Twenty minutes later, we were settled on my couch, a bowl of popcorn with extra butter in my lap and Debbie wedged between us, this time forMoana. She’d chosen it specifically because “it has adventure and music and a chicken,” which apparently covered all the essential elements of quality entertainment.
“You know,” I said during the opening number, his arm draped along the back of the couch behind Debbie, “I’m starting to think she’s going to work her way through the entire Disney catalog with you.”
“That’s the plan,” Debbie said without taking her eyes off the screen. “And then we’ll start over with the Pixar movies.”
I caught Jeremiah’s eye over her head and saw the same contentment there that I was feeling. My fingers found the back of his neck, and the thin line of his lips curved upward as he leaned back into my touch. This was becoming routine—the three of us on my couch, sharing movies and quiet evenings, creating the kind of domestic peace I’d never really believed was possible.
And that it all started with a misdelivered vibrator and a golden retriever with anger management issues just made it that much more hilarious . . . and perfect.
“I can live with that,” Jeremiah said, settling back against the cushions as Moana began her journey across the ocean.
“Me, too,” I said quietly. When our eyes met again, I saw the same hope there that was flowering in my own chest.
Chapter 32
Jeremiah
The popcorn bowl sat empty on the coffee table, congealing butter pooled at the bottom, while the credits rolled onMoana. I stretched, preparing to extract myself from the tiny human curled in my lap and head home. My legs had gone slightly numb from sitting in the same position for nearly two hours, and I could feel that familiar ache in my lower back that came from being too tall for most furniture.
“Well,” I said, starting to shift forward, “I should probably—”
“No!” Debbie’s arms clamped around my waist with surprising strength for someone who’d been half asleep moments before. “You can’t go!”
“Button, Willie Wee needs to go home,” Theo said gently, but I could hear the exhaustion in his voice, too. It had been a long day for all of us.
“But I want you both to tuck me in,” she said, her voice taking on that particular wheedling tone that five-year-olds had perfected over generations, the one that made it clear justhow well trained we’d become to her commands. “Please? Just tonight?”
I looked over at Theo, who was running a hand through his hair with the expression of a man trying to calculate whether this was a reasonable request or the beginning of a slippery slope toward complete chaos.
“Debbie,” he started, but she wasn’t finished making her case.
“I never getbothmy daddies to tuck me in,” she said, and the casual way she said “both my daddies” hit me like a physical blow to the chest.
Theo’s eyes widened, and I watched him swallow hard.
We stared at each other over her head, and I could see the same mixture of panic and overwhelming tenderness that I was feeling reflected in his expression.
Finally, he nodded.
Just once, barely perceptible, but it was enough.
“Okay, Button,” he said softly. “But just this once, and you need to go right to sleep.”
Debbie cheered and immediately launched herself at me, which was impressive considering she was already smothering my lap. “Will you carry me? Like a princess?”
“Of course, m’lady,” I said, scooping her up while she giggled. She was getting bigger—five-year-olds weighed more than they looked—but she still felt small and precious in my arms.
As we stepped inside her bedroom, I realized it was the first time I’d been inside her personal space. The room was exactly what one might expect from a little girl who’d been given free rein to decorate: pink walls were covered in drawings of dragons and unicorns, a bookshelf overflowed with picture books, and stuffed animals were arranged with the careful precision of someone who had very strong opinions about where Sir Hornsworth belonged in relation to her collection of rainbow ponies.
She insisted on changing into her favorite pajamas—the ones with dinosaurs riding bicycles—and brushing her teeth while both Theo and I stood in the bathroom doorway like nervous bodyguards.
“You have to stay until I fall asleep,” she informed us as we tucked her into her twin bed. “Both of you.”
“Debbie, this bed is barely big enough for you,” Theo pointed out reasonably. “And Willie Wee is kind of a big boy.”
“Hey!” I pretended to protest.
“You can fit,” she said with the absolute confidence of someone who’d clearly thought this through. “Daddy on that side, Willie Wee on this side, and me in the middle.”
