Chapter 37 #2
“She smoked a pack of cigarettes a day, refused to wear a hairnet—‘her establishment, her rules’, she always said—and she was grouchy as shit. But man,” he shakes his head with a fond smile, his eyes going distant at the memory. “That woman could cook.”
Once the potatoes are set to boil and the other veggies are seasoned and roasting in the oven, he gets to dredging the chicken, making a point to hide the spices he uses, claiming he promised Ida he’d take the recipe to his grave.
Once the chicken is breaded, he moves back to the stove, testing the oil by flicking a drop of water off his hand into the pan.
It sizzles, announcing its readiness, and he places the first pieces in to fry.
“Do you think it went okay back there?” he asks, turning to face me and gesturing towards the living room.
“With the boys, I mean. I’m sorry about the games.
I should have asked you first. I swear I wasn’t actually trying to buy their acceptance, but …
okay,” he shrugs, biting his lip uncertainly.
“Maybe I was a little bit. I mean, I figured it couldn’t hurt. But maybe it—”
My giggle cuts him off, and he narrows his eyes at me. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he was blushing.
I set my glass down on the table and rise to join him by the stove. “It was good,” I reassure him, placing a hand on his chest.
“Yeah?” His eyes light up with hope.
“Yeah. It’s a good start.”
His arms come around me, and he leans his chin on my head. “Why are you suddenly so calm about this?”
I huff out a breath against his chest, turning my face to answer him. “I wouldn’t necessarily say calm, but it’s like that time at the library when I busted you spying on me.”
His chest rumbles with his deep chuckle, causing me to melt further into his embrace. “Wasn’t spying,” he murmurs, but I shake my head.
“Something about seeing you anxious … it makes me want to soothe you. It … like … snaps me out of my own spiral, I guess, so I can be there for you. It somehow gives me strength.”
He’s silent for a long moment, but when he speaks again, I hear the satisfaction in his voice. “That almost sounds like a real partnership, Sunshine.”
“I guess it does,” I agree.
“We lean on each other,” he declares, tightening his arms around me. “I’ll be strong for you when you need me to be, and you do the same for me. Sound good?”
“Sounds really good.”
“This chicken is the shit.”
“Matty!”
“Sorry, Mom, but it’s like … so good.”
“Mm-hmm,” Alex agrees, as he gnaws on a leg bone. He finishes and swallows, dropping the bone to his plate and reaching for a wing with his still-greasy hand. “Never had such fluffy mashed potatoes either.”
Riley leans back in his chair, his smile wide and eyes shining as he watches my boys thoroughly enjoying the meal he prepared.
I’ve been hyper-aware of where his hand rests on my thigh throughout this dinner, worried Matt or Alex would notice and take issue, but I can’t help but smile when he squeezes my leg in his excitement.
“Whipped ‘em with lots of milk and butter. Does this get me some more points?”
“Fifteen, easy,” Matty says, before shoveling a forkful of the roasted vegetables into his mouth. “I even—”
“Don’t speak with your mouth full,” I interject.
He shoots me an apologetic smile and swallows. “I even like these carrots.”
“Glad to hear it,” Riley says, his eyes finding mine, happiness and so much promise radiating from his face. “So what do I get when I reach a hundred points?”
“You get to date our mom,” Matt says.
“Thought I already was.”
Alex rolls his eyes. “Well, you get to do it with our blessing.”
“Don’t we already have that?” I ask, sitting up and looking at my son in alarm.
“You have that,” he tells me. “He’s still TBD.”
“Do we need to talk about your intentions?” Matty leans forward, his tone only mildly joking, but Riley just chuckles, unfazed.
“They’re sincere,” he promises, meeting Matt’s gaze.
“Good.”
Turning back to Alex, Riley asks, “Will banana cream pie help my case any further?”
“Fuck yeah,” Matty exclaims, sitting up straighter while Alex nods enthusiastically.
“Matt!” I snap again, and he shoots me a sheepish smile.
