Closing the distance between us quickly, I bend down and meet her upturned lips with a kiss. “Good, you’re not an icicle anymore.” I sit down and hand her one of the mugs. “I asked for extra marshmallows.”
Lark lets out a happy hum and inhales the sweet aroma coming from the mug. “Perfect.”
Draping one of my arms along the back of the couch, I toy with the end of Lark’s blond hair, tied back in a braid. “Do you know how to ski?” I ask as I watch a couple walk in with ski helmets under their arms.
She shakes her head. “No, I always wanted to learn, but it wasn’t an approved activity in my house.”
“That’s some bullshit.” I snort. “What was considered appropriate for the Miller family?”
Lark looks up at the ceiling and shifts closer to me. “Ballet, which I hated. Swimming, which was okay, but not my favourite. I begged my parents to let me try gymnastics, did that for a couple of years, but I wasn’t very good. It was one of my nannies that helped convince Mom and Dad to let me try out for a soccer team, and that’s where I found my passion.”
I lean forward, fascinated. “How did I not know you playedsoccer?”
She shrugs, looking down at her hot chocolate, now empty. “I don’t talk about it a lot. But yeah, I played all the way through high school. Even got scouted by a university down in California, but Mom and Dad said no.”
I scoff. “Seriously?”
“It wouldn’t have mattered anyway. I blew out my knee in a spring training camp my senior year. That ended my soccer career pretty quick.”
“Damn, Birdie. I’m sorry.” I pull her into my chest, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “That’s shitty.”
She nods, and I hear her sniff. “Yeah, it was. But my high school coach is the one who convinced me to get my kinesiology degree, so I guess it wasn’t a complete loss. After all, if I had kept playing soccer, I might not be here.”
My arms tighten around her. “In that case, is it bad for me to say I’m glad you injured your knee?”
Her laugh reassures me the conversation hasn’t been a total downer.
“Nah, it’s okay. You can say that.”
“So how did your parents handle the end of your soccer stardom?”
“They couldn’t have cared less.”
I push back, tilting her chin up so I can look her in the eye. “Excuse me, what?”
Lark’s cheeks darken, and I hate the idea she might be embarrassed, but I have to know what she means.
“I think they only ever came to maybe two or three games. The championships, mostly. They didn’t have the time, andheaven forbid if it was raining.” Sarcasm drips from her voice.
“That is complete bullshit.” I’m outraged on her behalf. “I’m sorry, Birdie. I would have come to every single fucking game and cheered you on so loud.”
Her smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes, but it’s a start. “I know you would have. You’ll be a great dad someday.”
Dad.
That’s something I rarely think about. Having kids someday. Kind of hard to do when you aren’t having sex, after all.
But now? The idea of having a family with Lark one day doesn’t freak me out. Quite the opposite.
“Our kids would be badasses. They’d dominate the sports field.” The words fall out of my mouth before I can think about how it might sound to sayour kids.
“Oh really?” Lark laughs. “And what if they don’t like sports? What if they’d rather read or draw.”
“That’s totally cool, too,” I reply, warming up to the conversation. I can see little blond girls racing around and brown-haired boys hugging their mom as tightly as I do. “I don’t care what my future kids want to do with their lives as long as they’re happy.”
“Same,” she says with a happy sigh. “Do you want a lot of kids?”
“Honestly? I’ve never thought about it. But yeah, I think a big family would be cool. Just not until I’m done playing ball,” I say firmly.
