40. Maddie
40
MADDIE
The golden glow of the porch lights illuminated the sleek lines of Ian’s home as Grant ran ahead of us, his energy seemingly endless. I trailed behind with Ian, still buzzing over the idea that I was going to be living in that cottage soon.
It was already fully furnished, so if I really wanted to, I could probably just drive my Subaru right over there tonight and live out of my suitcase for another day.
Eek! This was so surreal. Like, what even was my life right now? It was like I’d hit the jackpot and was just staying on a winning streak.
“Have you guys eaten recently?” Ian asked when we got back to his house. “Any dinner plans?”
“Not yet,” I admitted, ruffling Grant’s hair as he started to tug at his shoes by the door like he was readying for round two with the cat and the laser. “We were probably just going to grab some leftovers at Sloan’s house.”
“Well, I haven’t eaten yet, either,” Ian said, his lips curving into an easy smile. “I was planning to grab something from this Mexican place downtown, but I’d love some company…”
I hesitated. He’d already done so much for us today—showing me the house, offering to teach Grant to ride horses. Saying yes felt indulgent.
But before I could politely decline, Ian raised his eyebrows and added, “You’d actually be doing me a favor. The last time I grabbed takeout there, the owner looked like she felt really sorry for me ordering for one.”
“Okay, fine.” I laughed despite myself, shaking my head. “Mexican food sounds pretty good.”
“Perfect,” Ian said, his grin widening. “And if you’re in the mood for Italian instead, they’ve got you covered, too.”
I frowned, confused. “Mexican and Italian?”
He winked as he grabbed his keys. “You’ll see what I mean when we get there.”
“It’s one of a kind, isn’t it?” Ian said, his half-smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he caught my amused expression the moment we stepped inside the restaurant.
He’d told me that they served both Mexican and Italian food, but I had not been prepared for the unique experience that was The Italian Amigos. There were traditional Mexican decorations hung alongside Italian frescoes. But the real pièce de résistance was the pair of David statues—one wore a sombrero and Italian flag swim trunks, while the other was draped in a vibrant fiesta serape with a pizza balanced on the slingshot in his left hand.
“I love it!” I chuckled, unable to stop the soft laugh that escaped me as I checked out the black mustache perched above the upper lip of one of the David statues.
“Just wait till you taste the food,” Ian replied.
We followed the hostess to a booth at the back of the restaurant and Grant scrambled eagerly onto the seat beside me, his little hands immediately grabbing the menu. His wide eyes darted across the pages like he was preparing to make the most important culinary decision of his young life. I bit back a grin, watching his enthusiasm as he frowned in concentration, clearly debating his options.
We placed our orders—fettuccine Alfredo for Grant, fajitas for Ian and me—and as we settled into the soft hum of the restaurant’s atmosphere, I felt an unexpected calm wash over me. It was easy being here. Comfortable.
“Excuse me for a minute,” I said to Ian and Grant after the waitress brought us our waters, sliding out of the booth to find the restroom.
When I returned, the sight before me stopped me in my tracks.
Ian and Grant were leaning over the table, their heads close together, a small deck of cards spread out between them. Grant’s cheeks were flushed, his eyes lit with excitement as he clutched his hand of cards like they held the key to his next great victory. Ian’s brow furrowed in mock concentration, his lips quirking into a smirk that told me he was enjoying himself just as much as Grant was.
“Do you just always carry a pack of cards with you?” I asked as I slid back into the booth, my voice teasing.
“Not exactly.” Ian glanced up at me, his smile bashful. “I may have grabbed it from my game closet before we left. It’s something my dad used to do when he first started dating my mom.”
I stared at him, my chest tightening. It was such a simple gesture, and yet it carried so much weight.
Jaxon had always handed Grant his phone during moments like this, which I understood. Parenting was hard, and sometimes you just needed a break. But Ian… Ian had taken the time to think ahead about what might make a little boy smile.
To make him feel seen.
And watching the way Grant lit up under his attention made me feel like my heart might burst.
“You’re so good at this game!” Ian said, his voice tinged with exaggerated surprise as Grant laid down a card triumphantly.
Grant giggled, his entire face glowing with pride. “I told you I’m good at Uno!”
“You did,” Ian said with a wink, ruffling Grant’s hair before drawing another card. “But I didn’t realize you were this good. I’m going to have to step up my game if I want to keep up.”
I smiled, unable to stop the warmth blooming in my chest as I studied Ian. The way his shoulders filled out his shirt, the way his arms flexed subtly as he shuffled the cards. The way his hands moved with steady precision, deft and strong, yet somehow gentle when he dealt the cards to Grant.
And his laugh—deep, rich, and so unguarded—it tugged at something deep inside me.
Was it strange to be so drawn to a man’s laugh?
Maybe.
But there it was, settling into my chest like a melody I didn’t want to stop listening to.
The game ended, and Ian gathered the cards. “All right, Grant,” he said with a playful grin. “Do you think we should let your mom play a round of Uno with us?”
“I guess.” Grant glanced at me, his face scrunching up in exaggerated skepticism. “But she’s really bad at it. She always loses.”
Ian chuckled, his deep brown eyes flicking to mine, warm and teasing. “Well, maybe this time will be different.”
And as he handed me the cards, his fingers brushing mine for the briefest moment, I couldn’t help but hope that he was talking about more than just the game.