No One Else (The Ladies Who Brunch 2)

“Are you ready to cook dinner for Amelia?” Ethan turns to Oliver as he adjusts his chef’s hat on his head.

“Yes, Daddy. Let’s make spaghetti.”

My cheeks hurt from smiling so much watching the two of them together. It’s a Thursday night, and instead of going out, Ethan invited me over to his house so Oliver and he could make me dinner.

How is a woman supposed to say no to that?

Over the past few weeks, we’ve settled into a routine that I love. On the nights when I don’t have my pole dancing classes, we take turns having dinner together at each other’s houses or out at a restaurant. I go to Oliver’s soccer games each Saturday with Ethan, and then we get gelato afterward. Last weekend we went to the zoo, and I got to experience it through the eyes of a child, which made it ten times better.

I’ve barely seen the girls except for brunch because any spare moment I have, I just want to be with these boys—my boys.

“Have you made spaghetti before, Oliver?” I ask, snapping a picture of the two of them on my phone before placing it upside down on the counter. Reaching for my wine glass, I relax into the back of the stool and admire the sight before me while trying not to cry because I’m just so damn happy.

“Yup. We make spaghetti a lot.”

“Hey, it’s easy and cheap. Plus, I know you’ll eat it, little man.”

Oliver nods. “I really like spaghetti.”

“Well, it’s a good thing because I really like spaghetti too.”

“We like a lot of the same things, Amelia,” Oliver says as he helps Ethan dump the pasta into the boiling water.

“Yes we do.”

“We both like the lemon gelato,” he says, and I nod. “We both like the lions at the zoo,” he continues as my smile grows. “And now we both like spaghetti.”

“That’s right. And I bet there’s so much more that we both like that we haven’t even discovered yet.” Oliver hops down from his stool and runs over to me, wrapping his arms around my waist since that’s as high as he can reach because I’m on the stool. “Hey, what’s this for?”

“I am really happy you’re my daddy’s girlfriend, Amelia,” he mumbles into my side, bringing tears to my eyes instantly.

I lean down and press a kiss to his head. “Me too, buddy.”

“And I hope you get to be my new mommy someday.” He kisses my stomach and then rushes back over to Ethan, who’s standing by the stove, completely stoic.

And I don’t even know what to say right now because how are you supposed to respond to that when deep down, you hope the same thing? But Ethan and I haven’t spoken about those things yet, and I know better than to offer any glimmer of hope to a kid when I don’t have a clear answer to his question.

However, by the look on Ethan’s face, I’m guessing that conversation may happen later.

“Okay, Oliver, it’s time to start the sauce.” Ethan clears his throat and starts to shake the jar of pasta sauce before twisting the lid off. And then I settle back into my chair, sipping my wine and focusing back on the sight before me, one that I hope never gets old.

I watch them finish cooking our meal, and then we all settle around the table to eat like a family. Oliver eats two full plates of spaghetti and only manages to spill noodles on the floor once.

“Dinner was fantastic, boys.” I stand from the table and begin to clear the dishes, bringing them over to the sink. “You are incredible chefs.”

“I want to be a chef when I grow up,” Oliver says. “And a lawyer like Daddy, and a doctor of feelings like you, Amelia. And a firefighter…”

“You are gonna be really busy if that’s the case,” I reply through a chuckle.

“Oliver, it’s time for your bath. And then Daddy is gonna try to catch the second half of the game.”

“Okay.” Oliver runs down the hallway, and then I hear the bathwater start to run.

“Who’s playing tonight?” I ask Ethan as I turn on the sink faucet and begin rinsing dishes.

“New Orleans and Tampa Bay.”

“Nice.”

Ethan smirks at me. “You don’t know who that is, do you?”

“Yes, I do. Remember, I grew up with a father and older brother who love the game. I would watch here and there. I know some stuff, but I’m definitely not a diehard fan.” I point a soapy fork at him. “Don’t assume things about me, remember, Mr. Fuller?”

Ethan leans over and kisses me on the cheek. “You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you? And don’t worry, I plan on changing your fandom status, for sure…just for the Dallas Cowboys.” He moves behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist. “You okay with cleaning up while I supervise Oliver’s bath?”

“Absolutely. Go, I’ve got this.”

I feel his lips move up the column of my neck to right under my ear, sparks of energy from his touch racing down my spine as his lips nip at my skin. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”

“I don’t know either. Given how much of an ass you were at first, I should have run in the other direction and never turned back.”

“I’m glad you didn’t though.”

“Yeah, me too.” I peer at him over my shoulder. “I think you’re stuck with me now, Mr. Fuller.”

“I think I’m okay with that.” Our lips meet again in a chaste peck. “I’ll be back out in a few.”

“Okay, I’ll be here.”

As I finish up the dishes, I listen to Ethan and Oliver talking in the bathroom; their random conversations and all of the observations that Oliver makes in a day have me laughing. But as we settle into the couch later with Oliver on the floor below us playing with Legos, I get even more comfortable in this world.

“Sorry the place is a mess, by the way.”

My eyes veer around the room. “Nonsense. Don’t apologize. There’s a life being lived here, Ethan. It’s everywhere I turn—the toys on the ground, shoes by the door, drawings on the fridge—they are all details of the child you’re raising and a life that I only wish to have one day.”

“You want this life?”

I cup the side of his face just as cheering echoes out of the television. But he doesn’t turn toward the noise. His eyes stay locked on me. “I do. I want you and Oliver.”

He blows out a breath that sounds like relief, but then his eyebrows draw together. “I want that too.”

I lean forward and press my lips to his, restraining myself from showing him how I truly feel.

“We can talk more…after Oliver goes to bed.”