Chapter 16 #3
A knock at the door announced the arrival of our breakfast. Patrick answered, tipping the waiter generously. The smell of coffee filled the room as the server wheeled in a table draped in white linen and arranged our feast.
Once we were alone again, we settled across from each other, surveying the spread.
“This is ridiculous,” I said, looking at the amount of food. “We can’t possibly eat all this.”
Patrick was already spreading butter on a piece of toast. “Speak for yourself. I’m a growing boy.”
I snorted. “You’re thirty-five.”
“With six children. Do you know how many calories it takes to keep up with them?” He took a bite of toast, his eyes twinkling. “Besides, I worked up quite an appetite last night. And this morning.”
I felt heat rise to my cheeks and focused on pouring coffee for me and tea for him. I added a small splash of cream to Patrick’s mug before handing it to him.
“You take a little cream, right?” I asked, hoping I remembered correctly.
He accepted the cup, his smile spreading slowly as he looked at me over the rim.
“You remembered.” Then he took a sip and immediately grimaced. “Good God, that’s awful.”
I tasted mine and nearly spat it out. “So is this. That is literally the worst coffee I’ve ever had. How does a five-star hotel mess up coffee this badly?”
“Maybe the orange juice is safer?”
I tried it and nodded. “Much better.”
We ate, occasionally offering each other bites from our plates. The pancakes were fluffy, the eggs perfectly poached, the fruit fresh and sweet. Despite my protest, we made a significant dent in the spread.
“So,” Patrick said, setting down his fork. “What happens next?”
I paused, a piece of strawberry halfway to my mouth. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, where do we go from here? This—” he gestured between us, “—feels significant to me. I want to know if you feel the same way.”
I set down my fork, considering my answer. “It is significant. I wouldn’t have slept with you otherwise.”
“Good.” He looked relieved. “Because, like I said, I’m not interested in casual, Theresa. Not with you.”
“Me neither.” I reached across the table to take his hand. “But I’m also aware that we have... complications. Ten of them, to be exact.”
Patrick’s lips quirked into a smile. “Our children.”
“Our children,” I agreed. “Who are still in some stage of grieving, though I know it’s different for each one.”
“Which means we need to watch our step,” he said, his thumb circling the back of my hand. “But not secretive. There’s a difference.”
I nodded. “Exactly. I don’t want to sneak around. I just think we need to... ease them into the idea.”
“What are you thinking?”
I took a deep breath, organizing my thoughts. “Maybe we start with some casual group activities? Something where all ten kids can interact without too much pressure. The zoo worked well for your crew, right?”
“It did.” Patrick looked thoughtful. “What about a beach day?”
“I like that idea. Maybe even pack a picnic, bring buckets and shovels for sandcastles, let them run off some energy. And I know the perfect place, Half Moon Bay.”
“We could go this weekend if the weather holds.”
“That’d be great. No pressure, lots of distractions, and if anyone gets uncomfortable.”
“Exactly.” Patrick squeezed my hand. “And it gives us a chance to see how they interact with each other.”
I laughed suddenly, imagining the chaos. “God, ten kids between us. What are we thinking?”
“That we’re gluttons for punishment?” He grinned. “Or that we’re incredibly lucky to have found each other in the middle of all this mess?”
“Both,” I said, my throat tightening unexpectedly. “Definitely both.”
Patrick’s expression softened. “Come here.”
I stood and rounded the table, and he pulled me onto his lap. I went willingly, tucking my head under his chin as his arms wrapped around me.
“We’ll figure it out,” he murmured against my hair. “Day by day. No rushing, no pressure, just... moving forward together.”
“I’d like that.” I closed my eyes, inhaling the scent of him—clean skin, faint traces of yesterday’s cologne, the subtle musk of our lovemaking.
“Me too.” His hand stroked up and down my back, soothing and possessive at the same time. “For what it’s worth, I think they’ll get along brilliantly. Your Rome and my Brody are about the same age, and they both seem to have the same curious streak.”
I smiled against his chest. “And your Alec and my Austin might understand each other. They’re both so serious for their age.”
“Exactly. And the twins will love Paris—she seems like she could keep up with their energy.”
“God help us all if those three form an alliance,” I laughed. “We’ll never have a moment’s peace.”
“Who needs peace when you can have joy?” Patrick’s voice was soft but certain. “That’s what I want for all of us, Theresa. Not just getting by, not just surviving, but actual happiness. Even if it’s messy sometimes.”
I pulled back to look at him, struck by the simple truth of his words. For months, I’d been focused on just keeping my head above water, and now, the idea of actively pursuing joy seemed almost revolutionary.
“I want that too,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “Joy. Even the messy kind.”
Patrick’s eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled. “Especially the messy kind.”
He kissed me then, soft and sweet and full of promise. When we separated, I felt something settle inside me—a certainty, a rightness that had been missing for too long.
“We should probably get going,” I said reluctantly, glancing at the clock. “It’s almost eight, and I need to relieve Michael and Shelly.”
“And I need to save Mrs. Kowalski from the morning ruckus.” Patrick sighed dramatically. “Back to reality.”
“Not the worst reality, though,” I pointed out, standing and stretching. “It has its perks.”
His eyes darkened as they followed the movement. “Indeed, it does.”
We showered together, which took considerably longer than if we’d showered separately, then dressed in last night’s clothes. As I zipped up my dress, I caught Patrick watching me.
“What?” I asked, smoothing my hands over the fabric.
“Just memorizing this,” he said simply. “You, in this room, looking like that. I want to remember it.”
The raw honesty in his voice made my breath catch. “I’ll remember too.”
He held my gaze for a long moment, then offered his hand. “Ready?”
I laced my fingers through his, feeling the strength in his grip, the warmth of his palm against mine. “Ready.”
We stepped out of the hotel room and into whatever came next—not just surviving, but seeking joy, messy or otherwise. I was most definitely looking forward to the future instead of dreading it.
As we rode the elevator down to the lobby, our reflection in the mirrored walls caught my attention—Patrick’s tall frame beside my smaller one, our hands linked, his head bent slightly toward mine. We looked like a couple. We looked like we belonged together.
And maybe we did.