“No, like, gotalkto them.”
Harrison stands a few yards away with Griffin Ollenberg and Bodhi Roche, all three looking unfairly tall and handsome and in the way. And when I say in the way, I mean squarely in the way of my ability to act like a normal human. Before I can redirect him, Connor’s jogging toward the trio. So, I mutter a quick apology to the universe and follow.
Fucking Jesus take the wheel.
“Hey, guys,” I say as we approach, trying to be as professional as possible. “Thanks again for everything this season. What you’ve all done for Connor, it’s?—”
“Mrs. Richardson, I presume!” Bodhi grins. “Connor crushed it today. MVP for sure.”
“It’s Miss Richardson,” I correct him, my eyes quickly flashing to Harrison before glancing back at Bodhi with a warm smile. “Mrs. Richardson is my mother. I’m not uh…” I shake my head. “I’m not married.”
“My apologies.” Bodhi nods. “Miss Richardson. It’s a pleasure to meet you finally,” he says, offering me a handshake. “We’ve heard a lot about you.” Griffin elbows him in the ribs, urging him to add, “Uh, from Connor…of course.” He chuckles. “He talks about you a lot.”
“Oh well,” I laugh nervously, feeling my cheeks heat in front of Harrison. “He’s ten so maybe don’t believe everything you hear.”
Connor beams, and then—because apparently he thinks he’s just one of the guys—he clears his throat dramatically.
“So…” he says, rocking on his heels. “Um. Do any of you guys wanna come over for dinner tonight?”
What the fuck?
Griffin’s eyes widen and Harrison’s shoulders tense, not in a bad way, just in a careful way. Like he’s waiting for permission to breathe.
I blink. “Connor?—”
He turns to me with the sweetest little-kid logic face. “What? Coach said to always invite teammates to celebrate wins. And youalwayssay dinner tastes better when other people are eating it. And you also always say spaghetti is like, the one meal you don’t fuck up so?—”
“Whoa! Hey! Language buddy,” I tell him sternly, my face heating even more under the watchful gaze of the three men in front of me.
Connor covers his mouth when he realizes what he’s said. “Oops. Sorry.”
“Great,” I say with a relenting shrug, a shake of my head, and a sour tone. “I’ve been betrayed with my own life lessons.”
Bodhi and Griffin have a good chuckle at Connor’s audacity, and I swear I notice a slight lift of Harrison’s mouth as he tries to keep from laughing.
“Aw, buddy, thank you so much for the invite,” Bodhi tells him, “but I gotta head to my sister’s birthday dinner tonight.”
“Yeah,” Griffin jumps in immediately. “And I promised my wife I’d…uh…do…a thing.” He winces. “Wow, that sounded fake. It’s real, I swear.”
“Totally real,” Bodhi adds. “Super real thing.”
I look at them suspiciously, and they both do the world’s worst job of pretending to check their nonexistent watches.
“Well,” Connor says, undeterred, “that’s okay. There’s still?—”
His head swivels toward Harrison.
Harrison swallows, his gaze flicking between me and Connor and then over to the guys before settling back on us.
Connor gives him a hopeful grin. “You can come, right? Mom makes the best spaghetti. And garlic bread. It’s even the real garlic bread. Not the frozen kind.”
I feel my face flame. “Connor…”
Harrison scratches the back of his neck, suddenly looking younger…and also very much not younger at all in that fitted team shirt. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other. The moment is casual, but the stakes feel ridiculously high. Connor just dropped an invitation bombshell and now I’m left standing in front of Harrison, debating the implications of him accepting it.
“Uh, I—” he starts, surely caught off guard. “I mean, I don’t want to intrude.” My mind races. Part of me wants him to jump at the chance. To have Harrison sitting around a table with Connor and me as part of our little family dynamic feels exciting. But another part of me is extremely hesitant and cautious. This is all new territory and while I want to celebrate my son, our son, I can’t help but think about how Harrison is feeling. We haven’t spoken much over the past two weeks except for a hello here or there. We’re still trying to figure things out and throwing dinner invitations into the mix feels…complicated.
“Uh…” He glances at me, probably trying to gauge my reaction. I don’t know if he can tell that butterflies are fluttering through my chest right now or that I couldn’t tell you what day it is if I tried. He would undoubtedly find that amusing considering how I always had my life meticulously organized.
