Fourth Down (Portland Pioneers 1)

I test the waters to see where he’s at. “I missed you, Julius.”

His arms tighten, and he lifts me off the ground. He buries his face in my neck, and his hand cradles my head. “I’m so sorry, Weather Girl.” He’s sorry for what, exactly? Elena? The ghosting? The entire situation? “We’ll talk later, okay?”

I nod against him, and he sets me down. Julius takes my bags from me, and without hesitation, I reach for Roxy’s hand.

“Do you have other luggage?” he asks.

“No, only my carry-ons.” Roxy skips next to me, laughing each time a balloon hits her dad’s head. I try to wrangle the bouquet in my free hand to keep them from hitting other people. Thankfully, most of the travelers are giving us a wide berth. I’m surprised people aren’t pointing and saying Julius’s name or bugging him for his autograph.

We make it to Julius’s SUV without any run-ins with fans, and we didn’t lose any of the balloons. He takes them from Roxy and tells her to climb into the back seat while trying to get the mylar assortment tucked safely in the back cargo space.

“When Roxy suggested balloons, I thought they were a good idea. I regret my decision making,” he says with a shake of his head.

“I can sit in the back and hold them down so you can drive,” I offer, but Julius shakes his head.

“I want you next to me.”

“Julius,” I pause after saying his name. I’m not sure what I want to say or what needs to be said. I had no idea he planned to pick me up, which I love, by the way. But I don’t know where we stand. I don’t have a clue as to what’s going on in his head. I want to know. I want him to be an open book and tell me everything, so we’re on the same page.

“Don’t,” he says as he steps forward. He curls his fingers around mine and brings my hand to his mouth. “If you’re going to tell me to take a hike—which I deserve—please wait until we’re back at the apartment. I don’t want that tension to be between us on the ride downtown. If you’re willing to hear me out—which I hope you are—just know that I plan to tell you everything once we’re home. The kids and I would like to have dinner with you, and if you’re up for it, I’d like for us to talk after they’ve gone to bed. I suspect you’re probably tired, so I promise not to keep you long.”

Julius and I make eye contact, and I can feel the sincerity in his words. I close the small gap that exists between us and press my lips to his. “I meant it when I said I missed you.”

“I missed you more,” he says. Julius guides me to the passenger side of his car and holds the door for me until I’m safely inside. I turn and rest my elbow on the console. Roxy is swinging her legs back and forth, her little ankles hitting the edge of her car seat.

“What’s for dinner?” I ask her.

She smiles and then lets out the cutest giggle. “Chicky nuggies.”

“My favorite,” I tell her.

The entire drive to the complex is a full-on karaoke session of little kid songs. Most of them I know from watching various programs while growing up and happily join in, but some are new to me. Julius surprises the hell out of me when he belts those out.

After a quick pit-stop to drop my bags and balloons off, Roxy dubs my apartment the best place ever. I happen to like where I live and love the view, but this little girl lives in a freaking penthouse. I suppose when you see your own place, day in and day out, something different is like a shiny new toy.

When we get to Julius’s, I’m shocked to find out that Reggie isn’t there. Julius shrugs and says, “He’s staying at his mom’s.” I can hear the hurt in his voice and know there is more to the story and figure Julius will tell me if it’s something he wants me to know.

In the kitchen, he busies himself with cooking the dinosaur chicken nuggets and a tray of fries. It’s not my ideal dinner, but Roxy loves it. Besides, I ate so many tacos while in Houston, I honestly can’t stomach much more food. While Julius tends to the food, I follow Roxy to her room. It’s as big as mine with a white four-poster bed, light pink canopy, and matching comforter. In the corner, there is a life-size cutout of her father, carrying a football.

“Dat Daddy,” she says, pointing to him.

“Did he buy it for you?”

She nods and laughs. “He funny.”

“Yeah, he is.”

Roxy continues to show me around her room. After she points out all her toys, she tells me to sit at her table and pours me a glass of tea. She scolds me when I pick my cup up though, because my tea is very hot, and I’m going to burn myself. I wait for what I think is an appropriate toddler time before picking it up again.