Chapter 12 Des #2
I go to the cupboard above the counter for some more salt.
I glimpse into Lena’s backpack, and my eye gets caught on something.
Under her notebook, I spot what I’m pretty sure is a vaping pen sticking out.
I’ve walked past my coworkers vaping in parking lots enough times to know what a pen looks like.
Tanner comes downstairs—hair sleep-mussed, morning stubble on his cheeks—distracting me from my snooping. Morning stubble looks good on him.
He blinks at the scene in front of him. “What…happened here?”
“I’m a domestic god,” I say, handing him a cup of coffee like a man who had just discovered fire.
“Clearly.” Tanner laughs. “You made them omelets?”
“We were running low on Pop Tarts.”
“Those look amazing. I didn’t know you could cook.”
“Neither did I. But your kids were hungry. I’ll make you one, too.”
“You don’t have to.” He takes a sip of coffee. He turns from the coffeemaker, landing flush against me. Our faces are dangerously close, enough to smell the ocean-scented shampoo that was on my pillow last night.
“Breakfast is the most important meal of the day.” I shoot him a wink. “You need your energy.”
He grins, and I feel something warm bloom in my chest. Approval. From Tanner. It means more than I expected.
He takes a seat beside Lulu, who immediately leans into his side. As Dean and Davy argue about which Pokémon was strongest and Tanner pours milk for Lulu—I lean back against the counter, sipping my coffee.
I hadn’t expected to enjoy this. It was like being dropped into a movie I never auditioned for. Loud and strange and sweet.
Someone knocks at the door, breaking me out of this spell.
“That must be Matthias,” Tanner says. Lena goes to meet this mysterious Matthias.
“What do we know about this guy?” I whisper to Tanner as I hand Dean his omelet. “Okay Lulu. You’re next!”
A moment later, Lena and Matthias join us in the kitchen.
She grabs her backpack. Matthias is tall, skinny, with the mophead hairstyle all the young guys are wearing that I absolutely hate but totally would’ve had.
He wears a navy sweater vest over a blue button down shirt and clean pair of jeans, looking somewhere between a normal kid and a missionary.
He is the very definition of clean-cut. I eye him suspiciously.
“Good morning, Mr. Chance.” Matthias shakes Tanner’s hand. “Hey guys!” He waves to the other kids.
“Matthias! Great to see you.” Tanner claps him on the back.
“How’s your morning treating you?” Matthias asks. He takes the coffee pot and refills Tanner’s mug.
He’s polite and certainly more gregarious than most teens.
“Off to a late start, but we have omelets,” Tanner says.
“I love omelets!” Matthias says with strong conviction. “The tomatoes are starting to come up in my garden. I’ll have to bring some over next time.”
“Please do. I wish I had time to garden,” Tanner says wistfully.
I do another brilliant fold and slide Lulu’s omelet onto a plate.
“I’m making omelets,” I tell him. I hold out my hand for a shake. “I’m their Uncle Des. I’ll be staying here for a little bit. Matthias, was it?”
“Uncle Des, it’s great to meet you!”
I shake his hand firmly. He doesn’t wince. Being close to him, I get a whiff of his very strong cologne. I forgot how insecure young men are about BO.
“How long have you two been dating?”
“Uncle Des!” Lena blushes, dead from the embarrassment of a single question.
“Four months,” Matthias says, cool as a cucumber, one that he probably grows in his alleged garden. “Lena’s a wonderful young woman.”
“She is,” I say, a hint of a threat laced in my voice. I doubt anyone under sixty calls their girlfriend a wonderful young woman.
“We need to get to school. Goodbye, Uncle Des. Dad.” Lena waves at Tanner, then a big wave to her siblings. She grabs her backpack.
“Uncle Des, a pleasure meeting you!” Matthias gives me a salute. I reciprocate with another steely nod.
“I don’t like him,” I say as I watch them get into his car.
“You don’t?” Tanner watches with me. “Matthias is a great kid. An A-student, runs a gardening club at school, always polite.”
“I know. He’s too perfect. No teenage boy is that good. He’s every parents’ wet dream, but wet dreams aren’t real.”
“What’s a wet dream?” Lulu asks. Tanner and I trade looks. Davy looks down at the table, his cheeks glowing bright red. I guess he and Tanner had that talk already.
“Sorry,” I tell Tanner. “At least it wasn’t a curse word.”
I get a feeling I can’t shake, though. I’ve been around enough sleazy guys, and I was a quasi-asshole when I was his age, so I know the type.
“He was putting on an act. No teenager sounds that polished. And the sweater vest? That’s just overkill. I have a weird feeling, Tanner.”
I start to make an omelet for him, cracking the eggs and putting them on the sizzling skillet. I look up, and Tanner’s smiling at me.
“What?”
“You don’t like your daughter’s boyfriend. You are such a dad.”
Eventually, all the Chances eat their omelets and give me rave reviews. The kids scatter like caffeinated squirrels to different parts of the house to enjoy their last minutes before leaving for school. And then the house is quiet.
I start cleaning up—without being asked, which I hoped would earn me some kind of gold star. Tanner joins me at the sink, bumping my shoulder with his as we scrub plates side-by-side. It’s so comfortable I could spend the next fifty years here.
“I was gonna let you sleep,” I say. “Didn’t expect the breakfast brigade to be waiting.”
“They always are.”
“Well, next time maybe I’ll set an alarm and stockpile waffles.”
Tanner smiles to himself, the gorgeous creases of his cheeks and crinkles around his eyes making him look ten times more handsome. “I can’t believe you cooked.”
We stand there in companionable silence, the hum of the dishwasher starting up behind us. I look over at him, at the way the morning light softens the lines of his face, at the ease with which he existed in this chaos.
“You do this every morning?”
“Pretty much.”
“And then lunch. And dinner. And bedtime. And grocery runs. And broken crayons. And princess shoes.”
“And lost library books,” he adds with a groan.
I exhale. “Jesus.”
“It’s a lot. But you get used to it.”
I shake my head. “You don’t get enough credit.”
“I don’t do it for credit.”
“I know. That’s what makes it worse.”
He nudges me again. “You did good today, Des.”
And just like that, something settles in me. Like maybe I could belong here. Like maybe I’m not just faking it.