Slade leans against the counter, arms folded. “Besides, if she can handle your surly, foul-mouthed ass on a daily basis, she can handle anything this family throws at her.”
I open my mouth, about to extract a vow of obedience by any means necessary.
“We'll behave,” Tanner says, holding up both hands. “We already like Sadie more than we like you.” His eyes glint as he adds, “I always wanted a cool sister-in-law.”
By the time we sit down to eat, I realize I worried for nothing.
Sadie doesn't need my protection here. Not even close.
She holds her own in the rapid-fire crossfire of three brothers who grew up sharpening their tongues on each other around this exact table, who communicate mostly in insults and have since we were old enough to talk. My family loves her too. It’s obvious in the natural way they all fall into jokes and stories, no awkward silences. Just easy, like we’ve been doing this forever.
Tanner leans over to me at one point and whispers, “You picked the right cradle to rob.”
If looks could fucking kill.
I watch Sadie fit herself into the contours of my family with perfect ease. When my brothers start asking her about herself and she tells them that she’s going to be a teacher, Dad looks to me with a sneaky smile.
“Don’t suppose you could teach my boy some mannerswhile you’re at it? I thought I did, but I clearly bungled the job.”
Sadie's blue eyes find mine across the table, sparkling. “We're working on it.”
“Sadie doesn't like when Dad says bad words,” Jonah interjects.
My father is beaming. This is the best night he's had in months, I can tell. “And is Dad being better about that?”
“He’s trying,” Jonah confirms. “But he says he keeps fucking it up.”
Everyone cracks up. Everyone except for me.
“Jonah!” I bark.
“What?” he says innocently. “It’s what you said.”
“It’s one thing for a grown-up to use that language. You’re a kid. You’re not allowed.”
“Monkey see, monkey do,” Tanner says in a sing-song voice.
“It's called modeling behavior,” Sadie offers. “One of the most powerful forces in child development.”
The conversation moves on after that, but I keep dwelling on her words.
Modeling behavior.
What am I modeling for my son?
I work. I provide. I show up every single day, which is more than I did for the first few years of his life when I was constantly traveling. A choice I made that haunts me to this day.
But Jonah isn't watching my bank account. He's watching my face. He's watching whether I laugh, whether I seem excited for something, whether I seem happy.
I'm not sure I'd pass that test right now. But I'm starting to think I want to.
I keep glancing at Sadie, trying to quell the deep possessiveness stirring within me.
It’s not just her beauty that’s got me spellbound. It’s not just the need to have her body against mine again, though God knows how bad I want that.
It's everything else. It’s the fiery flash in her eyes when I say something that pisses her off. The smile she gives me when I say something that pleases her. The way my son reaches for her hand without looking, like she's always been there and she's always going to be.
I want all of her. Not just the parts she's already given me, the sharp tongue and the sass and the sparkling energy that's been lighting up my world from day one, minute one.
