We Have Till Dawn

This was what Sundays were all about.

Food and family.A few years laterI grinned and pinched my lips together, willing myself not to get mushy.

It was probably a good thing I wasn’t in the rehearsal room, but no one could stop me from watching through the window. Anthony had already spotted me. His patience was out of this world, and he was making such progress with Hannah. She finally trusted him completely.

She bobbed her head unsteadily and tinkered on the little pink guitar, a gift from Anthony when she turned six earlier this year. Whenever he praised her, she became so excited she couldn’t sit still. Maybe she didn’t always express herself verbally, but the girl had no issues getting her message across anymore. She did talk a lot more now too.

Anthony smiled widely when she’d done something, and I wanted to be in there; I wanted to hear them.

The door opened next to me, and Gideon hurried in and removed his gloves. “Did I miss it?”

I shook my head and extended my hand. “She’s doing so fucking well.”

He grabbed it and peered through the window. Then he released a breath and looked like everything was right in the world.

And it was.

We’d started out as foster parents to a three-year-old who hadn’t been diagnosed yet. She’d also never spoken a single word at that point. But Gideon had walked away from most of his responsibilities at the family corporation to stay at home with her, to connect with her, to tutor her, and we’d started building our family around us. Around Hannah.

“Good job, Hannah,” I read on Anthony’s lips, and she shimmied in her seat.

“Can we go in?” Gideon murmured.

“I was thinking we don’t wanna distract her,” I said, but I left it up to him. With Hannah, I let Gideon set the pace a bit more, ’cause he was so in tune with her needs.

“I think she’ll be fine,” he replied. “She’s been doing better with her discipline exercises.”

True, and definitely no need to twist my arm. I reached up and kissed his cheek, then opened the door to the rehearsal room, and Hannah’s mouth popped open before her green eyes lit up.

“Daddies! I’m playing.”

“That’s amazing, baby girl,” I praised. “Daddy and I are just gonna sit here and watch, okay? You concentrate on what Uncle Anthony’s teaching you.”

She nodded and put on her serious face as Gideon and I sat down in two of the chairs along the wall.

Gideon threaded our fingers together and didn’t take his eyes off Hannah. “By the way, whatever it is you’ve got cooking in the Crock-Pot at home smells a little too good.”

I chuckled silently and kissed his knuckles.

The clock on the wall struck six, and I asked him if we were picking up Sammy or if Ruby was bringing him over. My party-loving best friend was terrified because she was expecting her first child, so she’d volunteered to watch our hellion some afternoons.

I wasn’t sure it would make her any less scared, to be honest.

“She’s dropping him off here,” Gideon replied quietly. “Apparently, Sam was a great little helper with the dishes.”

I quirked a brow. “Actually helping or…did he throw plates on the floor again?”

With our toddler, you could never be certain.

“Actually helping,” Gideon laughed softly.

Good. Sammy may not share my genes, but Pop liked to point out how our boy was as rambunctious as I had once been.

If Hannah and Gideon had their extra special bond, Sammy and I had ours. He loved sitting with me when I played whatever instrument, but he also required a firm hand that Gideon was less happy about providing. The husband was a sucker, in short.

I didn’t mind. Before meeting Gideon, before having kids with him, I’d never thought I would find my dream in the very moment I came home from work, kissed a tired Gideon hello, got an update on everything, then spent some time laying down the law to our son because Gideon hadn’t been able to. I just fucking lived for it. Then I’d make us dinner while my man got some rest, and we’d eat together and swap stories about our day. Starting next year, it would involve homework for Hannah, which was nuts. She was growing up too fast.

Part of me wanted one more—three was a good number. Another part of me really fucking enjoyed arranging for babysitters within the family so Gideon and I could fuck off for a weekend here and there.

Maybe when Sammy got a little older.

Either way, I was ready for whatever life might throw at us, as long as we maintained our tradition of stopping for fries at Gideon’s favorite place on Saturdays. Otherwise, he got crankier than Sammy on an empty stomach.

But for now, we were going to sit here and feel ridiculously proud as our daughter played “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star” on her very own guitar.