Chapter 37
Steph
Steph
Okay, let’s do it
Riley
Does that mean what I think it does?
Steph
Fortune favors the brave, right?
Riley
Don’t think I don’t appreciate how scary this is for you. It'll be alright.
Thank you, Sunshine <3
The knock comes as I’m reaching to level the art on the living room wall which I’ve only just noticed is hanging crookedly.
Sucking in a sharp breath, I spin around to face my boys, eyes going wide.
I point anxiously at Alex and then Matt, who’ve both been watching me putter around and adjust things that don’t actually need adjusting from the couch with amusement.
He’s here.
“Relax, Mom,” Matty says with an indulgent smile. “We already promised to be nice to the guy.” Alex rolls his eyes but nods in agreement.
Today, Riley is coming for dinner. Actually, he’s cooking us dinner, determined to show off the supposed kitchen skills I’ve been hearing about for months now.
The visit is long overdue, and I’m a bundle of nerves.
A lot is riding on this. What happens today will likely set the tone for things moving forward, and hopefully, when the time comes for us to reveal our secret to the boys, it’ll ease the transition and cushion their shock because they’ll already have gotten to know and accept him.
I move towards the door, shaking my hands at my sides in an effort to dispel some of my jittery energy.
Straightening my shoulders, I plaster on a smile as I open it, only to have it fade, and my breath catch in my throat as I take him in.
My eyes rove greedily over his tall form, from the top down and then back up again, more slowly this time so I might savor it—steal for myself this small moment of pleasure before the stress of this day sets in once more.
I note he’s replaced his usual worn boots with a new pair of dark sneakers, then follow the long lines of his legs up to thick thighs I feel certain will strain deliciously against his dark jeans when he walks.
Rising further still, I take in the simple cream Henley, the sleeves pulled up—an intentional choice, no doubt—to reveal strong, tattooed forearms that I never can seem to get enough of.
Soft fabric fits snuggly over firm biceps, broad shoulders, and conforms to his muscular chest in a way that has my hands itching to run them all over it.
He’s left the buttons open at his throat, revealing a hint of dark hair and still more of the colorful markings hidden beneath.
I lick my lips as I finally meet his eyes …
but what I see there has my heated body cooling in an instant as I suddenly remember why he’s here.
Right.
Riley offers me a slightly awkward smile, anxiety warring with determination on his handsome face.
Ironically, the sight of it serves to settle some of my own nerves as he leans in and gives me a quick peck on the lips.
He has as much riding on this as I do—probably even more so as he’s desperate to make up for the lost time with his son.
“Hi, Sunshine,” he whispers, glancing over my shoulder in search of my sons.
“Come on in,” I say. “They’re in the living room.”
I get another quick kiss once he’s crossed the threshold, and gesture for him to follow me down the hall, unable to resist the quiet giggle that spills from me when he breathes deep and squares his shoulders, mirroring my own actions only minutes before.
The boys get to their feet when we join them, and I make re-introductions.
Pride swells as Matty steps forward and extends a hand, but it’s followed swiftly by a barrage of other emotions as I watch father and son shake for the first time.
There’s joy … and hope, for what they might become in the future, but there’s also shame for having kept this secret for so long—for having kept them apart.
And then there’s grief. Sadness. A longing for what might have been.
What could have been if things had been different.
Lastly, as always, there’s the fear. The one overarching emotion that continues to overshadow my—our—second chance at love. At happiness.
Riley stares down at Matt with a slightly awed expression, holding onto his hand for longer than is strictly appropriate. My son clears his throat as he deftly extricates himself from the hold and gestures at the bags in Riley’s other hand.
“Watcha got there?”
Riley blushes, slightly flustered, and my chest warms. “Oh, uh, I come bearing gifts.” He chuckles, holding up the bags and passing one to Matt.
“It’s for both of you. And this,” he turns to me, pulling a gorgeous bouquet from another bag, “is for you.” It’s a delicate assortment of ranunculus, cosmos, and sweet peas, paired with sprigs of greenery.
“Oh,” I breathe, accepting the arrangement and bringing it up to my nose to take in the fresh floral scent. “You remembered.”
“Course,” he smiles softly. “You love ranunculus.”
“Never had much luck growing them.”
He huffs an amused breath. “I remember that, too.”
Alex snorts, reminding us we have an audience. “You don’t garden,” he says, sounding almost accusatory.
