Page 20 of Autumn be His Wife
8
Piper
Thankfully, we’re both dressed when Eli comes barreling into the room. As he flips onto the bed, Dusty groans as he’s woken up by an attack.
It’s a little embarrassing how exhausted we are. Then again, we did stay up too late at night when one round wasn’t enough.
Dusty might have quite a few years on me, but he definitely has more energy than I do.
Moving to sit up, I blink the sleep from my eyes and try to leave the bed before the chaos starts. Before I can get up, fingers are tickling my back. One look over my shoulder and I can see it’s Dusty, a look of pleading in his eyes.
“I should go make breakfast.” The excuse is perfect up until Eli whips his head toward me. “You don’t have to do that! I made breakfast!”
Dusty doesn’t bother hiding his sigh as he drifts his hand to his face.
“What did you make us?” he asks, already dreading the answer. It’s almost like he’s already experienced something like this before.
“Peanut butter toast!” All too enthusiastic, he hops off the bed and rushes toward the door. “Put cinnamon sugar on it too, just how you like it!”
When he looks my way, a smile forms out of habit. He tells me he made mine just like his Dad’s. Once he demands we get up and disappears, there’s a groan next to me.
“We got ants the last time he made breakfast.” Dusty sighs and gets up. “Well, let’s go enjoy his attempt. Whatever you do, even if it’s thick like sand, try to enjoy it. I hope we still have milk…”
With a laugh bubbling up, I follow behind him, purposely stepping close enough to brush up against him. Touching him is going to become addictive, and it’s going to take a while to get used to this.
Turns out, Eli’s already poured us milk too, assuming we’d want it. There are only a few drops on the table surrounding the cups, and Dusty’s impressed.
The toast is, as predicted, a bit of a disaster. The peanut butter is applied with the heavy hand of an eight-year-old artist, and the cinnamon sugar forms gritty, sweet dunes on top. But the milk is cold, which Dusty counts as a roaring success.
We eat at the small kitchen table, Eli chattering a mile a minute about a dream he’s had involving a dragon and a skateboard.
I watch them, my chest feeling too full. Dusty listens along, nodding thoughtfully, asking questions about the dragon’s color and whether it could do kickflips. He’s a good dad. The best I’ve ever seen.
As the chaotic energy of the meal begins to settle and Eli focuses on chasing the last crunchy, sugary bits around his platewith his finger, Dusty clears his throat. He takes a slow drink of milk, his eyes meeting mine over the rim of the glass, a silent question in them. I give him a slight, encouraging nod. We talked about this in the hazy, quiet moments before sleep last night.
He sets his glass down. “Hey, Eli?”
“Yeah, Dad?” Eli looks up, his face sticky.
“You know how Piper’s been hanging out with us?”
Eli’s shoulders immediately hunch up toward his ears, a defensive gesture I’m surprised to see.
“Is she already leaving?” The excitement from seconds ago is gone, replaced by a tiny, worried frown.
“No, bud. That’s not it.” Dusty’s voice is gentle, steady. “I was thinking… What if she didn’t have to stay in your room anymore? What if she just… stayed? With us.”
Eli blinks, processing. “Like… forever?”
“Yeah, son.” His smile softens. “Like forever.”
Eli’s gaze flicks between the two of us, his little brow furrowed in thought. The silence stretches for a beat too long, and I feel my heart thump nervously against my ribs. Then, his eyes light up.
“So she’d sleep inyourroom?” he asks, a grin spreading across his face.
Dusty chuckles, a low, warm sound. “Yeah, she’d sleep in my room.” He leans forward conspiratorially. “Turns out she snores just as bad as I do. It’s almost like we’re meant for each other.”
Eli giggles, a bright, happy sound that fills the whole kitchen. “Really?”
