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“Okay. No time like the present.” My mouth fell open in surprise when she scooted out of bed, looking around. “I should’ve thought to bring clothes with me in case I ended up spending the night. Oh well.”
Am I still sleeping? “Do you mean this? You’re not fucking with me?”
“I don’t see you getting dressed,” she replied, bypassing my question. “Your window of opportunity is closing, Bennett. Let’s do this while I’m feeling crazy and happy enough.”
“You’re happy?” I stopped her on her way past me, holding her by her hips. “You are, really?”
“Honestly?” She released a soft laugh that went straight to my heart. “I can’t remember the last time I felt this happy. That’s the truth.”
Turning my face to the side, she kissed my cheek, her lips lingering before she murmured in my ear, “Thank you for wanting my show.”
I wanted so much more than her show. All the words I longed to say rose in my throat, ready to be voiced, but I wouldn’t know where to start. Instead, I squeezed her before patting her ass. “Let’s get moving.” I had waited long enough. She couldn’t remember the last time she felt this happy. Neither could I, and I wasn’t quite sure what to do with it. Happiness was never something I had expected. I’d always imagined life pretty much going the way it did, with work to keep me occupied and plenty of chances to have a good time. That was as far as it went.
There were so many possibilities opening in front of me. It was a little nerve-racking, but in a good way. I wanted to see what was coming next.
That was what pushed me forward, and before long, we were on our way to the house my mother had essentially bought for Winter’s mom. The fact that she would enter my thoughts at a time like this irked the shit out of me. She didn’t deserve to be thought of after everything she’d done. She had kept me from this for so many years. I hoped, for her sake, she didn’t expect forgiveness because she would never receive it.
It took a conscious effort to get her out of my mind so I could meet Liam without the past hanging over me.
“We should be the first ones up,” Winter mused. Her breath was slightly shaky, and she laughed at herself. “Listen to me. I’m so excited.”
Stopping at a red light, I looked her way. “You’re sure about this?” When she frowned at the question, I added, “Sometimes things seem like a good idea at the moment, but then we wonder what the hell we were thinking.”
Her tongue darted over her lips, her gaze searching mine. “Are you sure this is what you want? Because once you meet him, there’s no going back. You get that, right?”
“I get it. And if it hadn’t been for somebody getting in the way, my son would’ve known me all these years.” Anger edged my words by the time I hit the gas once the light turned green. “I’m not going to run away if that’s what you’re worried about.”
The long breath she released told me that was exactly what was on her mind. She loved him, and any mother would ask the same question. I couldn’t take it personally.
She had to be able to hear the way my heart raced, pounding against my ribs as we approached the front door of the modest, single-story home. It was barely six o’clock, so I wasn’t surprised by the profound silence that greeted us once we stepped inside. The living room was cozy but charming, complete with a few toys scattered around. I also noticed the walker folded up by the front door, and I raised an eyebrow. “Just for when she needs it,” Winter whispered, leading me into the kitchen. “Let’s make breakfast. It’ll be nice.”
“I’m completely at your disposal.” Something about this felt so right, pulling ingredients from the refrigerator and cabinets, whispering so we wouldn’t wake Liam too early. I wanted to, and now that I was so close to him, in the same house, all I wanted was to see him. I had to think like a parent now, which meant putting him first, and I doubted he would take it well if a strange man suddenly appeared in his bedroom.
His artwork was on the refrigerator while small plastic plates and cutlery sat on the drainboard. There was evidence of him all around the cheerful kitchen as I mixed the batter Winter had put together for pancakes. “Don’t mix too much,” she warned. “Or they won’t be fluffy.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Eyeing her as she set the coffee maker, I murmured, “There I was, thinking dancing was all you were good at.”
“All I’m good at?” She arched an eyebrow. “You sure about that? Because I can think of a few other things you seem to enjoy.”
“All right, maybe not all.” Not even close. There was something insanely appealing about her right now, moving around the kitchen in last night’s dress, barefoot, her hair clipped back. I couldn’t help but give in to the impulse to brush a hand against her lower back in passing, and the way she smiled with the sunlight dancing in her hair and her eyes sparkling playfully almost stopped my heart.
Only for the sound of soft, rapid footfalls to get it pounding twice as fast. “Mama! You’re home.” A little boy with sandy blond curls barreled into the room, heading straight for his mother and throwing his arms around her legs.
Breathe in, out.
I had seen his pictures, so I knew what to expect, but there was no preparing myself for the sight of Winter picking him up and squeezing him, peppering his cheeks with kisses while he squirmed happily in his race car pajamas. “Good morning. Do you want some pancakes?”
“Yeah. I am so hungry.” Now he noticed me, his little brow furrowing. “Who are you?” he asked, a little shy as he touched his cheek to Winter’s shoulder.
“This is Mama’s good friend, Jackson,” she explained in a soft voice. “Jackson worked on the big show with me.”
“Grandma went to the big show last night. Did you meet Grandma?” he asked.
It was almost too much effort to speak over the lump in my throat, but I somehow managed to nod. “I did. And it’s nice to meet you too.”
Beyond nice. God, I wanted to soak in every bit of him—his little hands, tousled hair, and dimples. This perfect little person was part of me.
I had known him for all of ten seconds and already knew this wouldn’t be enough. I would need more of him, more of her, more of this.
