I catch my tired reflection in the mirror one last time before joining him.
Dean’s already ordered room service for the five of us in the form of pancakes stacked high and dripping with syrup, bacon crispy with perfectly cooked eggs on the side, and coffee still steaming in the little to-go cups.
I sit down in between Dean and Callum, thanking them when a plate is slid my way.
Over breakfast, Eli chatters about the market, talking endlessly about the previous years he remembers and all of the gifts and food he ate.
The guys are enraptured by his animated stories, nodding along and probing him with questions in between bites.
Eventually, I finally give up and agree to go.
Callum volunteers to stay behind, his tone casual but his eyes serious when he turns to look at me. “In case that ex of yours is stupid enough to show his face again. I’ll hold the fort.”
I don’t know why but hearing that makes my chest flutter.
Grant and Dean bundle up with us, their presence a comforting presence as we step into the crisp, winter air.
The snow crunches under our boots, Eli's mittened hand in mine as we cross to the park.
Within only a few hours, the market is alive and well.
I have to say, I’m incredibly impressed.
Vendors are scattered all around under their tents and behind their booths, hawking handmade ornaments and crafts.
The sizzle of chestnuts roasting makes my stomach ache despite my breakfast still settling.
A live band plays carols from the gazebo in the center of the park, the sound lightly drifting over the area.
Eli’s eyes widen at every booth, and I watch in enchantment as Grant and Dean fall into step with him easily.
There’s a tenderness in Dean’s eyes when Eli grabs his hand and drags him forward.
A depth to it that makes my heart ache. Seeing his soft spot for me extend to Eli stirs a deep longing in my heart I thought I'd buried.
Grant keeps up with them, points out booths where tall wood carvings are being showcased.
He squats down to my son’s level, carefully explaining the process behind each little itch in the hard surfaces of the statues.
Eli listens with rapt attention, their heads bent close.
It’s intimate and fatherly, and it makes tears prick my eyes.
These men, who shared my body in a weekend of passion, now care for my son with such natural ease, making me feel so emotional that it’s hard to contain.
They don’t even know he’s one of theirs, yet that hasn’t stopped any of them from caring all the same.
Would this have been what life could be if I let them in?
If I told them back then the truth?
I can’t help imagining it now, watching them wander with my son as I follow behind them.
My life would’ve been forever changed, Eli’s too.
But what about my dad?
Would he have come around eventually?
