Page 64 of Gatling
Noah chuckled.
“Good luck, brother. You’re going to be drowning in diapers.”
While Benji dozed in my arms, Hattie joined Kingpin, Leigh, and Blackbeard for a game of gin rummy.
Crash swept Colby onto his shoulders, racing around the yard making zooming airplane noises.
Vlad was swarmed by a small army of Blackbeard’s nieces and nephews, climbing all over his burly frame, giggling with delight.
Noah got into a friendly heated debate with Tex and Big G about the art of cooking a good, juicy steak.
Ryker reclaimed his seat next to me, setting my iced tea and a plate of apple pie on the bench’s armrest.
“For years, it was just the three of us in our little family,” I said. “You, me, and Noah.”
“I was a reluctant participant,” Ryker admitted.
“Noah wouldn’t let you be alone, no matter how hard you tried to push us away.”
He hummed, idly brushing his knuckles against my arm. He was much more tactile these days, seeking out little touches like this absently. In the past, he would remain distant, aloof.
“And now…” I gestured to the party. “Our family is so big. It’s wonderful.”
“So…you’re happy?” Ryker ventured, cautiously.
My heart squeezed to hear the hope in his voice. He studied my face with an earnest, searching gaze. There were times when I overheard him at night, having late night conversations on the phone with Noah. Talking about the future, laying bare his fears that he wasn’t doing this relationship thing right.
I shifted Benji in my arms to take Ryker’s hand and thread our fingers together.
“More than words could ever describe,” I said.
A small smile touched his lips. He leaned over and trailed sweet, chaste kisses along my jawline, down my neck.
“I’ll be even happier when you finally propose to me,” I added.
Ryker huffed and pulled away.
“It’s supposed to be a surprise, sunshine.”
“Well, at the rate you’re going, I’ll be surprised when you propose before I’m fifty.”
He snorted.
“You’re just as dramatic as your brother.”
“He taught me everything I know,” I replied.
Benji stretched, his tiny fists grasping toward the sky. Ryker’s gaze settled on the baby, but he made no move to touch Benji.
“Do you want to hold him?” I asked.
Ryker glanced up at me, deliberating. Then he shook his head.
“The kid will probably wake up and start crying as soon as he sees my ugly mug.”
“Ryker,” I said, a soft admonishment.
“What?”
