“Thanks, Dad. I’ll let mom know.”
Of course she’ll let Steph know. We raised good kids. And for that, I’m proud to call her my daughter.
After dropping off both Kyra and Cooper, I head back to the house. Thinking about what day of the month it is, I’m blown away that Thanksgiving is next week. And I haven’t even asked what Layla or my kids have planned. Maybe I should host this year. Invite Layla and my kids. Their mom, too. It’s time Layla meets Steph. Sitting in traffic, I hatch a plan.
Thanksgiving Day
I’m just taking the turkey from the oven, when the doorbell chimes. “Be right there!” Opening the door, I see Layla’s smiling face. “Come on in,” I tell her, getting her inside so she’s out of the cold.
“Thank you,” she says, eyeing me.
“What?”
She bites her lip and smiles. “You look good in that apron.”
I raise an eyebrow at her as I reach for her. “I’m glad you like it. I’ll try to wear it and nothing else next time.” Dropping my lips to hers, I show her much I mean it.
“Mmm,” she says against my lips. “I can’t wait to see that.”
Playfully, I swat her ass. “I need to get back in the kitchen. Let me take your coat.”
Layla shrugs it off, revealing a soft sweater, jeans, and heeled leather boots. And, of course, I notice. I’d have to be dead not to. “Damn, woman,” I say, whistling softly under my breath.
She blushes slightly, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. “And you’re sure it’s okay that I’m here? I don’t want to upset your ex.”
“It’s perfectly fine. As I’ve said before, Steph and I didn’t have a toxic divorce. We just fell out of love. We’ve moved on,” I tell her, giving her a quick peck on the cheek before walking towards the kitchen, Layla following me. “Wine?” I ask, reaching for a bottle of her favorite.
“Yes, please.”
Uncorking it, I pour her a healthy amount and hand it to her. “Have a seat at the bar. I need to finish a couple more things, then it should be all ready to go.”
She takes the wine and sits. It goes quiet between us as I busy myself with finishing cooking. I want to ask her about it, but I’m interrupted by the chiming of the doorbell.
“Do you want me to get that?” Layla asks.
I wave her off with an oven mitt-covered hand. “I’ll get it.” She nods, taking a sip of her wine.
Swinging open the front door, Steph and the kids are waiting, all huddled into their coats, their breaths coming out in plumes of white it’s so cold. “Happy Thanksgiving!”
“Happy Thanksgiving!” Kyra and Deacon both chime. Steph joins in, a little less enthusiastic.
“Come in. Everything is ready,” I tell them, ushering them inside, out of the cold. Kyra and Deacon step inside and shed their coats immediately, beckoned to the kitchen, the smell of food wafting through the house.
Steph comes inside last. It’s still a bit awkward between us. But it doesn’t have to be. We’ve both moved on. “Take your coat?” I ask Steph.
“Sure,” she replies, shrugging it off, handing it to me. I hang it up with everyone else’s.
I head back to the kitchen. And what I see next makes me slow my steps. Layla, now standing, is chatting with Kyra as Deacon raids the charcuterie board, unfazed. Stepping up to Layla, I put my arm behind her, resting on the barstool. “Layla, I see you met my kids, Kyra and Deacon.”
She nods, the wine glass still in her hands. “And this is Steph, their mom,” I say, motioning slightly towards Steph, who’s standing at the entrance of the kitchen.
“Nice to meet you,” Layla says.
“Likewise,” Steph replies.
“Would you like something to drink?” I ask Steph.
“Sure.”
