Recognizing something in him that I fight on a daily basis must make me temporarily forget everything else, because without meaning to, I lean forward, pressing my lips against his.
It’s a genuine kiss. Not an act I’m putting on for anyone else. It’s not planned or choreographed in any way.
Worse, it’s not even driven by the same sort of biological needs I’m pretending led to our moment outside. It comes only from understanding. The need to comfort. Empathy. Affection.
And—most terrifyingly—connection.
I quickly lean back when my senses return, lifting the tips of my fingers to rest against the lips that were just on Tucker’s.
We stare at each other, him looking just as surprised as I am by what just happened. By what I just did.
I swallow hard, not sure how to recover from my momentary lapse in judgment. But recovery doesn’t seem likely, so I try an excuse. “Your mom’s looking over here.”
Utter and total lie. I don’t even know where his mother is right now. Probably somewhere with my daughter seeing as how she’s toted her around the entire night.
“Smart thinking.” Tucker leans closer, the hand not resting against my shoulder coming to cradle my face. “We don’t want her getting suspicious.”
His thumb strokes against my cheek, sending a flurry of butterflies loose in my stomach. I’m so distracted by my reaction to him, that I barely have time to prepare for his lips coming to mine.
Up until this moment, kissing Tucker has been either a task or a sudden, unplanned interaction. This one falls right between those two. landing in wholly uncharted waters. Waters that arecalm enough I can’t help but notice how firm but soft the line of his mouth is. The slow drag of his fingertips as they slide along my scalp and spear into my hair. The warmth of his breath against my skin. How easy it is to lean closer, seeking something I can’t quite put a name to.
It’s not comfort, but it’s close. It’s not safety, but it’s in a similar vein. It’s a feeling I’m struggling to identify, but can easily see myself wanting more of.
“Gross.”
My eyes pop open just as what looks like a leftover dinner roll bounces off the side of Tucker’s head. I turn to find Trevor—who is now carrying my daughter around—staring at us with his lip curled.
“Get a room.” He grabs another roll, lobbing it at his brother. “There are children present.”
When the next roll hits Tucker right in the center of his forehead, my toddler starts cackling like a maniac.
It’s all the encouragement Tucker needs to grab the most recent attack roll and chuck it back at Trevor. These guys must all have wickedly great aim, because he manages to hit him right in the middle of the throat, not even coming close to where my daughter is.
Trevor makes a choking sound, which Birdie finds absolutely hilarious, turning her cackling into full on belly laughs.
A sound the rest of the Bradshaw brothers must find irresistible, because the next thing I know rolls are flying everywhere. And I’m super grateful my daughter’s wearing a diaper, because she’s laughing so hard I’m sure she’s peed her pants by this point.
Honestly, I’m probably not far behind her. Because seeing five grown men assaulting each other with bread bombs in an effort to amuse my daughter is pretty freaking hilarious.
And annoyingly adorable.
Deidre does not seem to share my opinion, because she’s very quickly in the middle of everything, shooting dirty looks at the grown men making a mess of her dining room. After stealing my daughter away from Trevor, she—in a pretty impressive mom voice—tells her sons to clean up their mess.
Watching the Bradshaw brothers grumble and complain while doing exactly what their mommy told them to do is almost as adorable as the roll fight.
As I go to work collecting the empty plates and used flatware from the table, I watch the dynamics unfolding around me. It was always just my mother and me, so seeing how a big family functions is interesting. It’s definitely very different from what I had, but I can for sure see the appeal. It almost makes me wish I could have another child someday. Give Birdie a sibling to throw dinner rolls at.
But I can’t see a way where that will ever be in the cards for me. I saw how much my mother struggled to date when I was a kid, and remember how hard it was for me to watch. I won’t put Birdie through that. It’s not worth it.
As I carry the dishes into the kitchen, my mood starts to tank. Dragged down from a point so high it feels like I’m falling off a cliff.
Setting everything into the sink, I go to work rinsing away smears of gravy and bits of mashed potato, deciding to take a minute to myself. A second to get a handle on the conflicting emotions and expectations warring in my head.
But I don't get the time I need. I’m barely through the second plate when Deidre strides in.
Her eyes go straight to where I’m working. “You don’t have to do that, honey. Ted and I will get those later tonight.”
“It’s okay. I don’t mind.” I look from side to side, knowing a woman as smart and successful as Deidre would most certainlyhave her dishwasher well within reach of the sink. Unfortunately, everything in this room looks like a cabinet. It’s gorgeous, but makes it difficult to identify appliances. “Could you point me in the general direction of the dishwasher?”
