Page 132 of Make the Play

Somehow, impossibly, he’s both my storm and safe place. My favorite kind of laugh and the quiet that follows. And I don’t know what to do with that revelation.

So, I do nothing.

There’s no time, because we have bedtime to survive.

Once we lovingly strong-arm them into their pajamas and sing a maniacal, off-key song about brushing teeth for longer than two seconds, Noah and Meadow are bundled up together for a bedtime story.

“Can Chase read it?” Meadow asks as I tuck her in.

“Why me?”

“Because you’re so funny,” she says sweetly.

He puffs up like a peacock. “Well, in that case…”

I roll my eyes as he launches into a story about a dinosaur in theworstAustralian accent I’ve ever heard. The kids are howling with laughter, but I’m not. I’m watching him.

Every emotional defense I’ve ever built is trying—and failing—not to buckle under the weight of him reading about dino dance parties while tucking the covers gently up around two very small humans.

Afterward, Noah’s eyes are wide and sleepy as he turns to me, delivering a question that will truly haunt me for at least a week.

“Are you and Uncle Chase gonna get married?”

I feel my soul leave my body, while Chase goes still beside me.

“What? No! No, we’re not—” I stammer, feeling my cheeks burn.

Chase leans back down to Noah’s level, his grin stretching. “What do you think, buddy? Should I marry her?”

Noah considers this for a second before shaking his head. “You don’t kiss enough.”

“Oh mygod.” I bury my face in my hands as Chase loses it beside me.

Meadow bolts upright. “OH MY GOD! If you get married, that means you’ll live together forever, and we’ll get to see you all the time, and maybe you’ll have a baby too—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Chase laughs, holding up both hands. “That escalated quickly.”

“Can I be the flower girl?” Meadow pleads, clasping her hands under her chin like a tiny Disney princess.

We look at each other for a split second, his expression all glee, mine pure panic.

“Of course you can, princess,” he says smoothly.

I make a choking noise and mumble a string of incomprehensible syllables that definitely don’t qualify as language.

Chase winks at me. “Don’t worry. I’ll wear a suit.”

And just like that, my brain short-circuits. Because now I’m picturing him at Eli and Tamara’s wedding—loose tie, smirking mouth, that smug little dimple—and how I let him ruin me in a hotel suite twenty minutes later.

“Okay!” I clap my hands a little too loudly. “Time for sleep. No more questions, existential or otherwise.”

As I tuck them in and kiss their heads, Chase whispers behind me, just loud enough for me to hear.

“For the record, I’d totally let you choose the venue.”

I turn slowly. “You’re going to die in your sleep tonight.”

He just grins. “Worth it.”

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