“You might not be saying that later when we can’t get him to bed,” I tease.
“I don’t mind.” He tugs me out of the room after Rowan. Our son is sprinting along the hallway toward the next door. “This is all new to me, and I’m loving every second of it.”
“You were always good with kids,” I admit, remembering how he was with me.
“Now you’re making me feel old and a little creeped out, Firefly,” he teases, waggling his brows.
“It should probably feel weird, but I barely even remember there’s an age gap between us,” I truthfully reply.
“I agree.” He leans down and kisses me. “Though I try to forget you were barely out of diapers when I was losing my virginity.” He flashes me a grin, and I whack him in the chest.
“Don’t be gross unless you’re telling me you lost it when you were like eleven,” I say, quickly doing the math in my head.
“Mommy!” Rowan comes barreling out of a door just up ahead, his cheeks flushed red and his eyes out on stalks. He grabs my hand. “Mommy! You have to see this.”
I let him drag me into the room, and all the air leaves my lungs in a rush. Tears stab my eyes as I glance around the large, airy, bright, well-equipped art studio. Canvases of all sizes are propped on easels and against the walls. Shelves groan with paints, pencils, and all types of art supplies. He even has a pottery wheel and clay oven installed.
“That door leads to a dark room,” Ben says, pointing at a door at the far end of the room. “And the box outside holds some cameras and equipment. I know you probably have your own, but—”
I cut him off with my lips as I throw myself at him. My arms wind around his neck as I press a succession of kisses to his mouth. I’m half-laughing, half-crying, when I pull back, and my smile is so wide it threatens to split my face in two. “How did you do all this?” I cry. “When? How? It’s too much. I—” I slap a hand over my chest, and I’m feeling too much. My heart is fit to burst.
“Don’t get mad,” he says. “But I started remodeling a week after I found out about Rowan.”
I place my hands on his chest, stretching up to kiss him again. “I’m not mad. Not in the slightest. Ben, this is incredible. No one has ever done so much for me and Rowan. I just…I don’t have words to describe how I’m feeling. How grateful I am.”
His arms slide around my waist, and he reels me in close. “I want you to be happy here, Firefly.” He rubs his nose against mine. “I want you to be happy with me.”
“I am, Ben.” It’s overwhelming and a lot to take in, but I’m not lying. To have Rowan squealing with joy and me feeling every wonderful emotion under the sun after the day we had yesterday is all due to Ben.
The last of my reservations flitter away.
Everything is going to work out.
I feel it in my bones.
“Good.” His mouth lands on mine, soft and adoring, and I melt against him as he kisses me with more tenderness than I thought him capable of.
“Ugh. That’s gross, Daddy.”
We break apart and look down at our son. Rowan’s nose is scrunched in disgust, and a giggle bursts from my lips. Ben grins, crouching down so he’s at Rowan’s level. “Trust me, buddy. Kissing your mom is far from gross.”
“I’m never kissing girls.” He crosses his arms over his chest, still looking disgusted.
Ben scoops him up, tickling him. “Famous last words, Firecracker.”
* * *
Ben takes Rowan outside to the playground after the doc injects his tracking device. He was supposed to come to the apartment this morning, but there was some emergency that delayed him. Rowan hates needles, and he cried a little, so Ben took him up to the tree house afterward to distract him. Next on the agenda is a rooftop trip to show Rowan the telescope.
I stayed behind to unpack our things. Ben automatically assumed I’d be sharing his master suite, and I didn’t correct him. Butterflies scatter in my tummy at the thought of sharing a bed with him on a permanent basis. I know he’ll be spending his weeks in the city, but he has already promised to come home on nights when he doesn’t have to work late.
Ben had to practically drag Rowan from his superhero-themed room, and I’m hoping his love of his new bedroom might mean he’s happy to go to bed at his usual time tonight. Routine is important, and I intend to stick to ours here even if I have no work to go to and Rowan won’t have school until we have hired a private tutor.
I wander in the direction Ben told me, rapping a few times on the door to the room at the very end of the hallway.
“Come in,” a female voice calls out, and I step into Angelo’s bedroom as the nurse is fixing pillows behind his head. Ben’s father is sitting up in an elevated hospital bed with a few wires hooked up to machines. The room is spacious, and it has a seated living area at the far end with a lit open fire, some messy bookshelves, and a massive widescreen TV.
“Bella signora. Come.” Angelo points at the chair by his bed, smiling at me.
