Page 113 of Monochrome Without You
Another reason—maybe the biggest reason—why I want to make this work with Jules. I want my son under my roof every night. I want all of us under one roof again.
“I’m gonna go check on Yuri!” Tate exclaims, already wriggling out of my arms and running toward the stairs.
“I fed him this morning,” I call after him with a grin as I stand. “So, he should be full and happy.”
Jules watches him go, her lips tugging into a smile, but when her gaze shifts back to mine, there’s a softness there that steals my breath all over again.
She scrunches her nose, playful and skeptical. “Do I want to know what you fed him?”
I laugh under my breath and shake my head. “You really don’t want to know,” I say as I glance toward the staircase to make sure Tate’s out of earshot.
Then, before I can think better of it, I cup her cheek, my thumb grazing her skin as I lean in to kiss her. She melts into me, her palm resting against my chest like it belongs there, and maybe it does. I keep the kiss soft, slow, but it takes everything in me to pull back.
Wednesdays are about Tate.
Her lips curve as she lets out a quiet sigh, her hand trailing down my arm until her pinky loops with mine. The smallest touch, but it feels like everything.
“Dinner smells amazing,” she murmurs, her eyes searching mine like she’s trying to memorize the moment.
“I made one of your favorites,” I say as I lead her into the kitchen, brushing my hand along hers, reluctant to let her go.
She tilts her head, grinning. “Street tacos?”
I smile as I head toward the stove. “With that green sauce you like,” I add, glancing back to see her beaming.
Her smile grows softer, her eyes shining with something that looks a lot like affection. “How do you remember the smallest details?”
I grab the tray of tacos and look over my shoulder at her. “When it comes to you, Jules, I remember almost everything.”
She leans against the counter, crossing her arms with a playful glint in her eye. “Almost?” she teases, arching a brow.
I chuckle, stepping closer, lowering my voice. “Guess you’ll have to stick around to find out what I’ve forgotten.”
Her breath hitches just slightly—enough for me to notice—and in that moment, I know I’m not the only one remembering everything.
We sit down at the table, but Tate is unusually quiet, pushing food around on his plate, eyes downcast. Jules and I trade glances as we pepper him with questions.
“How was school?” I try.
“Anything fun coming up for Thanksgiving break?” Jules adds.
“Want to do something special?” I offer.
But all we get in return are vague, one-word answers. It's not like Tate to be this withdrawn, and I can see it’s wearing on Jules, too.
Finally, Jules sets her fork down with a soft clink and sighs. “Tate, what’s going on? Why are you so quiet tonight?”
He glances at me, and I can see a storm brewing in his blue eyes, so much like his mom’s.
“I don’t know if I want to say,” he mumbles.
“Why not?” I ask, my chest tightening.
Tate exhales hard and pushes his plate away. “I think Mom had a boy over.”
The air leaves the room. Jules’ eyes fly to mine, wide and panicked.
“What are you talking about, bud?” she asks carefully.
