Date Night
Chapter fifty-three
Fallon
They’ll spoil their appetites, but I can’t bring myself to stop them.
My guilt runs too deep. The Wi-Fi’s been disconnected for weeks, but today we turned it back on for the Alexa.
At least the parental controls are already in place.
The fear of them stumbling onto something online about their father—or me—has me hugging the toilet more than I ever did after a solid girls night out.
So if my babies want cookies, they can have the damn cookies.
I go back to chopping the vegetables we pulled from our little garden earlier. There’s something deeply satisfying about eating food grown with your own hands. My gaze catches the dirt still packed beneath my nails, and I smile.
I try not to focus on what’s beyond my control. Instead, I pour my energy into what I can control—like what my kids consume.
And it’s not lost on me that I think of Liam as mine.
Somewhere along the way, I fell in love with him just as fiercely as I did Billy. I’m trying not to rush it, not to scare him, but honestly, how could I pour love into one child and hold back from the other? They both have me wrapped around their chocolate-stained little fingers.
Heart full, I slide the cutting board over the cast-iron skillet, letting the zucchini tumble into the sizzling pan.
Alexa chimes to life again.
“Will the prettiest woman in the world allow me to take her on a date, please?” I ignore him and turn, only to find the kids have popped up from their hiding spot, now openly snickering at us.
Liam swoons dramatically, mimicking Cyrus’s voice.
“Will the prettiest woman in the world allow me to take her on a date, please?”
Their laughter erupts, and Billy turns to Liam, whispering, loudly, of course,
“Right now, would be a good idea to go to Grandma Lani’s so we won’t have to suffer through their kissing!”
“What’s wrong with me kissing the woman I love?” We all turn toward Cyrus’s voice. He stands in the doorway, and for an instant, everything else—kids, walls, the room—falls away.
His massive hands rest on his hips. His sweatpants riding dangerously low on his hips. The man is lethal.
Dear God, Fallon. Get it together. My eyes bounce around the now, seemingly small area of the kitchen.
I whip around to the stove, grabbing a slicer knife like it’s a lifeline.
Focus. Veggies. Wipe the imaginary spot off the counter.
Clean the cutting board. Anything except droll over the inexplicably sexy enigma leaning on my doorframe. Eek.
“Kissing girls is how you get cooties, Dad,” Liam announces to us.
“Oh yeah? How do you figure?” Cyrus asks him.
Liam draws out every word. “Everyone knows that.”
Billy swipes another cookie and demolishes half of it in a single bite. “Liam, it works the other way; the boys have germs. You guys eat boogers and inhale each other’s farts.”
“Do not!” he declares.
“Besides, kissing is gross.” The two of them high-five in agreement.
Cyrus’s footfalls are easily tracked as he approaches me from behind. My face flames from the heat of the kitchen, or at least that’s the excuse I’m going to use. His beard grazes the nape of my neck, cue those pesky butterflies. My fingers tighten around the handle of the slicer.
From somewhere behind us, the kids groan and gag before stomping out of the room. Cyrus’s lips roam over my earlobe. One of his arms slides around my waist to pull me flush against him as the other arm cages me in. Holy whippersnappers.
“I like the way you’re gripping that knife, Fal. Wanna grip my kn- Oomph.” My elbow connects with the hard planes of his muscles. Not hard, just enough to save me the embarrassment of his shameless flirting.
“You were saying?” I ask behind a smirk.
“How about that date?”
“I don’t think we should go out. After a lifetime of being under a microscope, the last thing I want is to be stared at, filmed, or posted online by the locals.”
“Who said anything about going out?” He spins me around, while maneuvering the knife out of my hand, he places it on the counter. Now face to face, he rewards me with a panty-melting smile. He asked me a question… He expects an answer, stop staring like the village idiot.
“Wh-what do you have in mind?”
“Turn the stove off. I’ll help the kids pack. Mom called earlier; she wants to keep them overnight. I’ve got it handled.”
“It may be silly to ask, but…what do I wear?”
He shrugs. “Let’s go for comfort. You won’t be in it for long.”
He plants a smacking kiss on my mouth before turning and yelling over his shoulder,
“Alexa, tell the kids to get ready. They’re going to Grandma’s so I can kiss Mom.”
My heart pounds wildly as my stomach somersaults. There’s something incredibly erotic about him calling them our kids.