Just like that, my phone buzzes with a text from Amy, as if Dean’s some sort of psychic wonder. Just landed in Atlanta. I’ll be there soon!
I turn the phone to Dean to show him. “Weirdo,” I mutter.
“Whoa!” Smithy says, melted blue Popsicle juice dripping down his chin. “You’ve got the woo-woo, Dean.”
Dean looks at the ground, then at the small group of parents gathering in a loose circle in the yard behind us, then back at Smithy. “It’s just Amy.” He shrugs. “Anyone could’ve guessed she wouldn’t miss Hope’s birthday.”
Smithy cocks his head. “You’re in a weird mood.” He extends his Popsicle toward Dean’s mouth. “Suck on this. It’ll make you feel better.”
Dean smacks his arm away. “Does that line work with your dates?”
Smithy waggles his brows. “I don’t have to say it. One look, and they know.”
I grimace. “Guys, there are small children within hearing distance. Could we dial the humor back to PG for a bit?”
Smithy chuckles and licks his blue lips.
Across the patio, Stella’s clearing the plates off the table, and I rush in to help. “I can take those,” I say at her side.
“I don’t mind.” She smiles up at me, and fuck. She looks so pretty today. She’s wearing a pink sundress with big yellow happy-face flowers all over it, and her hair’s brushed into a high ponytail. There’s a new smattering of freckles on her shoulders, and I wonder if she’s been studying outside on campus, wonder if those freckles would’ve come from an afternoon hanging out here if I hadn’t screwed everything up.
For a beat, I feel like I can’t breathe. The only thing I can focus on is the urge to bend and brush my lips over those spots, to taste this bit of her that I missed before.
I swallow back the urge and try to proceed like a fucking adult who’s not ruled by his hormones. “Here.” I take the plates from her hands. My fingers brush hers, and her gaze jumps to mine.
“Thanks.”
“Did you get any cake?” I glance to the end of the table, where half of Abbi’s creation sits untouched and half a dozen slices sit plated up around it. “Abbi’s stuff is good.”
She chews on her lip. “It’s a weakness of mine.” She leans closer and lowers her voice. “I was actually planning on waiting until everyone leaves so I could cut myself an inappropriately large serving and not have to filter out my foodgasm sounds.”
I chuckle and pull my gaze off her mouth. I don’t want to miss that, and the words to tell her as much are on the tip of my tongue, but I swallow them back. I want more than sex and teasing and innuendo with Stella, and it’s about time she understands that. “Stick around later. Maybe we can talk.”
Then I walk away, because I don’t want to give her the chance to tell me she hates that idea.Chapter Twenty-ThreeStellaShould I have spent today studying rather than planning a five-year-old’s birthday party? Yes. How many regrets do I have about my choices? None.
The only thing better than seeing the stress lift from Kace’s shoulders when I came home with the decorations and a plan for games was Hope’s smile throughout her party. I know she’s sad her mom wasn’t there, and no amount of games or helium balloons can make up for that, but knowing I helped make her day fun is one of the best feelings I’ve had in months.
I expected our guest of honor to meltdown the minute her last guest left, but she didn’t. She’s sitting in the grass playing with her new presents while Kace and I clean up.
“Stella,” Kace says, snatching the folding chairs from my hands. “Seriously, I’ve got this.”
“I don’t mind helping,” I say, but I let him take them because my arms are getting tired, and I should probably get out of the sun before I end up resembling an overripe tomato. “You can do the heavy lifting, and I’ll go inside and load the dishwasher.”
He smiles, his gaze dipping to my mouth. It’s been doing that a lot today, and I like it. I also need him to stop, because I’m weak. “Okay, but don’t forget we’re having cake together once this is all cleaned up. I want—”
“Hopey, baby! Happy birthday, girl!” Amy shouts from the gate. Kace and I both turn to watch Amy stoop to her haunches and open her arms.
Hope drops her toys and runs across the lawn as fast as her little legs can carry her. “Mommy!”
I can’t help that my attention shifts to Kace, can’t help this masochistic need to see the longing in his eyes. Longing for his wife, for his family to be whole again.
He’s smiling, but if he’s feeling any sort of angst, he hides it well. Beyond happiness for his daughter, I can’t tell what he’s thinking. Probably for the best.