Iget off the phone with Brad, lean back in my chair, and sigh. Fuck. His timing couldn’t be worse, but I can’t fault him for the decision he’s made. He’s right to prioritize his marriage and his family. I stifle a yawn as I stand, stretching my arms up over my head. It’s early, and I slept like shit last night, thanks to Milly and her boy drama.
Walking to the floor-to-ceiling window, which runs the length of the back of my home office, I stand in front of the glass, staring at the rain tumbling in heavy sheets from the sky. It’s not unusual to have rain showers in August, but this kind of torrential rain is rare. It pitter-patters against the window as I survey the gorgeous grounds at the rear of our new house. Eva planted most of the flowerbeds and shrubs herself, and it’s an impressive feat. Every night, we walk hand in hand through the gardens, and it’s one of my favorite things to do.
We moved sixteen months ago to be closer to the fam. Everyone else lives in the vicinity, and all of us are about three or four miles from one another. I love that my kids are close to their cousins, and they get to spend plenty of time with their grandparents. My parents are both retired, and in between traveling, they love babysitting their grandkids.
One of the reasons we bought this place is for the three-bedroom bungalow on the grounds. This house used to be a boutique hotel, but the previous owners completely gutted and renovated it ten years ago. The bungalow was built for the hotel owner’s personal use, and it’s a decent-sized house.
Eva’s Dad turns seventy next year, and while he’s still in good health, the two-year stint he did in jail—for financial fraud and money laundering for Eva’s psychotic criminal now-dead first husband—worked him over hard. Eva was worrying constantly about him. We offered to buy him a place so he could move out of that dingy one-bed condo he was living in, but he’s a stubborn, proud old man, and he refused. It wasn’t as easy when we bought a place that came with a separate house just sitting there unused.
Matthew is very close to his Granddad Jack, and they go fishing every Saturday morning at Lake Waban. Sometimes, he stays overnight at the bungalow to keep his granddad company. Eva loves how close the two of them are.
Rubbing the back of my neck, I head out of my office in the direction of the kitchen. The radio is on, and my wife is singing along as she makes waffles for the kids.
I creep up on Eva on tiptoe, sliding my arms around her curvy waist from behind, as she drops a couple of waffles onto a stacked plate. She shrieks, and I chuckle, nipping her earlobe with my teeth. “You make it too easy.”
“You are going to give me a coronary one of these days, Kade.” She leans her back against my chest, angling her head and looking up at me. “Morning, darling.” Her loving smile ghosts over my face, and contentment flows through my veins.
“Morning, beautiful.” I lean down and kiss her voluptuous lips, still getting a kick out of the fact she’s mine and I can do this whenever I want. “I love you,” I add because I make it a point to tell her at least once a day. I know what it’s like to love her and not be able to tell her, and I never want to experience that again.
“I love you too, boytoy.” She turns in my arms and cheekily pats my ass. “If the kids weren’t due to appear any moment, I’d drag your sexy ass back to bed and have my wicked way with you.”
Apparently, women hit their sexual prime in their late thirties to early forties, and from the way Eva’s been jumping my bones any chance she gets lately, I’d say it’s true. My wife turned forty-three this year, and she is still so fucking beautiful. In fact, I’d say she’s even more beautiful than when I first met her, and I don’t say that lightly because Eva was a complete knockout in her twenties.
“Forget the bed.” I squeeze her boob through her silk robe. “The laundry room is right there.” I waggle my brows suggestively, and I’m contemplating throwing her over my shoulder when Milly walks into the kitchen.
“You two are gross.” She makes a face as she hops up onto a stool at the island unit.
“I hope you’re as lucky as us to find someone you love with every fiber of your being,” Eva says, sliding out from my arms.
“You don’t really mean that,” Milly retorts, and I brace myself for it.
Eva carries the plate of waffles over to the counter and sets it down in front of our only daughter. Bowls of fruit salad, compote, and yogurt are already laid out, and Milly helps herself to some fruit along with a couple of waffles.
She inherited my height—both our kids are tall for their age—and her mother’s stunning facial features. I barely see any of myself when I look at her, and I’m loath to claim her attitude as my own, but I can’t deny I was a little shit at her age too.
“If you did, you’d have no issue with me dating Justin,” she adds, glaring at me as she shoves a spoonful of fruit in her mouth.
“I have no issue with you dating Justin when you’re thirty,” I deadpan, pouring three glasses of freshly squeezed orange juice.
“Kade.” Eva pins whiskey-colored eyes on me, her look warning me not to go there again. I feign innocence and clamp my lips shut because I don’t want to argue with my daughter before she leaves for horse riding.
“What your father means is we are okay with you dating Justin when you are seventeen.”
I almost choke on my juice. I never fucking agreed to that! Justin will still be four years older, and I don’t want my sweet seventeen-year-old dating a twenty-one-year-old horndog any more than I want my sweet fourteen-year-old dating an eighteen-year-old horndog.
Eva whips her head to me, narrowing her eyes and cautioning me to shut the fuck up. I stuff a waffle in my mouth because I don’t trust myself not to speak. We can have this out after Milly leaves.
“I don’t see what the problem is. You’re five years older than Dad. If it’s okay for you, how is it not okay for me?”
“That’s not the problem, and you know it,” I say, purposely not looking at my wife. I can’t fucking stay quiet a second longer. “He’s too old for younow. There is a vast difference between fourteen and eighteen, between a freshman and a senior. I know how teenage boys think. Trust me when I tell you that boy has only one thing on his mind, and if he lays one finger on you, I’ll beat the—”
My words are muffled, my sentence cut off, when my wife slaps her hand over my mouth.
“I think it’s best we continue this conversation later,” Eva says, in a calm tone, as if our daughter currently doesn’t have steam billowing from her ears and venom ready to pour from her mouth. “Elaine’s mom will be here in five minutes. Finish your breakfast, and we’ll talk when you get home.”
“I’ve lost my appetite.” Milly glares at me as Eva withdraws her hand from my mouth.
“This is coming from a place of love,” I remind my daughter as she stomps away.
