"You're doomed," I tell him. "Those eyes are genetic. You can't resist them in Emma either."
"Guilty," he admits, watching as Max abandons the swing to lead Emma and Eli toward the slides. "I'm a pushover for both of them."
"And me?" I ask, batting my eyelashes.
"Especially you," he says, his voice dropping lower as he leans closer. "But for very different reasons."
Claire clears her throat loudly. "Children present, gentlemen."
Rage laughs. "Like you're any better. Remember last week when Eli walked in on—"
"We agreed never to speak of that again!" Claire interrupts, her cheeks flushing.
We all laugh, the easy camaraderie between our families one of the unexpected blessings of our new lives. Claire and I had bonded quickly after meeting, our similar backgrounds creating an instant connection. Our husbands' friendship had only strengthened the relationship between our families.
"We should head out soon," Rage says, checking his watch. "Eli's got baseball practice at four."
"Five more minutes, Dad!" Eli calls from the slide, somehow hearing his father despite the distance.
"Five minutes," Rage confirms, pointing at his watch.
Dean stretches out on the blanket, his head resting in my lap as we watch our children play. I run my fingers through his hair, noting the few strands of silver that have appeared in the past year.
"Happy?" he asks quietly, looking up at me.
"Very," I reply, smiling down at him. "You?"
"More than I thought possible." His expression turns reflective. "You know, when you showed up at the clubhouse with Max, I was terrified."
"I remember," I say, still stroking his hair. "You dropped your glass."
"Best shock of my life," he says with certainty. "Even if it took me a minute to realize it."
"A minute?" I tease. "Try a week."
"Hey, I wasn't that slow," he protests. "I bought him toys the first day."
"True," I concede. "You were a natural from the start."
His expression softens. "Not a natural. Just determined not to screw it up."
"You didn't," I assure him. "You haven't."
Our conversation is interrupted as Max runs over, Emma toddling behind him with Eli keeping a watchful eye on her.
"Mom! Dad! Can we get ice cream on the way home? Eli says there's a new place with twenty-seven flavors!" Max's excitement is contagious, his green eyes—so like Dean's—wide.
Dean sits up, pretending to consider the request seriously. "I don't know... what do you think, Mom? Have they earned ice cream today?"
I tap my chin thoughtfully. "Well, Max did help with the dishes this morning. And Emma took a proper nap for once."
"Please, please, please!" Max bounces on his toes, hands clasped in front of him.
"I guess we could," I say, unable to maintain the pretense in the face of such enthusiasm.
"Yes!" Max pumps his fist in the air, then turns to Emma. "We're getting ice cream, Em!"
"Ice cream!" Emma repeats, clapping her hands, though I'm not entirely sure she understands what she's celebrating.
