I grinned faintly and responded.
You know our new house has its own pool, right? It just needs to be relined. I’ll get that sorted ASAP.
No word could describe how good it felt to be a proper team again. It wasn’t only about being back together with the love of my life; this was the man I had four kids with, and we were at our best when we worked together as a strong unit.
“Hey, Dad.”
I looked toward the entrance to our lot and spotted Dylan coming over. “There you are, buddy. How was the Metro?”
“Packed. Public transit makes me hate people.”
I chuckled and got to my feet, and I pocketed my phone. “You’re too young to become a misanthrope. Give it another twenty years.”
To my surprise, he came up and hugged me.
Hot fucking damn. That didn’t happen every day.
“Who are you, and what have you done to my moody teenager?” I hugged him back, obviously. Taking every chance I got.
“It’s your birthday. Savor it.”
Something told me that wasn’t the only reason.
I gave him a tight squeeze and even dared to kiss his temple real quick. He was getting so tall. He had to be around five-ten now.
He eased back and smirked, ’cause that’s what he did. He was a smirker.
“You ready to drive?” I asked, grabbing my ball cap again.
“Yeah. Can we do 95?”
I tossed him the key. “Sure, if you wanna stand still for forty-five minutes.”
He wrinkled his nose and disappeared behind the truck. “Or we’ll just wing it.”
Winging it, it was.
I got in next to him and buckled up. “Recite the Riley Student Driver’s Creed, please.”
He laughed through his nose and adjusted the mirrors and his seat. “Uh, always address cops as sir or ma’am, someone is always watching, I’m not street-smart enough for juvie, it’s okay to flip people off for not using their lights when it’s dark, and fuck diplomats.”
“Because…”
“Because toddlers drive better than them.”
“Attaboy. And if Dad or your driving instructor asks you…”
He put on the seat belt. “I rarely take advice from you.”
Perfect. “You’re good to go.”
He eased out of the lot, nice and calm, and I reminded him to plan his route. Even if he was going to “wing it,” he needed a plan. He couldn’t make split-second decisions and switch lanes two seconds before a stoplight. Not as a default anyway.
“Did Dad text you about Mikey eating vegetables?” he asked.
“Yeah, he did. He texted you too?” I was a little surprised at that.
“He asked me to say good job or something like that if it was mentioned.”
