29. Theo #2
“I never should’ve waited to make you mine, princess,” he murmurs against her skin.
Callie’s eyes fill instantly.
She looks at him like the words have reached some place in her that is still bruised around his absence.
Sloane’s hand tightens at her waist, then eases before the pressure can become too much.
Idris lifts his mouth from her neck and kisses her properly, slow and devastating, while Sloane keeps her held between them.
Callie’s hands shake when one goes to Sloane’s chest and the other to Idris' jaw, but she does not pull away.
She lets them want her where everyone can see.
I last about half a second.
“Where is mine?” I ask, already reaching for her, and the question comes out softer than my need because she's crying and I don't want to break the moment. “Callie, I need mine too.”
The laughter that moves through the kitchen is small and tender.
It starts in Callie, a wet little sound that catches against Idris' mouth before she turns toward me.
Sloane huffs something close to a laugh into her hair, and even Dash makes a warm sound at the stove, his shoulders dropping as if the room has let him breathe.
I don't feel embarrassed. I feel correct.
Callie cups my face and kisses me.
I pull her off the counter before the kiss is done, and Sloane’s hand follows her waist long enough to make sure she lands steady.
I take the chair nearest the table and draw her with me, half beside me and half across my lap because across the table is offensive and impractical.
She settles against me with a breathy laugh, her legs angled over mine, one arm looped around my shoulders while I reach for the toast plate with my free hand.
“Breakfast works better like this,” I say, holding a piece of toast near her mouth. “This is efficient.”
“It is possessive,” Idris says, but his voice is warm as he takes the pan from Dash and checks the eggs before they overcook.
He looks at my face for a second too long, noticing the heat in my cheeks and the sweetness in the air, then returns his attention to the stove without making a production of it.
“It can be both.” I press the toast to Callie’s lips, and when she bites it, satisfaction spreads through me so fast I have to put my face against her shoulder. “Today is a Callie Day.”
Sloane pours coffee, moving slower than usual, like his body has not fully accepted being upright. “What does a Callie Day involve?”
“Breakfast first.” I count on my fingers even though Callie is holding one of my hands and making the task harder.
“Then the nest. Then no real clothes unless she wants them.
Then reading, but only if someone reads to her, because she will pretend she's reading and stare at the same page for twenty minutes. Then snacks. Then hair brushing. Then a movie. Then more nest.”
Dash sets plates on the table and slides into the chair across from us, close enough that his knee brushes Callie’s bare foot when she shifts. “That is an ambitious Sunday schedule.”
“No legal talk unless she asks.” I look at each of them to make sure they understand that part. “No Garrett at breakfast. No papers in the nest. No making her face do the blank thing.”
Callie goes still against me as her fingers slide through the hair at my nape, and she presses her mouth to my temple. “Thank you.”
The words make me warmer.
Sloane carries coffee to the table, setting Callie’s mug within reach before he takes his own.
He glances at Dash when Dash’s hand settles briefly at Callie’s lower back as he passes her a fork.
The hurt crosses Sloane’s face quickly, but it is there.
I see it because I am watching everything today.
He looks down at the coffee and breathes once.
Idris sees it too before moving behind Callie’s chair and resting one hand on Sloane’s shoulder for a brief second as he passes. Sloane leans into it by the smallest amount, then clears his throat and reaches for the toast like breakfast suddenly requires all of his concentration.
Callie shifts in my lap, looking toward Idris with heavy-lidded warmth. “Come here.”
Idris pauses with the spatula in his hand, and the faint surprise in him makes my chest pinch. He sets it down carefully before stepping closer. Callie holds out both hands, and I let her move because the plan isn't to keep her from them. The plan is to keep her surrounded by everyone she wants.
She slides from my lap into Idris' when he sits in the wider chair beside us.
For a second, my instincts complain because my arms are empty.
Then Idris settles her sideways against his chest, one hand at her hip and the other cupping the back of her head, and Callie exhales like something in her has finally found a second place to rest. I scoot my chair closer until my knee presses against Idris' and my hand can stay on Callie’s thigh.
“Still mine today,” I tell him.
Idris' mouth curves against Callie’s hair. “I would not dream of disputing the schedule.”
“You should not dream of it either,” I say, then immediately wonder whether that sounds too much like teasing. It does not feel like teasing in my chest. It feels like joy with teeth, and Callie’s shoulders shake once in a quiet laugh before she hides her face against Idris' throat.