“Levi, what do you think about this?” Lucky asks. I search his face for some sort of clue that he’s okay with everything. He’s still sitting on the couch, completely unbothered, leaning into the cushion and kicking his legs off the edge as he shrugs.
“Can I have a hug?”
“Okay,” Levi says as he does a tuck and roll off the couch, landing on all fours before he army-crawls under the coffee table. He pops up next to my leg, and I instinctively cover my crotch in response.
“Uppies!” he says, doing grabby hands. I lean down andscoop him up, pulling his body against mine. He weighs nearly as much as Micah, and I grip them both tightly, as if they were balloons that could float away.
I look down at Levi. “Are you okay with this, lad? Is there anything you want to know? Any questions you’re dying to ask?”
He thinks for a second, and then a Cheshire grin lights up his face. “Can I have a Fudgsicle?”
CHAPTER 27
LUCKY
Amonth into our new living situation, we’re finally starting to find our rhythm. I’m making breakfast for the boys while Mike packs their lunches.
Every chance he gets, he’s touching me, kissing me. Most times it’s simple touches—grazing my waist as he reaches around me to grab a utensil, slapping my ass when I bend over the freezer, a peck on the shoulder when I’m cooking. He touches me with such reverence, like he can’t believe I’m real.
I remove the pan from the stove and start plating scrambled eggs when Mike bumps my hip and leans close to my ear.
“Still thinking about the way I woke you up this morning. I really hooked you with my ladder.”
It’s an effort not to roll my eyes. “Leaning into the dad jokes, I see.”
“Or was it the flavor saver that won ya over?”
“You’re ridiculous.” I shake my head, but I can’t hide the dopey grin he’s put on my face.
“What’s a flavor saver?” Levi asks, and I inwardly groan. This kid has the worst timing.
Mike’s eyes flash to mine in panic, but I only offer him a smirk in return. “Yeah, what isit?”
He hasn’t yet gotten used to Levi repeating the things he says at the most inopportune times.
“It’s… It’s a…” he splutters, looking for the right lie to give him. “It’s a piece of bread, like on a sandwich. It soaks up all the… juices.”
His eyes dart to mine, pleading for help, but I just gesture for him to continue.
“What kind of sandwich has juice on it? Like orange juice?” Levi asks.
“Yeah, Mike, what kind of wet sandwiches are you eating?”
“Not orange juice. It’s more like when you have peanut butter and jelly, and the jelly is extra runny.”
“That sounds gross.”
“Trust me, you’ll love it when you’re older.” He squeezes my hip on the last part, and I can feel my cheeks heat in response.
“Micah, hurry up!” I call up the stairs right as he comes running down. “Oh, there you are. Breakfast is ready.”
“Yes, Mama,” says my perfectly sweet oldest child.
The boys sit at the island stools eating their breakfast as they watchBluey.
Mike puts lunchboxes in the boys’ bags as I rinse off the last of the dishes. When he finishes, he wraps a forearm around my shoulder, pulling me against him. “We make a great team, a ghrá mo chroí.”
“We do?—”
