Page 104 of Your Last First Kiss
How do you argue with that face? Or with Dillon’s every time one of them calls him Dewey?
Dillon must think the same thing because he ruffles my little guy’s hair, then places a heavy hand on his shoulder. “Let’s try harder to remember, okay? Your mom wants to keep you safe.”
“Yes, sir,” Gage murmurs, and my eyes go wide.
“Sir?” I mouth to Dillon as Gage runs off again. This time Dillon flashes a devastating smile.
“Guess my Southern charm is rubbing off on him a little after all.” His eyes flick back and forth between mine. It’s like every word he’s thinking is projected through hazel irises that look me in one eye, then the other, and back again at a rapid pace.
His eyes are saying he wants to kiss me. Devour me. Savor me. He purses his lips, and mine part on a breathy exhale. That’s exactly what he’s thinking. His heaving chest and flexing fingers tell me all I need to know about his tightly held self-control.
I have to have a talk with Kai. Soon. Landon and Gage are younger, and I’m not even sure they would care if I were dating someone. They don’t have as many memories as Kai does. But Kai. Ugh! My heart hammers against my chest.
Dillon looks around at the piles of shoes on the floor. I’ve noticed he does this every time he walks in, and shame makes my shoulders tense.
Why didn’t I think to clean up? I knew he was coming. Gage was right. He’s shown up every single night right at six thirty.
“D—” The words get caught in my throat, so I cough to clear it. “Does the mess bother you?” I stare at the floor, unable to meet his eyes.
That was a huge mistake. Because there’s a pile of dirty socks in the corner, and oh, God. There’s even one hanging from the ceiling fan when I look up. Gage! He’s started using them as slingshots.
I avert my gaze and hope he doesn’t look up, but then I find individual packets of Cheez-Its, open and spilling onto the floor under Landon’s backpack. I turn quickly and put my back to it, only to find a handful of Nerf darts scattered across the bottom stair.
This is my life.
His heat leaches into my back, and his deep inhale in my hair wills me to turn around.
“There’s not a single thing here that bothers me.” His words are so soft I can barely hear him, but he’s close enough to smell the minty freshness of his toothpaste.
I lift my face to his, and my tummy does the excited flip that only he can cause.
“I like the piles of shoes,” he rumbles. “I don’t know what it is about them, but it makes this feel like a home to me. It’s always just been my shoes. One or two pairs. But these?” He gestures to the pile of cleats, sneakers, boots, and slippers scattered beside the front door. “These look like happy dinners and loud nights. Busy car pools and exhausted but beautiful moms. When I take my shoes off here and place them with the pile, it gives me something I didn’t know was missing.”
My eyes sting as I ask, “What’s missing?”
He drops his forehead to mine before answering. “You. Your kids. This place. It’s home and love, and everything I never knew I wanted.”
I drag in a ragged breath, and he pulls back to give me space. I want to answer with something as special, something worthy of the truths he keeps laying at my feet, but my mind is blank. All I have is this feeling deep in my chest that’s screaming at me to listen. To listen with my whole heart. To tell him that he’s home.
But before I can find my courage, Gage slide-tackles Dillon’s legs and nearly takes him out.
“Gage!” I yell, just as Dillon performs a genuinely impressive high kick and then spins out of my ninja’s way.
Dillon lands with a dull thud and a grin that matches Gage’s. “I think we should add wrestling mats to the TAC. This kid needs to work off some energy.”
It’s true. Gage is a lot for anyone, but a single tear finally falls when I register that Dillon didn’t say any of that unkindly. He said it like he’s looking forward to giving Gage that outlet. Like he’s impressed by my little boy’s endless bouts of energy. He leans down, hauls Gage over his shoulder, and dumps him on the sofa.
“No more sliding in the house. You could hurt someone.”
“Okay,” Gage says.
I haven’t moved. Haven’t managed a thought. Even my endless to-do list is silent.
Dillon’s shoes on the hardwood tell me he’s headed back this way, but then I hear Gage again.
“Hey, ah, Dewey?”
I take a quiet step forward and peer around the doorframe to the family room.
