The front door creaks open, and I turn my head just in time to spot Wes toeing off his boots at the door. He’s turned away from me, his broad shoulders and back giving me a fantastic view. I can actually see his back muscles shifting through the fabric of his shirt. His black canvas-like pants cling to his very high, very tight ass. I never thought I’d be attracted to a man’s ass.
Delilah hears him too, and is already flying toward him before I stand from the table.
“Daddy!” she shrieks, jumping into his arms. He catches her effortlessly, and hugs her close.
“Hey, bug. How was your day? I missed you,” he says, holding her with one arm as he brushes her wild mane of dark curls out of her eyes with the other.
My insides melt at the sight.
That’s my cue to leave before I embarrass myself—again.
Delilah’s response is a breathless run-on sentence. “So good! We played restaurant and Iby was the chef and she was yelling at Burrito because she was the cook and, and, and, she wasn’t making the food fast enough, and then we built blocks and colored them, and we ate lunch at the pond and we foundelebenworms, I found the most but Iby found some too, then we came home and I pooped, then we played Play-Doh!”
Wes blinks, obviously needing a moment to process everything she just shouted at him.
“That sounds like an awesome day, bug,” he eventually replies. “Give me a minute and I’ll start dinner.”
He sets her down and presses a kiss to the top of her head, watching her run back to the table, her little bare feet slapping against the hardwood.
Then, he finally makes eye contact with me and quirks an eyebrow.
“Worms?” The corner of his mouth gives the tiniest, almost imperceptibly small twitch. He’s making conversation?
I have to be hallucinating.
“Yep,” I say, a little worried I might say something inappropriate again. “We had a great day. She really is the best kid, Wes. You’ve done a great job.”
I mean it, too. I know Delilah’s mom passed away when she was just a baby, but Wes has done a wonderful job raising a bright, kind, hilarious little girl.
Wes breaks eye contact, clearly uncomfortable with the compliment. He clears his throat. “Uh, thanks.”
Maybe I shouldn’t have gone all sincere just when I saw the first sign of levity coming from him. However, he hasn’t exactly been a fan of my jokes, so it’s probably for the best.
I offer him a polite smile in return and take the hint. It’s my time to go.
I walk over to the table and crouch down beside Delilah, who is still busy sculpting an abstract blob of Play-Doh.
“Bye, babe. I’ll see you in a couple days. Have the best weekend with your daddy.” We both move in for a hug and I give her a good squeeze. I’m actually going to miss her. It’s only two days for the love of god. What is happening to me?
“Please stay, Iby. You can sleep in your room. It's all comfy for you.” Her bottom lip is actually sticking out, and her eyes are getting glassy. Damn, I got so distracted I never went to see the guest room.
“It’s okay, Lilah,” Wes butts in. “Ivy will be back on Monday. She has stuff she has to do too, alright?”
I really don’t. I mean, I plan on jotting some ideas down and dipping my toe back in the writing water. Other than that, I’ll probably just rot in bed or ask Sophie if she’s busy. Maybe we can get a drink. Not having to stress about lesson plans or classroom chaos isglorious. I don’t have any real concrete plans, and I fucking love it. I feel free.
“Um, yeah. I’ll be back Monday, sweet girl. Just watch, you’re going to have so much fun with your dad, you won’t even know I’m gone,” I say with a wink.
“Okay. Bye, Iby,” she draws out, still fully pouting.
I give her one final hug before standing and turning to gather my things. I slip on my chucks by the front door, which Wes is still loitering by. Maybe he’s trying to make sure I leave as soon as possible. Or maybe he wants to talk. Nope, don’t do that to yourself, Ivy.
“Well, have a good weekend,” I say with an awkward laugh, giving him the infamous weird smile, paired with a half-hearted wave that I instantly regret. I don’t really know what to say. He hasn’t really spoken to me this week, so I assume he’d like me to just keep to myself. Which is probably the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. I have thoughts. I have opinions. Keeping them bottled up is damn near excruciating.
But I’ll do it, because I really want this job. It’s kind of my ideal situation.
I step out onto the front porch, and just as I’m closing the door behind me, I hear Wes’s voice.
“Hey.”
