“Of course. Not everybody wants milkies in the morning.”
He covered his eyes with his hands. “What if I said I do want milkies, though?”
“Oh, sweet boy. You want it now? From me?”
“Yes, please?” It came out as a question.
“Well, good boys who eat their breakfast get milkies,” I sing-songed.
He grabbed the next quarter of his sandwich so fast, and it was like a switch had flipped. His nerves were gone. He was happy. He wasn’t in Little space, but he wasn’t big either. He was in a land in between.
When he was done eating, we went to the couch. I sat down, pulling off my shirt. “I just pumped this morning, so there might not be a lot.”
“I don’t need a lot. I had a good breakfast, and there’s a sweet treat if I’m good.”
“Yes, there is, my sweet boy, and you will love it.” I couldn’t wait to see his face when he saw the cookie.
He brought his mouth to my chest, then looked up. “I don’t really know what to do.”
“Let me teach you.”
I taught him how to latch on, and when he did, I could feel the last of his tension flee from his body. He took long sips, his other hand kneading my chest. When there was no more milk on that side, he switched to the other. I doubt he got a lot, but when he unlatched and righted himself, he looked so content—the picture of a milk-sated Little, if ever I saw one.
“Thank you, Daddy.”
“Anytime, sweetheart.” I kissed his forehead. “Anytime.”
11
ETHAN
The workday was winding down, and the shop was nearly finished. Getting everything done should’ve been my focus. It wasn’t. I was distracted by Kyle, by the way he looked at me, the way he let me share with him this morning what I wanted and who I was without interrupting, or worse, trying to convince me I was asking for too much. The way it felt to me, nestled next to him on the couch, drinking from him, every time we made eye contact.
I thought about kissing him, latching on to him, and doing so much more. He no longer held back, either, giving a small touch here or a little touch there as he walked by or when we sat for lunch. It was fair to say neither one of us was getting much done, but we were pretending to, so go us?
There were no things to be built or painted anymore. It was all about cleaning, putting tools away, and setting up the business to have a functioning workflow. That didn’t take a lot of brain power which meant I spent too much time in my head.
I still blushed thinking about all I’d admitted to him, but he never made me feel awkward about it, giving back as much as I gave him. I was tired of being scared, tired of holding back.
When I woke up this morning, I was determined—determined to get it all out there. And I did it.
“What are you thinking about?” Kyle brushed the back of my head, pulling me from my own thoughts.
“I was thinking that I meant everything I said and did this morning. That I don’t want to pretend I don’t know what I want and that I think I’m ready to move on.”
“I meant everything too, and I treasure how you trusted me enough to tell me everything. And in the spirit of being open, I want you to know I’ve spent weeks looking forward to seeing you every day. I’m not looking forward to going back to work because we won’t have this time.”
I needed to hear that. What a good Daddy he was.
“I was afraid that you weren’t feeling the same,” I admitted.
“I definitely was. I was trying to be responsible, not to go too fast, not to assume that you were ready or make decisions for you. This is new territory for me, and I didn’t want to mess it up.”
“Trust me, you’re not. You’re really not. I want you in my life, and I need you to know I don’t think of you as a replacement for Rand.” That was my biggest fear at this point, that he would feel like he was somehow a stand-in. “Never that. I want Kyle in my life.”
“Thank you. I needed to hear that.” He kissed my forehead. “And I want you, Ethan. I haven’t wanted anyone this much in years.”
“Come upstairs with me.” I took his hand.
