Page 9 of Liam

It had taken weeks for Noah and Brody to build trust and encourage Rowan to view their house as his home. Angela, at twenty, wasn't much older than Rowan, but Noah and Brody felt better with an adult in the house. They weren't comfortable leaving Rowan in charge yet.

Rowan had his wild moments. Drinking, drugging, and staying out until all hours. He'd promised me he wouldn't put me through that while I was staying with them. Time would tell.

Absorbed in picking what they were going to watch, I slipped out of the house without notice. One thing I had observed when minding kids … you were essentially invisible unless you made an effort to connect. Cooking, cleaning, and laundry all happened magically in a kid's eyes.

The times I'd picked them up at school, their attention had immediately been glued to their cell screens. I'd taken to playing obnoxious pop music and singing loudly to get their attention.

At home, I had rules. The same as Noah and Brody had. No electronic gadgets at the table, the only place we ate dinner.And everyone had to share something about their day to be commented on by everyone present. Every one of us took a turn and contributed.

Over time, the kids had warmed to the tradition. There had been a massive transformation in the interactions of their family. The kids were happy and seemed to feel heard and loved.

A small ache formed in my chest as I walked into theLion and Pheasant. I discounted it as heartburn even though I knew it wasn't. I would've been happy to curl up on the couch and watch a movie with my noodles tonight. But I had plenty of nights ahead to do that. Noah had given me a paid week off so I could dedicate my time to caring for their family.

Ethan looked giddy as I approached. He leapt up and wrapped his arms around me.

"I have news," he said.

"You always have news," Owen replied and looked at me. "He's bursting."

Ethan bounced away from me and took a seat facing the opening in the snug. They each had a pint of some kind of amber ale in front of them. I went to the bar, poured myself a glass of ice water, and headed back to occupy my usual spot.

"Okay," I said. "Spill, Ethan."

His eyes widened. "Paddles."

"Like for rowing?" Owen responded.

Ethan rolled his eyes. "God, you're boring, Owen."

"You like me boring."

"Please." Ethan tsked. "I'm not talking about kayaking."

"His hands weren't good enough?" I said, guessing exactly what Ethan was talking about.

"I love his hands just fine. But the burn of paddles … oh, my god … yummy."

Owen shook his head and took a long sip of his beer.

"Whatever makes our Ethan happy." I grinned. "Right, Owen?"

"Sure." He didn't sound convinced.

"What about your week?" I asked Owen. "Found Mr. Right yet?"

"No. A whole lot of Mr. Wrong last night."

"What happened?"

Owen sighed. "Guy shows up. Lookswayolder than his profile picture, so I call him on it. I bring up his photo and ask him when the picture was taken. Like twenty years ago, or what?"

"This is a good one," Ethan said and smirked.

Owen spun his glass on the table. "The guy admitted he'd used a photo of his son."

Oh, my God.

I groaned. That was terrible. Who did something like that?

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