Chapter 15
GABE
“Dad! Where are you?” Kyra calls out.
“Right here,” I call back, walking down the hall. Kyra said she was stopping by. I told her to bring her boyfriend. We’ll see if she did.
Coming around the corner, I see Kyra. And then I see a teenage boy who’s taller than my daughter and needs a haircut. This must be Cooper. “Kyra, who’s your friend?”
She rolls her eyes at me. “Dad, this is Cooper. Cooper, this is Gabe. My dad.”
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Goldwyn,” Cooper says. “I’m a big fan.”
I smile as Kyra rolls her eyes again. “Nice to meet you. That’s great to hear. Care for anything to drink?” I ask.
Cooper turns to Kyra. Then Kyra pipes up. “Let’s raid my dad’s kitchen.”
“Anything is fair game. Except alcohol.” I keep bottles of Layla’s favorite wine for when she’s here. I laugh softly. I can practically hear Kyra’s groan from here. Teenagers. “Your brother stopping by?”
She and Cooper pop into the living room, drinks in hand. “I’m not sure. He didn’t say.”
“If you see him, let him know I said to stop by.”
“I will, Dad. You know you can text him.”
Of course I know that.
“My son tells me you play baseball.”
“I do. Hoping to play college ball,” he tells me, gripping his drink nervously
“That’s a good goal to have. Have you talked to any scouts? Been in talks with recruiters?”
“I have. My parents are helping me weed through the legit offers.”
“That’s good. Let me know if you need me to assist. I’m happy to help,” I offer.
“Thank you, Mr. Goldwyn.”
“Gabe, please.”
“Gabe.”
The next few minutes, Cooper and I chat about baseball. Much to the detriment of Kyra, who looks bored. At least she has her phone. Then, all of the sudden she gets up. “We need to go. I forgot that I told Mom I’d be home by 4:30.”
“I can drop you off. Cooper, too.”
“Thanks, Dad. I’ll let mom know.”
Of course she’ll let Steph know. We raised good kids. And for that, I’m proud to call her my daughter.
After dropping off both Kyra and Cooper, I head back to the house.
Thinking about what day of the month it is, I’m blown away that Thanksgiving is next week.
And I haven’t even asked what Layla or my kids have planned.
Maybe I should host this year. Invite Layla and my kids.
Their mom, too. It’s time Layla meets Steph. Sitting in traffic, I hatch a plan.
Thanksgiving Day
I’m just taking the turkey from the oven, when the doorbell chimes. “Be right there!” Opening the door, I see Layla’s smiling face. “Come on in,” I tell her, getting her inside so she’s out of the cold.
“Thank you,” she says, eyeing me.
“What?”
She bites her lip and smiles. “You look good in that apron.”
I raise an eyebrow at her as I reach for her. “I’m glad you like it. I’ll try to wear it and nothing else next time.” Dropping my lips to hers, I show her much I mean it.
“Mmm,” she says against my lips. “I can’t wait to see that.”
Playfully, I swat her ass. “I need to get back in the kitchen. Let me take your coat.”
Layla shrugs it off, revealing a soft sweater, jeans, and heeled leather boots. And, of course, I notice. I’d have to be dead not to. “Damn, woman,” I say, whistling softly under my breath.
She blushes slightly, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. “And you’re sure it’s okay that I’m here? I don’t want to upset your ex.”
“It’s perfectly fine. As I’ve said before, Steph and I didn’t have a toxic divorce. We just fell out of love. We’ve moved on,” I tell her, giving her a quick peck on the cheek before walking towards the kitchen, Layla following me. “Wine?” I ask, reaching for a bottle of her favorite.
“Yes, please.”
Uncorking it, I pour her a healthy amount and hand it to her. “Have a seat at the bar. I need to finish a couple more things, then it should be all ready to go.”
She takes the wine and sits. It goes quiet between us as I busy myself with finishing cooking. I want to ask her about it, but I’m interrupted by the chiming of the doorbell.
“Do you want me to get that?” Layla asks.
I wave her off with an oven mitt-covered hand. “I’ll get it.” She nods, taking a sip of her wine.
Swinging open the front door, Steph and the kids are waiting, all huddled into their coats, their breaths coming out in plumes of white it’s so cold. “Happy Thanksgiving!”
“Happy Thanksgiving!” Kyra and Deacon both chime. Steph joins in, a little less enthusiastic.
“Come in. Everything is ready,” I tell them, ushering them inside, out of the cold. Kyra and Deacon step inside and shed their coats immediately, beckoned to the kitchen, the smell of food wafting through the house.
Steph comes inside last. It’s still a bit awkward between us. But it doesn’t have to be. We’ve both moved on. “Take your coat?” I ask Steph.
“Sure,” she replies, shrugging it off, handing it to me. I hang it up with everyone else’s.
