I start to step forward to go to him when a little boy, probably four or five years old, zooms past him, causing him to wobble and fall on his bottom. But when he doesn’t cry and just gets back up, I relax . . . only to brace when the same kid runs past him again, this time purposely bumping into him.
“Hey, be careful!” I bark, and the kid looks at me with wide eyes before running off, yelling for his mom.
“You know, it’s not really appropriate to glare or yell at other people’s kids,” Everly says quietly, and I glance down at her. “It also looks like you’re no longer the hot guy at the park but enemy number one.” She jerks her chin out slightly, and I follow the movement, noticing that the mom the little boy ran to is currently glaring at me. “If she comes over to beat you up, you’re on your own.”
“That kid was a dick.”
“You’re also not allowed to call other people’s kids dicks, even if they are dicks.” She grins.
“I’ll try to remember that.” I watch her laugh, and my fingers twitch with the urge to tangle in her hair so I can tilt her head back and kiss her pretty mouth.
“Da, da, da, da!” We both turn to Sampson when he starts to yell. Since he can’t actually form words and has no real understanding of what he’s saying, I shouldn’t feel so fucking smug knowing he’s calling out to me, but I do.
“What’s up, big guy?” I walk over to where he’s standing, and he holds out his arms for me to pick him up; then he points to the swings.
“Only one more time,” Everly tells him, pulling his hoodie up over his head, and I notice the slight chill that’s beginning to fill the evening air. “Then we need to go home to eat dinner, and you have to have a bath before bed.”
“No.” He shakes his head and pats my cheek, babbling something with “mama and da” mixed in.
“Sorry, big guy. Your mom’s the boss,” I tell him, and he shakes his head again and babbles some more as we walk to where the swing set is at the opposite end of the park. Once I have him in one of the baby seats, I push him, listening to him giggle as Everly makes faces at him while she takes dozens of pictures with her phone.
Watching her with her son makes my chest feel tight. She’s beautiful, really fucking beautiful, inside and out. Over the last week, I’ve come to the realization that fighting the pull I feel toward her is pointless. She’s woken up something inside me I didn’t know was asleep, emotions I forgot I even had—happiness, protectiveness, jealousy, excitement. Until her, I didn’t realize how much I had closed down, and I’m not sure why I did, but she makes me want to do better, be better. Being with her and Sampson centers me more than it scares me.
“Did you hear me?”
I come out of my thoughts on that question and find Everly watching me closely.
“Sorry, no. What did you say?”
“I asked if you wanted to join us for dinner?” Her cheeks are tinged with pink that I’m not sure is from the cold. “I mean, you don’t have to if you have plans or a date or something.”
“No date.” I hold her eye. “Dinner sounds good,” I answer instantly, the list of things I needed to get done today seeming less important than it did this morning.
“Okay, good.” She licks her lips and clears her throat before stopping the swing. “Time to go, baby.” Sampson’s bottom lip wobbles, and tears fill his eyes as she lifts him out of the seat. “Oh, don’t do that.” She kisses his cheek once she has him settled on her hip, and he starts to cry harder as we walk to the parking lot.
“You’re killing me, big guy.” I hold out my hands for him to come to me, then toss him in the air and fly him around until his tears dry up and he starts to laugh.
“Sucker.” Everly shakes her head when we reach her car, and I don’t even try to deny I’m obviously weaker than her when it comes to his tears.
“Start the engine and turn on the heat. I’ll get him buckled in,” I tell her when she reaches for him, and he clings to me.
“Thanks,” she says softly, opening the door.
As she slides in behind the wheel, I get Sampson into his seat and strapped in. “See you in a few minutes.” I kiss Sampson’s hand when he places it against my mouth, then get out and slam the door.
“I’ll meet you at the house,” she tells me when she gets the window rolled down. “We can just call and order from somewhere once I get Sam settled, if that works for you.”