32. Tess
THIRTY-TWO
TESS
Ian and I exchange amused smiles as we make our way across the high school’s parking lot in the growing darkness. We’re loaded down with blankets, sweatshirts, and a cooler full of snacks—everything we need to enjoy the big fireworks show.
The same fireworks show August has talked about nonstop all evening. He’s told us what his favorite fireworks from last year look like. How loud their bangs are. How he gets to stay up extra late. That maybe he’ll make fireworks when he grows up.
You’d think he downed ten cups of coffee before we got in the car.
“Everybody sits on the football field to watch, isn’t that funny?” he says. “But I lie down to watch. It’s better that way. If you sit, your neck hurts. So I lie down.”
“So I should lie down, too?” Ian asks as if he’s having trouble getting it.
“Yup. And then they whoosh, zam, pow, right over our heads! There’s going to be a zillion fireworks.”
“A zillion?” Ian’s mouth tips up at the side. “Are you going to count them?”
“It’s too many to count. But my friend Lila told me there will be a zillion, and she knows. She’s a fireworks expert.”
I make a mental note to tell Lila to add that to her resume.
“Remember where we’re headed?” I’ve reminded him a few times. We come to the field for New Year’s fireworks, too, but that’s a big break in between.
“The big forty-five on the field. Because Nana is forty-five!”
I snort. “She would love to hear that.”
We move through the bottleneck at the entrance and stream onto the field. A few hundred people have already set up blankets and lawn chairs in anticipation of the big show. Somebody’s playing “American Pie” on the guitar, kids toss a light-up Frisbee back and forth, and glow sticks shine like a sea of neon.
“I see them!” August sprints down the forty-five-yard line to where my mom and sister are sitting on blankets halfway across the field.
I catch the moment they notice Ian. Nerves fizz through me like a shaken seltzer bottle. I told them I’d invited our neighbor to join us and left it at that. But even in this dim light, I can see them reaching all the conclusions I was too afraid to say out loud.
I like him. I care for him. I’m completely smitten and need everyone here to be cool about it.
Ian already knows Wren, so I only have the one introduction to make. “Mom, this is Ian. Ian, my mom, Maureen.”
“It’s good to meet you.” Mom stands to shake his hand. “August talks about you all the time.”
“And Dutch!” August says from the blanket next to Wren.
“I’m a fan of August’s, too,” Ian tells her.
“I’m glad you could join us,” Mom says with a smile.
It’s not her relaxed smile, though. It’s her bakery smile. I’ve always admired her customer service calm, but I don’t like her directing it at Ian. As if he’s not our guest and a friend, but a stranger waiting in line for pie.
If Ian feels her friendliness is forced, he doesn’t show it. “Thanks for letting me crash your party.”
“It’s supposed to be a big production.” She does it again—she flashes the smile she uses when she tells customers about our flavors of the week. I’m not sure if admitting Ian is more than just my neighbor would have made her more friendly or less.
“I keep hearing that.”
I start laying our blankets next to theirs, and Ian moves closer to help me smooth them out. “Our friend Lila is revamping Sunshine’s holiday events,” I tell him. “We’re excited to see what she does.”
Wren sighs. “I wish I could have seen her when she put her slimy ex in his place.”
Lila accidentally got sick all over her ex this morning, and Sunshine’s grapevine has been working at light speed to share the tale. The poor thing must have the same stomach bug that August had. I doubt she’ll be happy when she recovers and finds out her spewing on the sidewalk was a bigger topic of discussion than the festival she organized.
To be fair, people raved about the Fourth Fest. But our stylish, media-savvy local influencer losing her lunch on her snide ex was way juicier.
Poor choice of words.
“She’s home sick with her Adonis, Hope’s up in the canyon watching the fireworks with Griffin.” Wren looks up at the stars. “Sure would be nice to have someone to cuddle up with, too. Wouldn’t it, Mom?”
So subtle.
“Are you asking for a hug?” Mom opens her arms wide. “I’m ready, little gal.”
Wren wrinkles her nose. “I was thinking of romantic snuggles.”
I ignore her and sit on the blankets farthest from her theatrical sighs. I’m not any happier with her obnoxious nudges than I am with Mom’s affected indifference. Maybe I just can’t be pleased.
Ian moves closer to me and, yup—I can be pleased.
He crosses his prosthesis’s foot in front of him and smoothly lowers to the ground next to me. It feels rude not to compliment his powerful thighs, but I manage to restrain myself. And, sadly, rip my gaze away from them.
