“Cool.” Zeke had said, satisfied before finishing his food. I didn’t know whether to laugh or melt right there at the table.
After dinner, I stood to start the bedtime chaos. “Bath time,” I announced, already bracing for the chorus of groans.
Zeke groaned on cue. The twins clapped because they didn’t know any better yet.
“Need help?” Hunter asked, pushing his chair back. The scrape of the legs across the floor snapped me out of the daze I’d been in all evening.
I shook my head quickly, maybe too quickly. “No, I’ve got it. Just… make yourself comfortable on the couch. There’s the remote.”
He studied me for a second, then nodded. “Okay.”
I left him there, sitting on my worn couch with cartoons queued up on mute, and led the kids down the hall.
Bath time was the usual circus. Zeke tried to sink action figures. Chloe tried to drink the water. Avery splashed until half of it was on the floor. I kept my voice steady, my hands busy, but my mind kept drifting back to the living room whereHunter was waiting.
What was he thinking out there? Did he feel out of place? Did he see the peeling paint on the bathroom door, the cheap towels, the clutter I never seemed to catch up on? Did he regret saying yes to all of this?
By the time the kids were clean, pajama-clad, and smelling like bubblegum soap, I was half-exhausted and half buzzing. When I came out of the bathroom after brushing Chloe’s teeth, I found Hunter sitting on the couch, an arrangement of princess band-aids thrown across the coffee table as he patched a stuffed bunny’s missing ear.
He looked up and smiled, soft and sheepish. “Emergency surgery. She insisted.”
Avery’s little face lit up. “All better!”
“Good work, Doc,” he said, saluting her.
Something in me twisted, because I’d seen men try to fake this before. The patience. The kindness. But this wasn’t that. He wasn’t pretending.
“Alright,” I said, my voice gentler now, “time to say goodnight.”
Zeke frowned. “Already?”
“Already,” I said, trying not to laugh. “You can say goodnight to Hunter before bed.”
Zeke hesitated, but the twins ran right up to him.
Hunter crouched down to their level, his hands braced on his knees. “Thanks for having me for dinner, ladies. Best spaghetti I’ve had in years.” ??Chloe giggled and launched herself at him, arms wrapping around his neck. Avery followed without hesitation.
For a second, he froze, unsure of what to do with the tiny arms around him, but then he smiled. Really smiled.He hugged them back carefully, gently, understanding just how fragile trust could be.
Zeke lingered near my leg, watching. Hunter turned to him next. “You too, buddy. Thanks for letting me crash dinner.”
Zeke shrugged, a flicker of approval there, before disappearing down the hall. Hunter stood, still watching after them. “They’re good kids,” he said, voice low.
“They are,” I said, almost whispering. “Thank you for… handling it so well. I’m just going to lay them down. Do you want to leave? I don’t want you to have to wait around for me.”
“I can wait,” Hunter said.
Heat crept up my neck before I could stop it. “You don’t have to—”
“I know,” he said softly, eyes fixed on mine. “But I want to.”
I didn’t know what to do with the way he looked at me like he wasn’t seeing the mess or the exhaustion, but the person under it all. I nodded, not trusting my voice, and turned toward the hallway, my pulse still unstable.
I tucked the kids into bed as three little bodies wriggled and resisted, before finally giving in. It was the same routine I’d done a thousand times, only tonight, every step felt heavier. More loaded. ??I tucked Zeke in first. Eyelids drooped as he managed to whisper, “Mommy, Hunter’s funny. Is he nice?”
I kissed his curls. “Yeah. He’s nice.”
“Good,” Zeke said, drifting off.