“I used to,” I counter, keeping my voice light. “When I had the time.”
“Your mother kept your grandparents’ yard in tip-top shape back in the day. She would cut fresh flowers for their table every week in the spring and summer.”
“It’s a very relaxing hobby,” I add, sighing wistfully.
“Maybe one day you can get back to it.”
I bite my lip and nod, thinking of the other passions and hobbies that have fallen away over the years.
Volunteering at the shelter. Earth warriors.
“Maybe.” Turning to the boys, I ask, “What did you get?” as Matty pulls a collection of video games from the bag.
His smile is wide as he shuffles through the boxes.
“Trying to buy us off,” Alex murmurs. I swear this kid will not make anything easy for us.
“Nice,” Matty says, glancing up at us with an approving smirk.
Riley runs his hands through his hair and chuckles self-consciously. “Is it working?”
Matt makes a show of rubbing his chin, his expression thoughtful, before turning to his brother. “I’m thinking we go on a points system, what do you think?”
Alex, who’s been generally more reticent about my relationship with Riley, but has nonetheless reassured me he’s happy for us, grins devilishly. “I like it. What do you say … five points? One for each game?”
Matty nods his agreement just as Riley scoffs.
“Out of how many?” he asks.
The boys turn to each other, sharing a smug smile before answering simultaneously with “One hundred.”
“I guess it’s a start,” Riley grumbles, but I catch the glimpse of delight in his eyes a second before he turns away, and I know he’s counting this first interaction as a win.
We leave Matt and Alex to try out their new games and move into the kitchen, where Riley unpacks the rest of his bags, setting groceries out on the counter.
“You didn’t have to do this, you know. I was prepared to make something. Or we could have ordered in.”
“I want to,” he says softly, as he moves around my kitchen, opening drawers and cabinets, familiarizing himself with the layout. He puts several items away in the fridge, including what looks to be a mouthwatering pie I know the boys will love. “Need to prove to you I can, in fact, cook.”
I raise an eyebrow, and he shrugs.
“You seemed doubtful of my claim.”
“Do I need to bring up the egg salad incident again?”
He laughs. “I’ll never live that one down, will I?”
I grin, leaning on the counter. “Nope. But I’m willing to keep an open mind.”
“Good.”
“What are you making?”
“Fried chicken, mashed potatoes with gravy, and some roasted veggies to keep your mom-heart happy.”
“Sounds amazing, can I help?”
“You can sit right here,” he says, pausing what he’s doing to take me by the hips and guide me over to the table. “I don’t want you lifting a finger.”
“But—”
“No buts,” he says, cutting me off. He pulls out a chair for me and pushes me down into it with a gentle pressure on my shoulders, then returns to the counter, pulling a bottle of red wine from his seemingly never-ending bag of treats. “Corkscrew?”
I go to stand, but he holds a hand up to stop me, his smile gentle. “Just tell me where it is, Sunshine.”
I point to a drawer by the fridge, watching as he moves smoothly around my kitchen, uncorking the wine, pulling a stemless glass down from the top shelf of my cabinet, and pouring me a generous glass. He sets it down before me on the table. “Piper told me this is one you like.”
“Thank you,” I murmur, taking the glass in my hands and spinning it in place on the table.
“What’s wrong?”
“It feels weird having you wait on me.”
“It’s just like when you visit me at the bar.”
“Yeah, but that’s your job. This is different.”
He crouches next to me at the table, reaching out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear. His hand lingers, his thumb smoothing lightly over my jaw before tilting my face to meet his eyes.
“You’re right,” he agrees. “It is different. I’m doing this because I want to. And because you deserve it and so much more. I want to take care of you, Steph. You and the boys. Please let me do that.”
“Okay,” I breathe, casting my eyes around the kitchen. They land on the bouquet I’d set down when we came in. “I just need to—”
“I’ll do it,” he cuts me off once more, having followed my gaze and guessed what I was about to say. “Just point me in the direction of a vase.”
I do, and watch in amusement as he takes great care trimming and arranging the stems.
“Still feels weird,” I comment as he places it in the center of the table.
“You’ll get used to it.” He shoots me a grin and turns back to his prep work at the counter.
I sip my wine while he peels and chops veggies, setting the oven on to preheat and arranging pots on the stove. He tells me about Ida, the owner of a diner he worked at in South Carolina, and the woman who taught him everything he knows in the kitchen.