That is, until Connor came along.
That’s when motherhood started and all hell broke loose in terms of organization.
Just ask the unpaired sock bin in my bedroom right now because who even has time for that shit?
“I would love to,” Harrison finally answers, “but I’m not sure if I can?—”
Connor insists, wide-eyed and earnest. “Mom says you can’t say no to family.” God, he’s so damn charming it makes my heart clench.
If you only knew, kid.
Watching my son light up at the idea of his hero eating dinner with him makes everything in me soften. Before I can stop myself I add in, “He’s right. I do say that. And you guys have been like family to us since Connor started watching hockey.” My eyes meet Harrison’s deep blue stare and I force myself to smile, steady and polite even though my pulse is sprinting. “If you’re free, we would love to have you. It’s not much but…consider it our way of saying thanks for all you do. For Connor, of course.”
I’m still trying to process this entire conversation when Connor tugs at my sleeve, his face a perfect mix of hope and mischief.
My son.
God, I’ve kept him from his father for ten years, and now here he is, confidently inviting Harrison to dinner like it’s the most casual thing in the world. “Family,” he said. If only he knew how loaded that word is right now.
Bodhi and Griffin exchange a look that is way too knowing as Harrison finally answers, “Uh…yeah, I’m actually uh…I’m free. I’d love to join you.” A flicker of something crosses his face—excitement, maybe—as his eyes find mine, searching for permission or reassurance. I try to keep my expression neutral, but my heart is hammering against my ribs.
Oh my God, he’s coming to dinner!
I watch Connor vibrate with joy, bouncing on his toes. “Really?” he asks Harrison, his voice rising to that pitch that only appears when he’s truly thrilled. “You’ll come?”
“Yeah, I’ll come.” Harrison’s smile is gentle, genuine in a way that makes my stomach flip. “I’m looking forward to it, actually.”
“Awesome!” Connor fist-pumps the air, his eyes sparkling with triumph. “Cool! Maybe we’ll even have brownies. Mom makes those too when she’s in a mood.”
“I am not ‘in a mood,’” I hiss, embarrassed.
Connor shrugs. “You kind of are.”
Griffin coughs to hide a laugh but Bodhi doesn’t bother hiding at all.
With a defeated sigh because my son has managed to tell all my darkest secrets to three professional hockey players, I cock my head and lift my brows. “Dinner at six?”
“Six,” Harrison repeats with a nod, his voice low and warm enough to melt the spine right out of me.
“Spaghetti it is then.” I place a firm hand on Connor’s shoulder and tell the guys, “Thanks again to all of you. Connor loved his time in the league.” I make eye contact one more time with Harrison and say, “We’ll see you tonight.”
He nods one more time. “Tonight.”
As we turn and walk away, Connor leans over and says overzealously, “See, Mom? I told you he would say yes!”
The clock is ticking downto six o’clock, and I’m a whirlwind of nerves, half-finished dishes, and a kitchen that looks like a tornado hit it. Connor’s excitement is palpable, bouncing around the living room like and pretending to skate like it’s his own private ice rink, and I’m in the kitchen trying not to slice my finger off while chopping garlic.
Please don’t let me bleed out on the floor before Harrison arrives.
“Mom!” Connor yells. “Are you almost done?”
“Almost!” I call back, trying to keep my voice light while my thoughts spiral. I’m acutely aware of how ridiculous it is to be this worked up about dinner. I mean, it’s just spaghetti, right? But it’s not just spaghetti. It’s spaghetti with Harrison, the guy I loved but walked away from ten years ago. The father of the ten-year-old fake-skating around my living room.
God, what are we even doing here?
And why am I so nervous?
It’s just dinner.
