“Mm-hmm,” Alex agrees, as he gnaws on a leg bone. He finishes and swallows, dropping the bone to his plate and reaching for a wing with his still-greasy hand. “Never had such fluffy mashed potatoes either.”
Riley leans back in his chair, his smile wide and eyes shining as he watches my boys thoroughly enjoying the meal he prepared. I’ve been hyper-aware of where his hand rests on my thigh throughout this dinner, worried Matt or Alex would notice and take issue, but I can’t help but smile when he squeezes my leg in his excitement.
“Whipped ‘em with lots of milk and butter. Does this get me some more points?”
“Fifteen, easy,” Matty says, before shoveling a forkful of the roasted vegetables into his mouth. “I even—”
“Don’t speak with your mouth full,” I interject.
He shoots me an apologetic smile and swallows. “I even like these carrots.”
“Glad to hear it,” Riley says, his eyes finding mine, happiness and so much promise radiating from his face. “So what do I get when I reach a hundred points?”
“You get to date our mom,” Matt says.
“Thought I already was.”
Alex rolls his eyes. “Well, you get to do it with our blessing.”
“Don’t we already have that?” I ask, sitting up and looking at my son in alarm.
“Youhave that,” he tells me. “He’s still TBD.”
“Do we need to talk about your intentions?” Matty leans forward, his tone only mildly joking, but Riley just chuckles, unfazed.
“They’re sincere,” he promises, meeting Matt’s gaze.
“Good.”
Turning back to Alex, Riley asks, “Will banana cream pie help my case any further?”
“Fuck yeah,” Matty exclaims, sitting up straighter while Alex nods enthusiastically.
“Matt!” I snap again, and he shoots me a sheepish smile.
Riley glances at me with his own faint smile and squeezes my thigh once more. “I made it fresh this morning.”
Matt leans forward, eyes lighting up. “No shi—” he starts, but catches himself this time. “No way,” he continues. “It’s homemade?”
“Yep.Your mom said it was your favorite.”
“Well,” Matt says, exchanging a glance with Alex. “That just might bump you up another fifteen.”
Talk soon turns to Alex’s music, then to Riley’s winning basketball record at the high school and the champion pennant that still hangs in the gym. Finally, it moves to football, and Matty’s position on the team, leading eventually to the boys challenging Riley to throw the ball around with them in the backyard.
I sit on the back deck, nursing my second glass of wine, while I watch the three of them run around. My face hurts from how hard I’ve been smiling. But never mind me, Riley’s grin is ear-to-ear. The boys heckle him when he throws the ball, teasing that his fancy ‘baller’ skills don’t translate to the pigskin … that he’s an old man … that his arm’s not cut out for distance, and all the while he laughs. He laughs, and he cheers Alex on for an excellent interception. He champions Matty’s footwork and several difficult catches.
He hasfun.
So do the boys.
And it melts my heart and fills me with so much optimism, I think I might burst. Could this, somehow, be an auspicious beginning and not the disaster I’d feared?
“Go long,” Matty shouts, calling my attention back to their game as he winds up and releases a perfect spiral, the ball sailing smoothly over Alex’s head on a clear trajectory towards the top of the fence—and my grouchy neighbor’s yard. If we lose theball, it will mean the end of today’s fun, for old Mr. Brady hoards any lost items out of spite. Riley takes three long strides then launches himself into the air right in front of the fence, his long arms reaching for it … reaching …
His shirt rises with the movement, revealing toned abs and a tantalizing trail of dark hair leading below his waistband. It happens fast, only a short tease of the ridge of muscle, the dips and valleys I ran my tongue over just the other night, but it’s enough to have my heart rate spiking at the sight—at the memory. He makes the catch, Matt and Alex both cheering and rushing over to pat him on the back. I can’t help smiling, knowing how pleased he must be with this result, with this successful bonding moment with them. With his son. Yet when I glance back, his focus has shifted to me. Near-silver eyes stare boldly back at me as though he’d felt my gaze upon him … and the moment it had shifted from amusement to desire.
And maybe he did. Maybe he could.