“I’ll hug August, then.” Mom wraps him up in a quick embrace. “I don’t get enough of these anymore.”
“I hug you all the time, Nana,” he says from under her arm.
She lets him go and boops him on the nose. “I will always take more.”
A breeze drifts over us, and shivers ripple across my skin. Sifting through the sweatshirts we brought, I set August’s aside for him, but I don’t find my lavender one I’d intended to wear. Instead, I find two I don’t recognize: a navy one and a gray one, both oversized.
“Didn’t I give you my sweatshirt to bring?” I ask Ian, rubbing the fleece between my fingers. They’re soft and perfectly worn in. “When we left the house?”
“I brought two of mine.”
I hold them out to him as if he’s going to slip them both over his head right now. Maybe I left mine in my car.
He chuckles and leans closer. “Indulge a man a fantasy and put on his clothes.”
Oh. Oh . My stomach dips, but I pull the gray one on. The sweatshirt smells like him, cucumber and soap and a hint of something spicy. I’m surrounded by my new favorite smell in a cozy fleece cocoon.
“Thank you,” he whispers low.
I’ve got so many lights glittering and twinkling around inside me, I don’t even need the fireworks.
“It’s probably a busy night for crime, huh? I bet Sunshine’s sheriff and deputies don’t get to enjoy the show.” Wren has decided to create her own fireworks by bashing Mom over the head with hints tonight.
Is it bad to say, “better Mom than me?”
Mom shushes her. “You’ll give Ian the wrong impression of Sunshine.”
“Oh, he knows about our seedy underbelly. They’ve dealt with bandits and thieves over at their house.”
Mom’s attention whips over to us, but I hold up a hand. “We had raccoons, one time.”
Probably more often than that, but I’ve followed Ian’s request to avoid taking out the trash at night. What I don’t know won’t hurt me. Or startle me into hurting myself.
She relaxes, but her attention stays fixed our way. “How do you like Sunshine, Ian?”
“I haven’t explored enough of it. But it’s growing on me. Tiny bears and all.”
Hopefully, it’s too dark for Wren to see my goofy grin.
A streak of brilliant white shoots into the sky, to the delight of the crowd around us. Must be ten.
August squeals and flops onto his back next to Wren. Lifting his head, he points a finger at the rest of us. “You have to lie down.”
“He’s a commanding little pirate captain,” Ian mutters as he lowers onto his back.
I stretch out, too. “He’s not wrong. It’s a pretty good way to watch the show.”
They launch the fireworks from a meadow a few blocks away. This close, they really do burst right overhead, a series of spinners, blooms, and fountains lighting up the night. It’s peaceful, even with the occasional loud bangs and the “oohs and aahs” from the crowd.
August’s little sounds are my favorites, though. He’s a fan of every single firework, and lets us know how pretty they are with a round of applause after every shower of sparks.
I realize Ian is facing me instead of the sky. I turn my head toward him. Even in the darkness, his slanted smile shines through.
“You’re missing it,” I whisper.
“I’m not missing a thing, angel.”
Fireworks illuminate his face, revealing his gaze steady on me. Between us, he finds my hand and threads our fingers together. Looking into his eyes is like walking through the door of a house and realizing I’m home.
Despite my intentions to keep my heart anchored in a safe harbor, I’m sailing through uncharted waters. I’m falling for Ian, and if I don’t reroute soon, I’ll coast right off the map.
Here be dragons.
But maybe also a pirate with a good heart who’ll sail along with me.
August crawls over me to snuggle into the small space between me and Ian. We let go of each other, scooting over a touch to make room.
“Isn’t it good, Ian?” he says, staring up into the night.
Ian’s gaze never leaves mine. “The best.”
If there’s something better than seeing Ian carrying my sleepy son into the house, I don’t know what it is. August’s arms are wrapped around Ian’s neck, and the man’s got him hefted onto his hips like he’s precious cargo. My heart can’t handle these levels of adorableness this late in the day.
Inside, Ian takes August to his bed.
“Goodnight, Ian,” he says with a big yawn.
“Goodnight, buddy.”
Ian slips out while I help August change into his pajamas. I run my fingertips over the adhesive around his sensor and pump to make sure we’re good for the night. They’re both on his belly tonight, and his muscles flex from the ticklish sensation, but otherwise, he barely stirs. I kiss his forehead, whisper goodnight, and leave him to dream about fireworks.
In the kitchen, Ian’s leaning against the counter, his arms crossed over his chest. I tuck August’s insulin kit away in the supply cart for the next time we go out.
