“Among other things.” I hold her gaze. “If you want.”
She’s quiet for a moment, and I can see her thinking—the implications, the step we’d be taking. Then something shifts in her expression. A decision made.
“I want to.”
Three words. My heart slams against my ribs.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” She reaches across the table and threads her fingers through mine.
• • •
Hannah is waiting in the living room when we walk in, her crossword puzzle abandoned on the coffee table. She stands when she sees us, and her eyes flick to Tori with obvious curiosity.
“Hannah, this is Tori. Tori, Hannah—she’s the reason I haven’t completely fallen apart this season.”
“Oh, stop.” Hannah waves a hand, but she’s smiling as she extends it to Tori. “It’s so nice to finally meet you. Maisie talks about you constantly.”
“She does?” Tori sounds genuinely surprised.
“Are you kidding? It’s Tori this, Tori that. Tori knows all the dinosaur names. Tori let me paint her nails. Tori’s going to teach me to do a cartwheel.” Hannah laughs. “I was starting to think she made you up.”
Tori’s cheeks go pink, and I love it. “She’s a pretty great kid.”
“She is.” Hannah’s expression softens as she looks between us. “And it’s nice to see this one smiling for a change. He’s been a grump for months.”
“I have not been a grump.”
“You’ve been a grump,” Hannah confirms. She grabs her bag and coat. “Maisie went down easy, by the way. Out like a light by eight.”
“You’re a lifesaver.”
“I know.” She pauses at the door, looking between me and Tori with a knowing twinkle. “You two have fun.”
Then she’s gone, and we’re alone.
The house feels different at night—quieter. The city lights glow through the windows, casting everything in soft shadows. Tori moves to the living room, running her fingers along the back of the couch, looking at the photos on the wall.
“That’s Maisie’s first hockey game,” I say, pointing to a picture of her in a tiny jersey, face painted with team colors. “She was three. Cried for the first twenty minutes because the noise scared her.”
“She looks so little.”
“She was. She still is, but sometimes she seems so grown-up it scares me.”
Tori turns to face me. “You’re a good dad, Zayden.”
“I try to be.”
“You are.” She steps closer.
I can’t help it. I kiss her.
It starts soft—a question more than a statement—but she answers by pressing closer, her hands sliding up my chest to curl around the back of my neck. I pull her against me, one hand in her hair, the other at the small of her back, and the kiss deepens into something hungrier.
She tastes like wine and chocolate and everything I’ve wanted for months.
“Upstairs,” I murmur against her mouth. “My room. Unless—”
