“I mean it.” I cut her off because I already know what she’s going to say. “I appreciate where you were going with that, but this is what I want. You. April. Going home together.” I wrap my arms tighter around her. “That’s the only kind of celebrating I care about.”
Some of the tension leaves her body as she exhales against me. “That sounds great to me.”
“Then let’s go home and celebrate.”
We head out to the parking lot, and April skips ahead chattering about the game. Heather reaches over at one point and threads her fingers through mine, and that small, almost subconscious action just reaffirms what I was saying earlier. This is exactly what I want.
I watch them get into Heather’s car before heading to my truck. The drive home doesn’t take long, and we arrive at nearly the same time. As I open the door to my truck, April clambers out of Heather’s car, talking animatedly as she makes a very persuasive case for ice cream.
“Please? We won! We should celebrate!”
Heather glances at me, and I shrug. “Sounds good to me.”
“Yes!” April pumps her fist in the air.
Twenty minutes later, we’re all sitting around the kitchen island with bowls of ice cream. April has gone overboard with chocolate syrup and sprinkles, while Heather sticks to vanilla with strawberries. I went for mint chocolate chip.
A side benefit to having a kid in the house is gaining the excuse to buy things like chocolate syrup, sprinkles, and mint chocolate chip ice cream.
“This is the best night ever,” April announces, with chocolate smeared at the corner of her mouth.
“The best?” Heather teases. “Better than your birthday?”
“Well, maybe tied with my birthday.”
I reach over and wipe the chocolate off her face with my napkin. “That’s high praise.”
She grins at me, then goes back to her ice cream, swinging her legs under the stool.
Never in a million years did I think I’d have these kinds of easy, domestic moments in this house. I never even realized I was missing out on them, if I’m being completely honest. Not until Heather and April moved in, anyway.
But sitting here with them, laughing and joking and having the kind of easy conversation that probably happens in millions of kitchens every night, I can’t imagine wanting to be anywhere else.
This is home. They are home.
The sugar eventually starts to wear off, though, and April’s energy starts to crash. Her eyes look heavy, and she starts leaning precariously to one side on her stool.
“Bedtime, sweetheart,” Heather says gently.
“But I’m not tired,” she says without even trying to stifle the biggest yawn I’ve ever seen.
“Come on.” I scoop her up before she can argue. “I’ll carry you.”
She doesn’t fight it, just rests her head against my shoulder as I carry her upstairs. Heather follows, helping April brush her teeth and change into her pajamas while I wait in the hallway.
When April is finally tucked in, Heather kisses her forehead. “Sweet dreams, sweet girl.”
“Good night, Mom. Night, Grant.”
“Good night,” I say from the doorway.
I take Heather’s hand and lead her to my room, closing the door behind us.
She turns to face me, still wearing my jersey, and she’s looking at me like I’m the only thing in the world that matters.
“Come here,” I say, already pulling her close without waiting and wrapping my arms around her.
We stand like that for a long moment, just holding each other. Then I tip her chin up and kiss her slow and deep, taking my time. There’s no rush tonight, and nowhere else we need to be.