He nods at the cart. “You’ve got yourself a mini clinic here.”
“He needs a lot of supplies. As you know.”
“All that can’t be cheap.”
“Mom changed to an insurance plan with good coverage as soon as he was diagnosed. It’s not free, but I manage.”
“Forgive me for asking, but is your ex paying his share of August’s medical expenses?”
I can’t help the incredulous sound that bursts out of me.
Ian’s gaze hardens. “Please tell me he’s not a deadbeat, and he’s doing right by you two.”
“Ian, my ex didn’t want me to have August at all. When he found out I was keeping the baby, he left Lake Tahoe the next day. Changed his phone number, blocked me on all social media. I have no idea where he is or how to contact him even if I wanted to.” I stopped running internet searches on him a long time ago, but he did his best to stay off the grid.
An amicable break up and co-parenting situation would have been almost normal. Fleeing the state? That’s brutal.
“I didn’t put his name on the birth certificate, so legally, he’s not August’s father. I would have to sue for paternity before I could ever get child support, and that feels like a lot of effort for someone who didn’t want either of us in the first place.”
With his mouth set into a frown and his eyes a little wild, Ian looks as dangerous as I’ve ever seen him. “I hate that he couldn’t be bothered to step up and know his own child. I hate that he’s not here for you.”
I can only shrug. Even if my ex were right across town, I can’t pretend he would magically be an involved dad. He simply never wanted to be one.
“I can take care of August without him.”
“I know you can.” Ian strides over to me until our chests are practically touching. His gaze is still stormy, but there’s nothing dangerous about him now. “I take it back. I hate that you’re doing everything on your own, but angel…I don’t hate that he’s not here. I think I’d go mad if he were.”
He cups my face in his hands and covers my mouth with his. His tender kiss conveys reassurance, a reminder that I’m worth sticking around for. It’s so soft I could cry, but I don’t want that tonight.
Thankfully, neither does Ian. Gentle kisses give way to something untamed. I open up to him, and he groans. The rough, uninhibited sound makes my belly swoop as he absolutely plunders my mouth.
It’s no theft—I’m his for the taking.
He slides one hand into my hair, the other moving to my upper back as if he needs me even closer. As if he will never get close enough. I fist my hands in his shirt at his sides, robbed of the faculties to do much more than hold on.
His kisses the other night were soft and sweet, but this? This is an unquenchable fire, spreading flames from my ribs out to my fingers and toes. I am wafer paper on a burn-away cake, completely consumed.
He breaks the kiss—to do what, I don’t know—but I’m not having it.
“Ian,” I whisper without opening my eyes. I don’t even know what I’m asking for, but he grants my wish and returns his mouth to mine.
Only, this pirate has chosen torture. He slows the kiss to an agonizing crawl. Every touch of his hands and stroke of his tongue become a deliberate attempt to tease. To get me to whisper his name. To beg.
I’m ready to run up the white flag and surrender.
When he draws back a second time, I need a moment to gather my thoughts beyond the word “more.” I open my eyes to find him gazing back at me, burning with the same heat running through me.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
He lived up to his conditions for gratitude and then some.
He groans again and moves in for another devastating kiss. I will happily be conquered by him.
August’s door creaks, and we draw apart in earnest. My eyes fly open to find my son blearily taking the short trip to the bathroom.
“Have to potty,” he says, shutting himself in.
Ian and I watch each other in silence. I’m not sure I ever knew eye contact could be this sexy, but my skin blazes with as much fire as it did when we kissed.
The toilet flushes and the bathroom sink runs for a minute. August comes out, still rubbing his eyes. “Night, Mama.”
He pads back into his room. His door is ajar, reminding me I can’t go completely wild with Ian, no matter how much I want to. Maybe if we were quiet on the couch…
“I should probably go let Dutch out,” Ian says.
Oh. I guess we’re not on the same wavelength with the couch thing. I walk him to the door, duct-taping the mouths of all the voices in my head telling me I messed up. Got ahead of myself. Gave too much.
He opens the door and turns around. “See you tomorrow?”
Relief floods in. “Yes, please.”
He leans close enough our mouths almost touch. Almost . His breath ghosts over my lips.
“I like the please ,” he purrs.
Purrs . A month ago, I might have described him as a grouchy lion with stabby claws. Now, he’s a ginger kitten. Still dangerous, but the only thing in the firing line is my heart.
His kiss goodnight is full of promises of more kisses to come. When he pulls back, he smiles wider, tempting me to lean in to keep saying goodnight.
“August was right,” he says. “A zillion fireworks.”