I head back to the kitchen. And what I see next makes me slow my steps. Layla, now standing, is chatting with Kyra as Deacon raids the charcuterie board, unfazed. Stepping up to Layla, I put my arm behind her, resting on the barstool. “Layla, I see you met my kids, Kyra and Deacon.”
She nods, the wine glass still in her hands. “And this is Steph, their mom,” I say, motioning slightly towards Steph, who’s standing at the entrance of the kitchen.
“Nice to meet you,” Layla says.
“Likewise,” Steph replies.
“Would you like something to drink?” I ask Steph.
“Sure.”
“Any preference?”
“I’ll have what she’s having,” Steph says, motioning to the wine glass in Layla’s hand.
“Coming right up. The food is ready. Kyra and Deacon, please grab a dish and take it to the table.”
Both Kyra and Deacon do as they’re told and grab a dish or two and head to the dining room. I hand over a glass of wine to Steph and she then grabs a dish and follows Kyra and Deacon, leaving me and Layla in the kitchen.
“Okay?” I ask, coming over to her, rubbing her back gently. It’s never easy meeting an ex. Even if said ex isn’t vindictive and petty.
“I think so.”
I nod and pick up the turkey. “Head on in. I’ve got this.” Before I can even blink, she grabs the last dish and walks out. This woman. Grabbing the turkey, I follow.
When we’re finally all seated, I keep an old tradition alive. “Everybody, say grace!”
“Grace!” they all chime, all smiling and laughing. It works for us, what else can I say?
“Now, let’s dig in,” I call out, picking up a dish, passing it around. By the time everything has been passed around and I’ve doled out turkey, everyone’s plate is full.
“Kyra. Deacon. Catch me up. How is school? Kyra, how’s Cooper?” I ask, keeping the conversation light.
“School is school,” Deacon answers first, before stuffing his mouth with turkey and mashed potatoes.
“And baseball season?” I prod, trying to get more out of him. “Waiting patiently, I presume?”
He nods, stuffing his face again.
“And you?” I ask Kyra.
“Same as Deacon. School is school. I’m on track to have straight A’s this semester.”
Kyra is a smart cookie. So is Deacon. “And Cooper?”
“He’s fine. I asked him to come with me today, but he’s with his family.”
Huh, that’s the first time I’m hearing this. “Well, he’ll always be welcome here,” I tell her. Cooper seems like a good kid. And I trust Kyra to not date a total loser. I trust my kids’ judgement.
“And how about you, Steph. Everything going okay? Anything I need to know?”
Steph takes a sip of her wine before she answers. “Same as usual. Nothing new to report.”
I nod.
Steph takes another sip. “You look familiar,” she says to Layla.
Layla brushes her hair over her shoulder and shrugs. “I don’t think we’ve ever met.”
“Oh! I know what it is. I saw an article on the news a few years ago about up and comers in Chicago. You own a company that starts businesses and then sells them. Right?”
Layla smiles proudly. “Yes. LC Holdings.”
Steph nods, going back to eating, same as Kyra and Deacon.
Moving a hand to Layla’s jean-clad thigh, I give it a gentle squeeze. I’m proud of her, too. She glances over at me, then continues to eat. I do the same. And by the time we’re all done, everyone is stuffed to the gills.
“I think we’re going to head out,” Steph says.
“Thank you for coming,” I say, my arm around Layla’s waist. “And Deacon and Kyra?” I call out to my kids who are getting their coats on.
“Yes, Dad?”
“Don’t be strangers. Stop by next week, okay?”
“We will,” Kyra says, answering for the both of them.
“Bye,” I say to all of them, shutting the door behind them, leaving just me and Layla.
Turning to her, I tighten my arms around her waist, bringing her into my arms. “Thank you,” I murmur against her lips.
“For what?” she murmurs back.
“For being here. For meeting my kids and my ex. That couldn’t have been easy.”
She sighs. “It wasn’t that bad.”
“Good,” I reply, smiling against her lips. “Now, time for cleanup.”
She groans softly.
“Have more wine and put your feet up. I’ll take care of it,” I tell her, taking her hand and leading her to the kitchen.
She takes a seat and I pour her more wine. It won’t take me long to put the leftovers in the fridge and load the dishwasher. It’s boring, but it’s a small price to pay for having the people who mean the most to me sharing a special day. I wouldn’t have it any other way.
By the time I’m finished, Layla has finished her wine. “Another?” I ask.
“Yes, please,” she replies, her cheeks pink. “Join me?”
“Absolutely,” I tell her, pulling out a bottle of whiskey.
Highball glass and whiskey in hand, I walk over to her and gently pull her from her seat. “Let’s relax in front of the fire.”
We make ourselves comfortable, Layla in my arms, a roaring fire in front of us. “Today went well, I think,” I muse.
“I think so.”
I smile and kiss her hair, content. My head and my heart are finally on the same page.
“Have plans this weekend?” I ask.
“Not that I know of.”
“Spend it with me?” I ask, hopeful.
She smiles. “Yes. As long as you promise—”