He walks up behind me, inhaling my neck and groaning. “You smell like pure heaven.”
“I’m not wearing anything.”
“Must just be you then.” He kisses the top of my shoulder. “You hungry? We have appetizers and this badass mixologist. She said the grapefruit mojito is one of her most popular.”
I nod, feeling the numbness starting to spread over me.
No. No, I don’t want to go numb tonight.
I want to feel everything.
I’ve been working hard in therapy to stay in touch with my emotions and feel things. It’s easy to check out, to drink some wine and desensitize myself to the pain of life and the harsh memories that are constantly trying to flood back in from my first marriage.
I hate giving those memories any power over me at all.
Duke intertwines his fingers with mine andpulls me out to the main room. It’s a modern, open-concept design. The private chefs are in the kitchen. It’s two men who are also a couple, and they’re hard at word, prepping ingredients with steam floating up to the ceiling and the oven timer beeping.
The mixologist is set up out on the patio kitchen counter with an array of liquor bottles, garnishes, and sparkling glassware.
“I’ll take a grapefruit mojito,” I tell Duke.
He smiles, leans in, and kisses my cheek. “Coming right up.”
He goes outside to tell the mixologist.
Dawson runs up to me, still in his damp swim trunks. “Mom! Did you see the Lego truck I built? It has a turbo blaster.” He proudly holds up the colorful truck.
“Wow, honey! That looks amazing. I’m proud of you.” I smile at him, rustling his dirty-blond hair. “Where’s your brother?”
“He’s with Eden and her baby, playing peekaboo.”
“Oh, okay.”
“Mommy, when can we get a baby?”
“Um, I don’t know.”
Rosie walks up, holding Bonnie’s hand. “Okay, we have dancing on the patio in five minutes. Are you coming?”
I nod, following her outside.
Duke is strumming on his guitar while Monroe sits on Cash’s lap next to him and sings. The mixologist acts like nothing out of the ordinary is happening. She sees me and holds up a stunning fluted coupe glass with a curled grapefruit peel garnish.
“Grapefruitmojito?”
I take it from her. “Wow, thank you.” I take a slow sip, the tangy flavor bursting on my tongue. “Wow, that’s incredible.”
“Thanks.” She winks at me and gets back to mixing with her tattooed hands.
Dutton walks outside, coming right up to me and motioning for me to lean down toward him.
I do, and he whispers in my ear.
“Happy birthday, Mommy.”
Then he pulls out a homemade drawing from behind his back. I smile when I see the colorful crayon drawings of me, him, Dawson, and another figure.
“Who’s this?”
