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I smacked at his biceps, not expecting the lightness that rushed through my veins at his tease. “Rude.”
Ezra laughed. Laughed so low and deep that it seeped beneath my flesh and flooded my bloodstream. The mood shifted and slowed, and that energy pulsed, lulling us into that dream.
We drifted closer.
Drawn.
Compelled.
I jolted back with the clatter of footsteps that came bounding back down the hall, a riot of little voices breaking into the daze.
“Is it weady? I am the stawvingest,” Owen said. He raced in to pop up on his toes next to his father so he could see to the top of the stove.
“Careful, it’s hot,” Ezra warned him. “Go on and get to the table. It’s almost ready.”
Owen ran to the chair that was closest to the window, and Oliver took my hand. “You gotta sit by me. I already called it, remember?”
“She’s not a toy that you take possession of, Oliver.” Ezra raised his brows as he went to a high cabinet and pulled out a stack of plates.
“Wrong, Dad, she’s mine.”
Something that came a little too close to resembling affection skittered through my heart. This feeling like I could slide right in threatening to sink in.
Oliver tugged at my hand and led me to the same spot he’d claimed before, though this time, he pulled out the chair and patted the seat. “Sit right there.”
Emotion squeezed my chest. “The perfect gentleman,” I told him.
Maybe Ezra really was right and chivalry wasn’t dead.
Olivia took the spot between Owen and Oliver, and she glanced at me with wide eyes. “Gentleman? Pssh. My brothers are nothing but pains in the neck, Miss Savannah. You gotta get used to it if you’re gonna be hanging around here.”
“I’ll give you a massage.” Oliver was on his knees, his elbows on the table as he grinned my way.
A tiny giggle made it past my restraints. God, these kids were adorable.
A low, smooth chuckle rang from Ezra and had me shifting in my chair. Honey-kissed eyes played with mischief. “You’re never going to step foot in this house again, are you?”
He’d started to place the chicken breasts on the plates.
“Well, it really depends on how good this meal turns out to be,” I said, ribbing him.
“We is doomed,” Owen said, perfectly serious.
I pressed my hand to my mouth, trying not to sit there and laugh, but I wasn’t sure how not to lose it.
How not to get swept up in this sweet, sweet chaos.
I knew better, I did, but for that moment, I didn’t care. I gave in, my smile wide as I glanced back at Ezra who was shaking his head with a grin, no anger in his voice when he said, “Apparently my mother has been talking behind my back about my cooking skills. But we already talked about those skills, didn’t we, Savannah?”
The man had the audacity to wink as he strode over carrying two plates, his boots thudding heavily on the floor. My insides went haywire. Every synapse misfiring.
He set a plate in front of each of the boys.
“Thank you, Daddy,” they both said in unison, though Owen’s came out in his precious slur.
Ezra took turns running a hand over both of their heads, dipping down to kiss each of them on the forehead and whispering, “You’re welcome.”
My chest squeezed. Squeezed so fiercely that I could hardly breathe, could barely say thank you myself when he returned with plates for both me and Olivia.
He pressed his lips to the crown of Olivia’s head, so tender, overflowing with care.
I thought I might have choked out loud. Because I’d known somewhere in my mind that there had to be families that were like this, but it’d been difficult to believe.
It was easier to accept that there was little goodness. Little care. That selfishness went directly with survival. Self-preservation the only way.
Only I knew I had it all wrong when Ezra returned with his own plate, the way his attention caressed each child’s face, ensuring they were safe and cared for. That they knew they were loved.
Then I straight up whimpered when he reached under the table and set his hand on my knee. He ran his thumb over the sensitive skin, those eyes on me as he murmured, “I’m glad you’re here.”
“Me, too,” Olivia piped in.
“Me, three,” Oliver giggled.
“Me fow.” Owen lifted four fingers, all his little gaped teeth exposed in his grin.
Yeah, me freaking five, the fool who didn’t want to be anywhere else.
TWENTY-TWO
EZRA
Dangerous.
I’d known it all along. Since the second I’d met her. But I’d never felt it so sure than right then as I gazed down from where I stood at the doorway of my sons’ room to where she was on the floor.
Her expression was light.
Her eyes brimming.
The boys’ beds were these rectangle boxes that rested on the floor and were painted like fire trucks, their bedding red and blue.
