“Okay.” He rested his butt against the half wall. “What’s on your agenda for the rest of the day?”
Smiling, she poked a finger to the middle of his chest. “Your dinner. I’m going to hit the grocery. Are you sure you want
to leave the menu to me? This is your last chance to make changes.”
He shook his head. “I trust you implicitly.”
She leaned into him and tilted her face up to his. “That means a lot to me.”
He dropped a kiss to her lips, letting it linger even though he knew one of his best friends, his father and all the kids in his camp were watching. When he lifted his head, he murmured, “Can I see you later? Take you to dinner? Or for a drink?” He lowered his voice. “Or massage your feet?”
“I think your feet are the ones that will need massaging tonight.”
“I won’t fight you on that.”
She laughed. “I would love to, but I need to try and talk with my mom. It would be good for me to sleep there tonight, even though I’d rather be with you.”
He sighed. “I understand.”
“But let’s find a little window to hook up. Watching you skate seriously turns me on, and I want to reward your body for all that hard work.” Her grin grew, her eyes sparkled. “I’m crazy about you, Donovan.”
He sighed, and dropped another kiss to her lips.
“Okay, kids,” Joe said. “Hate to interrupt, but I’ve got to get going. Sweetie,” he said to Olivia, “why don’t you stay?”
“Pfffft.” She waved the idea away. “If Tate had his way, I’d never get anything done.”
She squeezed Tate’s hand before she followed his dad out of the rink. And as Tate let the kids rest another minute, he watched them walk out together.
“Dude,” Beckett said. “I haven’t seen that grin on your face for fuckin’ years. She’s the best thing that’s happened to you since way before Lisa.”
Tate nodded and met Beckett’s gaze. “Without any doubt.”
He teased the boys by opening the grocery bags Olivia had left with, “Let’s see what we’ve got here.” He leaned down and breathed deep. “Oh, hell, this is heaven right here. I don’t know, Beck. Did they work hard enough for this kind of reward?”
The kids laughed and groaned and shouted.
“Depends,” Beckett said. “What’s in there?”
“Sandwiches,” he said. “All kinds, with all the fixin’s. And they’re on that crusty handmade bread.”
“You’re right,” Beckett agreed. “I’m not sure. Anything else in there?”
“Ooo,” Tate said. “Big, fat pickles. And—oh, man—homemade kettle chips.”
Half the kids were on their feet, crowding around, shouldering each other to get close.
“I think the final call will depend on if she’s got dessert in either of those bags,” Beckett said.
One of the kids reached for the bag and Tate slapped his hand. The boy pulled back laughing. On the bench, Tate’s phone rang.
“Can you take care of this?” Tate asked Beckett. “I’m expecting a call from Dave.”
“You got it.” Beckett yelled for Derek while Tate retrieved his phone. “Take the other bag. Lunch in the lounge boys.” He glanced at Tate. “See you there?”
“Save me something, will you?”
“Eh,” he said, grinning. “Maybe.”