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He raced for a round table that sat beneath a bay window off to the right of the kitchen and overlooked the front yard. He scrambled onto a chair and pounded at the spot on the table next to him. “Right here is for you.”
Laughter choked up my throat, emotion squeezing. Overwhelming. Too tight.
“All right, all right, you yahoos, what did I tell you about ambushing her before she even had a chance to get inside? Give her some room.” That grumbly voice infiltrated the air.
Providing oxygen.
Taking it.
I didn’t know.
The only thing I was sure of was that my lungs rattled at my ribs when I looked at him where he’d gone to stir something in a pot on the stove, those eyes raking over me like a soft confession as he looked at me from over his shoulder.
No apology behind it.
This was who he was. What was important to him. I guessed it was that second that I recognized the full embodiment of his meaning. Who he would live and die and breathe for.
A blast of warmth rushed across the space, as if he sensed my understanding. As if he found some kind of satisfaction in knowing that I felt it.
The awareness that thrummed between us grew louder.
Profound.
Anticipation prickled through my senses.
Could I put my faith in him? Could I really trust him?
Before I had the chance to contemplate that slew of disastrous ideas, Ezra angled his head since his hands were occupied with preparing dinner. “Welcome to the madhouse. Make yourself at home.”
There was a tease behind it, though I was sure he was giving me another chance to run.
My brows lifted in exaggerated playfulness. “I do, in fact, feel very welcomed.”
“That’s very good because it was our goal,” Olivia peeped at my side.
“You definitely achieved it.”
“We aim to please.”
I laughed. I couldn’t help it. Lost to the sweet mayhem that churned through this house.
Every rigid plane in Ezra’s body softened when he looked at his daughter. “Would you do me a big favor, Livvie, and take your brothers to the bathroom and help them wash their hands?”
“On it, Dad.”
She hopped into action, and Owen and Oliver didn’t seem to mind when she herded them down the hallway.
It gave me the chance to take in my surroundings, and I couldn’t help but look around Ezra’s private space like I might be able to discover more of him.
To my right was the living area, and at the far end of it was the hall that the kids had disappeared down. On my left were the kitchen and the table, and there was another short hall between the kitchen and dining area with double doors that led to what I assumed was the master bedroom.
I would guess the house had likely been built in the seventies or eighties, but it’d been completely renovated. The color scheme was similar to that of the guest house, though all of it was done on a grander scale.
A stir of questions rambled through my mind.
How long had he lived here? Had he shared it with his wife? Did her presence still linger here, and I was somehow blind to feel it? Was I intruding on it, or in some way, was I truly welcomed?
Clearing my throat, I set the blocks down on the island next to the invitation Ezra must have set there. “What can I help with?”
“I didn’t invite you over here for you to help with dinner,” he grunted, casting me a quick glance.
Sunlight speared in through the window, lighting him up, his jaw covered in a day’s worth of scruff.
My stomach tightened.
Damn him. The man looked so good in the evening, too.
Shucking off the reaction, I quirked him a wry brow. “You didn’t invite me. Your daughter did.”
A chuckle rumbled the planes of his thick, masculine throat, not that I noticed or anything. “I think the better description was you were coerced.”
“She can coerce me any day.”
I should have been more worried that it was the truth.
It was warmer inside the house than out, and I peeled myself out of my jacket and draped it on the back of a stool.
Ezra watched me as I did, that warm gaze flaming as I edged into the kitchen and came to stand next to him. He was watching over a skillet of chicken breasts that swam in a bubbly, cheesy sauce. Broccoli was being steamed in a smaller pot behind it.
“It smells good.”
He huffed. “Hardly. I know where my skills lie. I’m plenty good at other things, so there’s no need to take credit in the areas I’m not.”
Why’d that have to come out sounding like seduction? And there I was, playing right into it like this man held me in a fist.
“And what kind of skills might those be?”
He angled down so his mouth dipped close to my ear. “Oh, I don’t know, things like…” He dragged it out until he was murmuring, “Sniffing out little trespassers where they hide.”
