“Daddy, Daddy! I can’t reach the milk!” He says this while simultaneously bouncing on top of me.
“Sawyer,” Emma mumbles into her pillow next to me, “it’s too early for cereal.”
“Nuh-uh.” He stops bouncing. “The clock is at breakfast time. It’ll be at school time soon.”
With sleepy eyes, Emma and I look at each other, and I’m sure we are the other’s reflection as realization dawns on both of us.
I snap up for my phone, Sawyer goes rolling to the end of the bed, and Emma is already across the room. It’s 7:08. We have to be out the door at 7:30.
“Shi—”
“Talky mushrooms!” Sawyer cuts my words off with a smirk and bounds out of the room.
“Steven, the boys’ lunch—”
“Already handled,” I say, scrambling around the room for my socks and scrubs.
Emma is already in the bathroom, the faucet turning on and off as she says, “And we have to schedule Josie’s check-up.”
“Do you need me to?”
“No, I can,” she calls from behind the door. “But will you—”
“I’ll remind you,” I say, because I know that’s what she’s asking for.
“Thank you,” she mutters as she stumbles out of the bathroom, looking as put together as one could be after the night we had, with her short brown hair pulled back as far as it’ll go and a red sweater clinging to her curves. I nearly forget to breathe. It should be illegal for a beautiful woman like her to spend her day behind a desk, planning pep rallies and parent-teacher conferences.
“And it’s jiu jitsu tonight, so could you pick up pizza on the way home?” She kisses my cheek as she hops into her heels and heads toward Josie’s room.
Most days, I take the time to admire Emma while she’s getting ready. And today would be no different if we weren’t already late. I’d pretend to be tying my shoes at the foot of the stairs, but really, I’d be watching her. I’d soak in the way her favorite black slacks accentuate her curvy hips and how the smooth skin of her neck peeks out from under her messy ponytail.
“Dad, hurry up!” Easton yells from downstairs.
Guess I’ll fawn over her later. I stumble down the stairs and grab all of our bags. Emma is right behind me, holding a sleepy Josie in her arms.
“Oh, and we need to order a cake for the boys’ birthday next month!” She gives my elbow a squeeze as she slides past.
The warmth of her fingers sends a jolt of awareness through me. We slept tangled up together all night. It’s the closest we’ve been in months. It was the best sleep I’ve had in months too. I catch a glimpse of myself in theentryway mirror and barely recognize myself, looking wild and disheveled, completely unprofessional.
“Honey?” Emma’s hands slip around my waist, and my insides go tight. “Did you hear me?”
I clear my throat, smoothing my palms over my hair in a poor attempt to pull myself together. “Yes, birthday cake. Email me the details, and I’ll get it ordered.”
This statement does something to her that I can’t quite read. I watch her face in the mirror, her green eyes flickering through an array of emotions before the corners of her mouth turn up in a smile that hits me square in the chest.
“Thank you,” she whispers, squeezing my waist and stepping back. “Boys, it’s time to go!”
“Hey,” I turn and catch her hand, pulling her gently toward me. “Can we talk later?”
“Of course.”
I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, and her eyes flutter closed. Her cheek falls into my palm, and her lips part. I get so close I can taste the mint of her toothpaste tickle my lips.
I breathe it in and whisper, “I love you, Emma Jones.”
She hums in response, eyes still closed.
“I’m going to make this work.”
