was bound to end sooner or later.
The sound of Jason’s breathy laugh reels me back in, and I quickly take a sip of my water.
“I think we’re past that now, Rivera. What I’m really getting at is: be sure you take your time with him.
I’m not saying I’m a relationship expert, but after rushing into one myself, I’ve learned it’s better to go slow and steady.
Don’t let yourselves get carried away. Give yourselves the time to truly get to know each other, because that little bit of extra time can make all the difference. ”
He’s absolutely right. Ever since we’ve become exclusive, Dean and I have barely spent any time apart. I’ve met most of his family and friends already, and we’ve even been staying at each other’s apartments for nights on end.
But the one thing that had me pausing and taking a step back was when he suggested I break my lease and move in with him. As much as I appreciated knowing he wanted me around more, it all just felt too much too soon.
“Thanks, Jase. I’ll definitely keep that in mind.”
“Good,” he says softly. “I’m here for you, Mila. Whenever you need me. Always remember that.”
“I will,” I reply with a sincere smile, knowing deep down that no words or promises carry more weight than his.