Page 28 of Everywhere You Look

I can’t decide if I should feel relieved or humiliated that Dean feels this sudden awkward tension as well. I shrug.

“It's a little weird. I mean, we just got married. I think that even the happiest couples must feel a little strange after they say ‘I do’, right?”

I try my best to give off an air of nonchalance, but I don’t think I could be less nonchalant if I tried. I think we both know that most couples who are fresh from the altar are either too busy getting to the party or…well—getting busy—to think about how strange the sudden shift in dynamic feels.

It’s weird, when I showed up here this morning and Dean was freaking out, it made me feel unusually zen. Almost like I knew that if he was losing it, I needed to be level-headed enough to get us in the door and down the aisle. It was an unexpected flip in our dynamic. Usually, Dean is the one always needing to play the calm to my chaos.

“Yeah, you’re probably right. Hey, what did James stick in your pocket before he left?” Dean asks, his eyes flicking down to the lapel of my suit. Damn, I was so wrapped up in the simmering awkwardnessand the memories of that mind-altering kiss that I already forgot about James’s gift—and the way he totally caught on to my swooning over Dean. I reach into my pocket and pull out the envelope and open it up.

Inside I find a check with ‘To Love’s Eternal Glory’ written in the memo line. It’s a ridiculous amount of money—almost as much as I made during my rookie year in the league and definitely more than is expected for a marriage of convenience gift—and a handwritten note accompanied by two clearly Photoshopped plane tickets that read “Adler Airlines”.

“Holy fucking shit that’s a lot of money. Does James think we’re poor or something?” Dean asks as he peers down at the check from over my shoulder. He snatches the note from my hand and reads it out loud.

“‘To the happy couple—please enjoy this donation to the “Keep Gigi’s kids” legal fund, as well as one week of free babysitting, an all expenses paid trip on our private jet to our private island in French Polynesia to celebrate your honeymoon. This offer is redeemable at any time, but is not transferable. That means Kira. Kira is not allowed on my plane. She knows why. Love, James, Georgie, and our gremlinchildren.’ Well, shit. I wonder what Kira did to get banned from the private jet.”

“Knowing your sister, it could be literally anything. Probably some kind of prank, like leaving an open can of tuna under a seat.”

“Nah, she’s more creative than that. She probably glitter bombed an overhead compartment or had the flight crew switch out chocolate chip cookies for oatmeal raisin or something. But damn, dude. This is quite a fucking gift. It almost makes me feel bad that this whole thing is kind of fake.”

I don’t love the way acid burns in my chest at the word ‘fake’. I know it’s not technically incorrect, but it’s not the truth either. Dean and I are married. We made vows to each other, vows we both plan to upkeep. It doesn’t feel fake.

But still, ‘fake’ and ‘marriage of convenience’ feels better than Bro-husbands, and that’s the best I could come up with, so I shouldn’t complain.

“Yeah, I guess that’s the benefit of having billionaires in our circle of friends,” I say with a forced laugh.

“True. Not only do we get over-the-top wedding gifts and access to sick-as-hell vacations, we also know where our next meal will be coming from when the working class finally rises up to eat the bourgeoisie,” Dean laughs, then wraps an armaround my shoulder. “C’mon, it’s early yet. I say we go to the store and pick up some food, then take the girls for a picnic in the park. We gotta tell them about us sooner or later, and I have a feeling the whole thing might be easier when there’s peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and fruit punch involved.”

Half an hour later, we’re unloading bags full of snacks and sandwich fixings from the trunk of an Uber parked at the curb when Lemmie and Mellie come bounding down the front steps of Kira and Warren’s house.

“Uncle Lukey!” They shriek, throwing themselves at my legs and wrapping around my calves. My chest warms as I glance down at the two little pig-tailed blondes—who look so much like their mother that it makes my heart ache—squeezing me tight. Fuck. It’s only been a few hours since I last saw them, but I missed the hell out of these kids.

“Well hello there, ladies. How was your morning with Mr. Warren?”

“Me and Mellie and Cami made a slip and slide with Miss Kira’s yoga mats and soap in the attic. Mr. Warren said so many curse words!” Lemmie says.

“We made a fortune! Mr. Warren had to put so much money in our swear jar that he says you don’t have to worry about our college tuition anymore!” Mellie beams, and I look up to seeWarren standing in the entryway of his pink Victorian style home, Ollie on his hip and his own daughter at his feet.

“Daddy slipped on his butt and now Lemmie and Mellie can afford to go to Harvard!” Cami calls out, and Dean slaps a hand over his face to cover his laugh.

“Please tell me you’re taking your children home for the day?” Warren calls out as I transfer the twins from my legs to Dean’s. I jog up the steps, taking them two at a time to retrieve Ollie.

“Looks like Kira’s plan to give you a dose of reality worked?” I chuckle as he passes my baby over. She looks like she just woke up from a nap, and when I hold her to my chest, she curls her tiny fists into the fabric of my shirt and nuzzles her face into me.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if my pest of a wife planted the slip-and-slide idea in the kid’s heads just to mess with me. My ass will be bruised for a month.”

I pop inside the house to retrieve the girls’ overnight bags, as well as Ollie’s diaper bag and stroller. When I come back outside, Lem and Mel have Dean down on all fours on the sidewalk while they straddle his back like cowgirls on a horse.

“Uncle Lukey! Dean said we’re having a picnic!”Lemmie says, giggling when Dean makes a neighing noise and bucks.

“We sure are, chickadees. Who wants to help me get Ollie strapped into her stroller so we can go to the park?” I ask, and the girls practically bounce off of Dean’s back and over to me. For some reason, the twins absolutely love buckling Ollie into things. Her bouncy chair, her car seat, her stroller, it doesn’t matter. I always double check their work to make sure Ollie is safe, but I like that Lem and Mel like to help. I think it bodes well for their teenage years. Hopefully we’ll be able to rely on them for babysitting.

Briefly, an image of Dean sitting across from me in a romantic restaurant flashes before me. His hair and beard are speckled with distinguished grays, and his hand is on my knee under the table, teasing me in featherlight strokes—a promise of what’s to come later.

But I shut it down quickly. We’ve been married less than an hour, I can’t let myself dive head first into the delusion that maybe this relationship will be something more than friends helping each other out already.

Dean mouths a silent ‘thank you’ and groans as he pushes up to his knees, and once we’ve got Olliesettled, we head to Alamo Square Park with our bags of goodies in hand.

“Peanut butterand jelly is my favorite!”

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