“All better,” Sloane says, sliding into the booth. She helps Camden into his booster seat and hands the diaper bag to me across the table.
“We can switch sides,” I tell her.
“Oh, I’m fine.” She waves me off, not taking her eyes off my son. “Now, do you want pancakes, or rench fries and grilled cheese?” she asks him.
“Pamcake!” Camden cheers loudly.
Sloane smiles. “Inside voice, buddy,” she reminds him gently, her voice soft.
He leans into her and says quietly, “Pamcake.”
“Very good,” she praises, and my son beams a smile at her. He’s looking at her like she hung the fucking moon. “Pancakes it is,” she assures him before turning those beautiful brown eyes my way. “What about you?”
It takes a few heartbeats for me to realize she’s asking me what I’m going to order.
Fuck, get out of your head, Sinclair. Sloane Peterson is not the first beautiful woman you’ve ever been around.
“I’m thinking the meatloaf special,” I tell her. “I know it’s not the healthiest, but today is a cheat day if there ever was one.”
“That sounds good. I think I’ll do the same, with mashed potatoes and green beans. Yum.”
“Yum,” Camden mimics her.
The waitress appears and takes our order, and I’m once again reminded that she thinks Sloane is my wife, and I should correct her, but the moment’s passed, and I realize I’m fixated on the title, not the waitress. Today is really fucking with my head.
We order our food, and Sloane tends to Camden as if he were her own. He smiles at her, offers her bites, and she pretends to take them, making him giggle. Sitting across from them, I feel like an outsider looking in, and the vision before me is fantastic.
My son is happy, smiling, and content, and the woman next to him is… more than I ever could have expected her to be. This is supposed to be temporary, but sitting here watching the two of them, I can’t imagine anyone else caring for my son. I know that’s not realistic, but in this moment, it’s what I want. In a matter of weeks, she has us both under her spell.
What confuses me is that I’ve known Sloane for a few years now and have spent a good bit of time with her. I consider her a friend, and never have I felt this need to be near her. I’ve never felt this crushing need to hold her hand or see those brown eyes of hers light up with her smile. I know we’ve been spending more time together, but this is more than familiarity. Wherever this need came from, it came swiftly and quietly, and now, I need to figure out what to do with it.
It’s been a long day, and Camden’s power nap from earlier wasn’t long enough if the way he’s rubbing his eyes is any indication. Sloane went up to shower and said she’d be back to kiss him goodnight. I wanted to ask her if that offer of a kiss was for all the Sinclair men in the household, but refrained.
Barely.
“All right, bud, it’s time for bed,” I tell him.
“Swoan, wead,” he says, rubbing his eyes again.
“Sloane’s in the shower.” Wet and soapy without me.
Fuck, I need to stop this.
“Swoan, wead,” he says, his bottom lip jutting out as he starts to whimper. He’s overly tired, and to be honest, I am, too. Training camp has been kicking my ass, and I need to report back bright and early tomorrow.
“Let’s get your jammies on, and Sloane will come in and say goodnight.” Honestly, I’m not sure he’ll be able to keep his eyes open once his head hits the pillow, but he can be stubborn like his old man.
Picking him up, I make my rounds, turning off all the lights and making sure the house is locked up before heading upstairs. My room is still in one of the guest rooms upstairs. I’d been staying in the one on the first floor a few nights a week, until Sloane. For some reason, knowing that I’m close to both of them if they need me fills my chest with a feeling I can’t name.
Not that I’m here a lot. Not the past two weeks. I’m gone all day and crash hard at night, but still, we’re all on the same floor, close to one another. I didn’t really know that’s what I was doing until earlier tonight when she excused herself to go take a shower. I almost told her she could use the one in my room, meaning the main bedroom on the first floor, and realized it’s been a few weeks since I’ve used it myself, and it all just kind of clicked in my mind. Even subconsciously, I was craving to be near her.
“Book,” Camden whines as we step into his room.
“As soon as we get you changed, you can pick out a book,” I tell him.
I quickly change his diaper and get him into clean pajamas. He’s getting so big. It’s hard for me to believe that on Tuesday he’ll officially be two years old. He talks up a storm, which the doctor says is advanced. To me, he’s the smartest kid in the world, but I’m biased.
Lifting him from the changing table, I press a kiss to his cheek and place him on his feet. “Pick out a book,” I tell him.
