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I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.
A wash of warmth radiates from the center of my chest, slowly at first, then faster and faster. Spreading to my arms, my fingers. Legs and feet.
It fills me up.
My hands go still in the sink, wrists resting on its porcelain lip. The sound of the running faucet fills the space between us. I just look at her. And look. Bewildered and excited and terrified, all at once.
“Did you intentionally choose to tell me this while you’re holding Michael Meyer’s knife?” I nod at the weapon in question. “So you could ward me off and/or stab me if and when I tried to jump your bones?”
Eva wags her brows, brandishing the blade as she flips the towel over her shoulder. Pure sexy cookbook author style. “I’ve butchered a cow before. Bet I could butcher you, no problem.”
“So we’re gonna do this. You and me.”
“And Bryce. Yes. We’re going to really do this. Just remember I’m new to the step-parenthood game. I’ve never dated a guy with a kid before. Not seriously, anyway.”
“First rodeo. Right. We’ll give you all the time you need. That being said—and I know I’m biased—but considering how tonight went, I think you’ll be riding the sh—the stuff out of this bull in no time.”
She lowers her voice. “You’re setting me up for a ‘haha I rode the stuff out of you’ moment, aren’t you?”
“That’s what she said,” I say. And then I lean over and press a hot kiss to her mouth. She replies with a throaty chuckle, setting down the knife to put her hand on my face and kiss me.
“So,” she says when she draws back, letting out a breath as she goes up on her toes, falls back on her heels. Like she’s as rocked by this development as I am.
“So. What made you change your mind?”
Eva lifts a shoulder. “A lot of things. I’ve been watching you with Bryce. I’ve been watching your parents with you. I chatted with Julia, too, about her experience as a parent. She said something that stuck with me—that basically I get to be the author of my own story. And that it’s within my power to have a different story, with a different ending, than my own parents’ story.”
“I like that,” I say. “Rebecca and I used to talk a lot about stuff like this, actually. How we wanted to incorporate the good stuff we took away from our childhoods into our own parenting, but leave behind the not-so-good stuff. I think it’s really common, actually, to want to make changes. Raise your kids differently than the way you were raised. Part of the American dream, no? To have each generation do better than the last. I think that applies so much to parenting.”
I notice Eva doesn’t so much as blink at the mention of my wife’s name. Same as she didn’t when she asked how Rebecca died. Eva just listens.
It’s a lot to take on—not only a single dad with a kid in tow, but a guy with a pretty heavy past. Not everyone could do it. A few dates have disappeared on me when I’ve shared parts of my story.
But Eva? Eva is here to stay. Not only that, she’s taking a big risk, and changing her mind in a big way.
She’s doing it for me.
“Right,” she says. “I mean, now that I’m an adult, and I’ve been on my own for a while, I have a lot of sympathy for my parents, and a more nuanced understanding of the choices they made. But it’s been liberating to finally realize I don’t have to repeat history.”
I look at her. She looks back. “Powerful stuff. I’m proud of you for digging deep. And I’m grateful you’re giving us a chance.”
“Don’t kid yourself, I’m only sticking around for the boat.” Eva slips a hand behind me and pinches my ass. “And maybe the Range Rover. All kidding aside—I want you to know that I’m taking this responsibility very seriously. Being around Bryce. You’re trusting me with your family, and I understand what a huge thing that is.”
“And I understand what a huge thing you’re doing by giving us a chance.”
“Thanks for that.”
She kisses me again.
All this kissing. A man could get used to it.
“What next?” she asks.
I turn off the water. “Honestly? I have no clue.” I take the towel from her shoulder and wipe my hands on it. “I haven’t dated much since Bryce was born, so we’re both kind of newbies to this game.”
“Okay. Well. You’re the DILF—”
“Miss Eva, what’s a DILF?”
Eva and I look up to see Bryce watching us intently. One of the poor baby doll’s legs still in her hand, the doll hanging upside down.
“Oh God,” Eva says, voice low. “I’m…gah, I’m really sorry.”
Ninety-nine percent of the time, I love having an inquisitive daughter. Hardly anything gets past this kid; she’s smart as a whip and wants to know everything about anything.
