“You’re freezing,” he said, rubbing his hands up and down my back.
“It is pretty cold. I think we’re going to get some snow too. But I’m fine.”
He released me, kissing me hard on the lips before taking my hand. “Come on in. There’s someone I want you to meet.”
My heart hammered in my chest as he walked me from the front entrance through a small formal dining room into a family room that was open to the kitchen. For a guy’s house, it was decorated nicely—art on the walls, beautiful finishes like granite counters and polished wood floors, fabrics and paint colors that complemented each other in warm neutrals. I don’t know why it surprised me, since he was an architect and had an eye for design, but he was always referring to himself as such a caveman. What kind of caveman has throw pillows on the couch and candles on the dining room table?
“Hey, Scotty. Come here.” Levi held on to my hand as Scotty got off the floor where he’d been playing and came over to us.
My heart ached, and I squeezed Levi’s hand. He was so sweet. Huge, dark eyes like his dad’s, the same thick, tousled brown hair, those adorable ears that stuck out a little. He didn’t quite meet my eyes, but that was OK.
“Hello,” he said, holding out his hand.
“Hello.” I dropped Levi’s hand and took his son’s, leaning down. “I’m Jillian. Nice to meet you, Scotty.”
“Nice to meet you, Scotty,” he repeated.
Levi and I exchanged a smile. “I hear you like baseball. I do too.”
“Babe Ruth hit sixty home runs in 1927,” he told me, twirling his hand in his hair.
“Wow,” I said. “That’s impressive. Is he your favorite player?”
“Who do you like on the Tigers, Scotty?” Levi prompted. “Who do we want to go see hit a home run at Comerica Park?”
“Miguel Cabrera has 408 career home runs,” Scotty said.
“I like Martinez,” I told him.
“J.D. Martinez. Eighty-five career home runs, thirty-eight last season.”
“You know your stuff.” I smiled at him. “Very impressive.”
“What do you say, Scotty?” Levi asked.
“What do you say, Scotty?” he repeated.
“You say thank you.” Levi’s voice was firm but kind.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” I met Levi’s eyes and saw they were shining.
“Can I get you something to drink, Jillian?”
“Whatever you’re having.”
“Can I have my iPad?” Scotty asked hopefully.
“Sure, buddy.” Levi ruffled his hair. “Go check off swim therapy on your chart and then grab it.”
Levi poured some wine for us, and I sat at the island while he prepared dinner. Watching him move easily in his kitchen, managing several tasks at once, turned me on so much I had to cross my legs. Put those thoughts away, I told myself. That is not why you’re here, and it’s not happening tonight. But part of me understood why Levi always wanted to meet out or at my house—when we only got to see each other once a week, we wanted to do more than look.
But this was a different kind of night.
It was the kind of night that made me feel good in other ways—I felt a part of something. I felt the love between Levi and his son. I felt the effort Levi was making to show me there was a place for me in his life, a place for the love we shared. And I felt even more respect and admiration for him as a father, understood better the weight that being Scotty’s only parent placed on him, as well as the joy it brought him.
When dinner was over, I insisted on helping with the dishes, and when they were loaded and the food put away, Levi told Scotty he could have some extra playtime while he showed me the house.
My heart beat faster at the thought of being alone with him, even though I knew we couldn’t have sex.
Which was why I got the wind knocked out of me when Levi shut his bedroom door behind us and caged me against it, crushing his lips to mine.
I gave up on breathing and kissed him back, my body straining against his.
“I fucking want you so badly right now,” he whispered. “You have no idea.”
“Uh, yes I do,” I said as he wedged one thigh between my legs. “Believe me.”
“I’m sorry we have to wait.”
“It’s OK, really.”
“God, Jillian.” He shook his head, his eyes serious. “Tell me we’re OK. Tell me I didn’t fuck this up. I’m so sorry.”
“We’re OK,” I said. “This is what I wanted. To know what it was like to be here with you.”
He let my arms drop and gathered me against him. “I love you here with me. With us. I thought being a good father meant I had to deny this part of myself, but it wasn’t true. I had to accept it, without fear or reservation. I want Scotty to see what love looks like, all kinds of love.”
I locked my hands behind his back. “Scotty is so sweet.”
“He is. He’s also having a very good day. A good week, actually. It does get harder than this.”
I slapped him lightly on the butt. “Such a pessimist.”
“I’m serious. You need to know that.”
“I know. I’m teasing you. And it’s OK—we all have good days and bad. Nothing and no one is perfect.”
“I love you.” He kissed my head.
“I love you too.”