Riley glances at me with his own faint smile and squeezes my thigh once more. “I made it fresh this morning.”
Matt leans forward, eyes lighting up. “No shi—” he starts, but catches himself this time. “No way,” he continues. “It’s homemade?”
“Yep. Your mom said it was your favorite.”
“Well,” Matt says, exchanging a glance with Alex. “That just might bump you up another fifteen.”
Talk soon turns to Alex’s music, then to Riley’s winning basketball record at the high school and the champion pennant that still hangs in the gym.
Finally, it moves to football, and Matty’s position on the team, leading eventually to the boys challenging Riley to throw the ball around with them in the backyard.
I sit on the back deck, nursing my second glass of wine, while I watch the three of them run around.
My face hurts from how hard I’ve been smiling.
But never mind me, Riley’s grin is ear-to-ear.
The boys heckle him when he throws the ball, teasing that his fancy ‘baller’ skills don’t translate to the pigskin …
that he’s an old man … that his arm’s not cut out for distance, and all the while he laughs.
He laughs, and he cheers Alex on for an excellent interception.
He champions Matty’s footwork and several difficult catches.
He has fun.
So do the boys.
And it melts my heart and fills me with so much optimism, I think I might burst. Could this, somehow, be an auspicious beginning and not the disaster I’d feared?
“Go long,” Matty shouts, calling my attention back to their game as he winds up and releases a perfect spiral, the ball sailing smoothly over Alex’s head on a clear trajectory towards the top of the fence—and my grouchy neighbor’s yard.
If we lose the ball, it will mean the end of today’s fun, for old Mr. Brady hoards any lost items out of spite.
Riley takes three long strides then launches himself into the air right in front of the fence, his long arms reaching for it … reaching …
His shirt rises with the movement, revealing toned abs and a tantalizing trail of dark hair leading below his waistband.
It happens fast, only a short tease of the ridge of muscle, the dips and valleys I ran my tongue over just the other night, but it’s enough to have my heart rate spiking at the sight—at the memory.
He makes the catch, Matt and Alex both cheering and rushing over to pat him on the back.
I can’t help smiling, knowing how pleased he must be with this result, with this successful bonding moment with them.
With his son. Yet when I glance back, his focus has shifted to me.
Near-silver eyes stare boldly back at me as though he’d felt my gaze upon him …
and the moment it had shifted from amusement to desire.
And maybe he did. Maybe he could.
Maybe he feels my eyes on him the way I sometimes feel his.
A prickling awareness, like the brush of a hand over heated skin, a soft caress as every nerve ending stands at attention.
Speaking of heated skin, I feel the flush rapidly spreading, now, the longer he holds my stare.
His jaw flexes, and even from this distance, I can see the way those pale eyes darken with want.
Need. My stomach always does a little flip when he looks at me like that, and this time is no different.
Then … he winks.
The bastard winks before turning back to the boys and speaking to them in low tones. I catch the tail end of his quip about still having some jump left in him, and then he’s jogging up the deck to join me while Matt and Alex resume throwing around the ball.
“Feeling a little warm, Sunshine?” he teases, as he takes the seat beside me with a smug tilt to his lips. He runs a finger along my jaw and down the line of my neck, no doubt tracing my lingering blush.
I make a humming noise in response, keeping my gaze averted and pulling a pleased chuckle from him before he settles back in his chair. We watch the boys in comfortable silence for a while before he lets out a deep and contented sigh.
“I’m almost at sixty points now,” he murmurs as I glance over at him, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
I huff out a laugh. “Good for you.”
There’s a long pause, and then he says, “Thank you.”
His voice cracks with emotion, causing my eyes to fly to his, only to find them shimmering with vulnerability and hope.
“Thank you,” he repeats, then clears his throat. “For today. I know it wasn’t easy for you, but I want you to know how much I appreciate this chance you’re giving me. I hope I haven’t let you down.”
“You haven’t,” I reply softly.
“So you still think it’s going well?”
“I do.”