I laugh, surprised by his straightforwardness. “Whoa, slow down there, buddy. We’re just taking things one step at a time, okay?”
Cohen laughs too, clearly enjoying the tease, but his eyes stay soft, searching mine for something deeper. I reach over, ruffling his hair affectionately.
“We’ll see, little man. We’ll see,” I say, my heart swelling a little more.
As we drive, something in my chest settles—a quiet realization that I’ve never felt more like myself than I do in this role. I’m not pretending. I’m not pushing away who I used to be. I’m just...here. Being a dad. And it feels good.
When we arrive at Kenna’s house, Cohen races ahead to the door, his excitement barely contained. He doesn’t even wait for me as he pushes the door open and dashes inside. I follow behind at a slower pace, my heart pounding in my chest. There’s a nervous energy coursing through me, one I can’t shake. I don’t know exactly what the future holds, but I know one thing with certainty—I want to be a part of their lives. Both of them. Kenna and Cohen.
The scent of something warm and inviting drifts through the house as I step inside. The sound of a simmering pan, the soft hum of a song playing on the radio, and the faint clatter of dishesall mix into an atmosphere that feels undeniably like home. Kenna is at the stove, stirring a pot, her hair pulled into a messy bun. She looks up when she hears us, and her face softens instantly. Her eyes flick between Cohen and me, lingering for a moment longer on me, and something unspoken passes between us.
“Start on your homework, Cohen,” she instructs with a gentle smile, shifting her attention back to him. “Dinner will be ready soon.”
Cohen groans dramatically, flopping onto one of the kitchen chairs. “I don’t want to do homework. Cole is here. Can’t I do it later?”
Kenna smirks, shaking her head. “You know the rule. Homework first, then dinner. And if you want dessert, you'd better finish all of it.”
Cohen sighs heavily, as if the weight of the world is on his small shoulders, but he doesn’t argue. He grabs his math workbook and a pencil, flipping it open to the assigned page. His little face scrunches in frustration almost immediately.
I pull out a chair and sit beside him, watching as he stares at the fractions in front of him like they’re written in a foreign language. His lips move as he mutters to himself, his small fingers tapping against the table in frustration.
“I don’t get it,” he huffs after a few moments, throwing down his pencil. “It doesn’t make sense.”
Without thinking, I lean over, glancing at the page. “Hey, buddy, let’s look at this together.”
Cohen watches me skeptically but doesn’t protest as I slide his workbook closer. I point to the problem and break it down step by step, explaining it in a way that makes sense to him. Slowly, his frustration eases, and I catch the flicker of understanding in his eyes.
From the corner of my eye, I see Kenna standing in the doorway, a kitchen towel in her hands. She’s watching us with a soft, teary expression, her lips slightly parted as if she wants to say something but can’t find the words. Her gaze lingers onme, then on Cohen, and I can see the depth of her love for her son, the way she takes in every moment with him. But there’s something else in her eyes, something that tugs at my heart—a silent gratitude, a quiet hope.
By the time Cohen solves the last problem, he’s grinning. “I did it!”
“You sure did,” I say, nudging him playfully. “Knew you could.”
Kenna finally steps into the room, wiping the back of her hand against her cheek as if to erase the evidence of her emotions. She stops beside the table, her voice quiet but filled with something heavy when she speaks.
As Kenna disappears into the kitchen, I catch a glimpse of a photo on the fridge—Cohen as a baby, cheeks plump and eyes curious, wrapped in a blue blanket. It guts me in the softest way. I wasn’t there. I missed those firsts. His first steps. His first words. First birthday. That time is gone forever. But I have now. I have this moment, and if I’m lucky, I’ll have hundreds more.
When Kenna steps back into the room and thanks me, her voice full of quiet emotion, I meet her eyes—and something changes between us. The air feels charged. Heavier, but in a way that feels safe.
I want to tell her. Everything. That I’m scared. She’s the one I think about each night as I drift to sleep. Cohen and her make me feel like I’m finally worth something. But I just hold her gaze and give her the smallest nod. The kind that says, ‘I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.’
I smile, warmth spreading through me. Because right here, in this moment, I know I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
TABLE FOR THREE, PLEASE
KENNA-PRESENT
Dinner is warm,familiar, and filled with Cohen’s nonstop chatter. His excitement is contagious, practically radiating from him as he talks, his little hands gesturing wildly. He can barely contain his joy that Cole is staying, and the excitement pours out of him with every word, his sentences spilling over one after another. It’s as though his words are competing to be heard first, and he’s in no rush to slow down, his focus entirely on the present moment, on Cole, on the promise of more time together. Even the food seems to fade into the background as his energy fills the room.
The kitchen table becomes something sacred—less a place for eating and more a place of becoming. We aren’t just having dinner. We’re creating something. Laying down the roots of a new version of our family, meal by meal.
“Cole, you should come for dinner every night!” Cohen exclaims between bites, his eyes lighting up with the intensity of his desire to have this be his new reality. “It’s so much more fun when you’re here!” His voice conveyed pure joy, and I saw genuine hope in his eyes. He’s been so starved for this connection, for the stability of knowing that the people he loves are sticking around.
I glance at Cole and give him a playful look—the kind that silently says,“I told you he would adore you.”Cole catches my gaze, his lips quirking upward into a small but amused smirk. He shakes his head, clearly bemused by the unrelenting enthusiasm of our son. With a soft chuckle, he turns back to Cohen.
“Well, buddy,” Cole says, his voice rich with warmth and affection, leaning in slightly, his eyes locked on Cohen’s hopeful expression. “If you ever want me to come anywhere, anytime, just say the word. I’m there.”
