“You’re late,” he says.
“Had a truck come in right before closing,” I tell him. “Reid didn’t want to work late.”
“So, you did.”
“Of course I did. It’s so old it’s practically a dinosaur.”
A corner of his mouth lifts, and his hand comes to rest at my lower back, steady and familiar as he pulls me in close enough that I feel the heat coming off him.
“You eat?” he asks.
“Not yet.”
“I’ll fix that,” he whispers.
We’ve been hosting weekly barbecues all summer long, and he has perfected smash burgers. I could smell the food on the grill from the driveway, and my stomach is demanding a juicy burger.
“Tell her the truth,” Casanova calls from the fire pit. “If it wasn’t for me, none of this would’ve happened.”
I glance over to where he’s stretched out on one of the benches, looking entirely too pleased with himself.
“You mean the part where you used his face without permission?” I ask.
“Minor detail,” he says with a grin.
Carter’s hand presses a little firmer at my back as he guides me toward the fire, not pushing, just making it clear where he wants me.
I follow his lead happily. At times, he’s less talkative but he never fails to stay in the moment with me.
Our life settled into a steady routine without me noticing exactly when it happened. I work atReid’s Garageduring the day, same as I always have and then I come home to my family.
“Mom.”
I look down as small fingers wrap around my hand.
“Can I have a s’more?”
Judging by the sticky marshmallow and chocolate smear on his cheek I’d wager it’s not his first. Depending on how long Casanova’s been here, it might not even be his fourth.
“Ask your dad.”
He doesn’t hesitate, already turning.
Carter crouches without a word, listening as our son talks over himself, then nods once before handing him what he wants.
Watching them together never fails to warm my heart.
“You’re welcome, by the way,” Casanova says, appearing at my side again. “For all of it.”
I glance at him.
“You didn’t set us up.”
“I absolutely did too.”
Before I can respond, Carter looks over, not saying anything, just holding his gaze long enough that Casanova lifts his hands in surrender.
“Alright, you win,” he says, backing off. “Give fateallthe credit like I didn’t swipe through a thousand profiles before I found Sloane.”
