Page 26 of Forgotten Romance

That part is true. I might be dying over the biggest set I’ve ever built being ruined, but Mack didn’t do it on purpose. In fact, he’s been doing everything he could to look after it for me.

I can only imagine how he feels.

I help him to his feet, hating the horrified expression on his face.

“I’ll … I’ll fix it,” I say. “It will be fine.”

Mack hauls me into a hug. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

He squeezes me against him, and I wrap my arms around his waist, face pressed into his shoulder. Maybe it makes me a horrible person, but fuck. It’s kind of hard to care about LEGO when Mack’s holding me like this. My freak-out can come later.

Right now, being in his arms, I’d sacrifice twenty Millennium Falcons to have this again.

DMC GROUP CHAT

Mack: I’ll be offline most of the weekend. We’re going camping, yay!

Griff: When you say camping, tell me this is a euphemism for something?

Keller: What exactly would that be a euphemism for?

Art: Pitching tents.

Orson: That feels like a reach.

Payne: Maybe he’s camping out in Davey’s pants?

Orson: I don’t think any of you know how a euphemism works.

Griff: I’m more concerned about the fact Mack hasn’t answered.

Keller: There’s no way he’d be really camping. It’s winter!

Art: Have you met Mack?

Payne: Well, this is concerning.

8

Mack

The snowfall isn’t a great sign. I glare at it as I struggle to stuff the camping equipment away in the back of the car. It’s all brand-new since life in the wilderness isn’t exactly high on Davey’s and my to-do list, but that’s okay. This is going to be great.

Though, the snow does mean there’s unlikely to be any swimming … or lizards …

Fuck. Okay. Pivot.

Fire. We can do fire. And s’mores—everyone loves those. I scuff a hand over my short hair, ignoring the way my heart is beating rapidly. This is all okay, it’s going to be fine. Not only do we need to have the type of magical weekend where Davey swallows his tongue over being reminded how much he loves us more than work, but I also really, really need to give him something to make him forget last week’s LEGO incident.

I still can’t believe that happened. It was the exact opposite of what I’m trying to do here, and even though Davey told me it was fine and we scooped up all the pieces together into a box, there was tension around his eyes that’s only there when he’s holding everything in.

I don’t want him to hold everything in. I want him to be happy.

Davey crosses the snow-sprinkled yard, carrying Van while Kiera kicks at the white frost behind him.

“Are we, uh …” He catches sight of the tent. “Ready to go?”

“Sure are!” I up my grin a notch and scoop a squealing Kiera off the ground before rounding the car to buckle her in. This is going to be great. So great.

---