Page 60 of My Single Dad Biker

"Ready?" he asks.

"Ready."

We pile into his truck. Louis calls shotgun but Holt tells him to get in the back. Louis grumbles but does it. I climb in the passenger seat and Holt starts the engine and we pull out of the driveway.

The hardware store is fifteen minutes away. Louis talks the entire time about birdhouses and whether he should paint it or if paint scares birds away. Holt answers every question seriously while I watch the town go past through the window.

Two years ago I was alone in my small rental house wondering if I'd ever feel anything close to what my parents had.

Now I'm in Holt's truck on a Saturday morning heading to the hardware store to look at wood for a birdhouse and this is my life and it's better than anything I imagined.

We pull into the parking lot and Louis is already unbuckling. Holt's hand finds mine across the console for just a second. His thumb brushes over my ring.

"You good?" he asks quietly.

"Yeah. I'm good."

"Good."

Louis is already out of the truck and halfway to the entrance. Holt gets out and I follow and we spend the next hour looking at wood and screws and hinges while Louis asks approximately forty questions and Holt answers all of them.

On the drive home Louis has already decided he's building two birdhouses. Holt says maybe. Louis grins because he knows maybe means yes.

Back at the house we end up in the garage. Holt opens his toolbox and Louis examines every tool like he's seeing them for the first time even though he's been in this garage a hundred times. I lean against the workbench and watch them and think about the fact that this is exactly where I want to be.

Not in some other life. Not in some other moment.

Right here. Right now. With them.

Holt looks up and catches me watching. "What?"

"Nothing."

"You're smiling."

"I'm allowed to smile."

"Didn't say you weren't."

Louis has found the tape measure and is testing it out. Holt hands me a pencil without me asking and says I can mark measurements once Louis is done measuring. I take it and our fingers brush and he holds on for an extra second.

Later that night after Louis is asleep and the dishes are done and the house is quiet, Holt finds me on the back porch. I'm sitting in the chair where I told him I loved him eighteen months ago. He sits in the other one and we don't talk for a while.

The air is cool. Stars are coming out. Somewhere down the street someone is playing music too loud and I can just barely hear it.

"Good day?" he asks.

"Yeah."

"Louis is already planning birdhouse number three."

"I heard."

"We're going to have a whole backyard full of them."

"Could be worse."

He reaches over and takes my hand. Pulls me out of my chair and into his lap. I settle against him and his arms come around me and this is exactly where I belong.