Page 72 of Sterling Stone

[Taxi]

Watching Stone judge his nieces as they dance off like true professionals with awkward limbs and jutty motions is a sight to melt anyone’s heart. He gives them all a rating that includes long numbers, like 9.875 or 10.321, to which they all giggle, except for Zelle. She takes the competition rather seriously and demands easier numbers to math.

Eventually, Cadence intervenes, declaring they are all winners and deserve dessert before dinner for their efforts.

“You all have the potential to be backup dancers one day,” she announces.

“Really?” Dutton, Clay’s son, squeals with hope.

Winnie, Ford’s middle daughter and Dutton’s best friend, rolls her eyes, clearly not interested in being a dancer. “I’m nobody’s backup plan,” she mutters.

“That’s the spirit, girl,” I offer, in spite of myself, and hold up a hand for a high five. She slaps my palm hard, and Stone chuckles when I shake the sting off.

June doesn’t seem to care one way or another if she’s a backup dancer. She’s only six. And Stone scoops her up, blowing raspberries on her belly, before setting her back on the ground and patting her butt to follow the others for a treat.

“I need to get to the grill,” he says, hitching his thumb over his shoulder toward the massive piece used to cook for such a large collection of people.

“Heard you make a mean hamburger,” I remind him of our conversation from our lunch date by the river.

“Got a special one, just for you.” He smiles and turns for the grill, giving me a good view of his backside in worn, ass-hugging jeans.

I hadn’t noticed before, but it suddenly occurs to me he isn’t wearing beige today.

He’s wearing a blue T-shirt. One that says Chicago Anchors across it, but still . . . it’s blue.

And I smile to myself before Genie nudges my arm.

“Still got the hots for him?” Her smile says she’s caught me.

“He’s alright,” I counter, chewing at my lower lip.

Genie snorts. “Not a bad one in the bunch,” she teases. “But Stone really is the best of them.”

I’m beginning to really appreciate that fact.

Feeling guilty that I’ve had a good day away from the hospital, Stone gives me a ride to it later that evening, only to discover Trudy has been awake most of the day and is asleep for the night.

When Stone takes me to Trudy’s, I don’t need to invite him in. He follows me into the living room and then stares at the couch.

“Think Trudy would mind if we slept on her bed. Not in it, just on the top. More space. Better comfort.”

“You complainin’ about snuggling up with me?” I tease, but catch myself, curious if he is wanting a little space. It’s been a great day, but a long one.

And his kiss still lingers on my lips.

“Never,” he counters, not a second to consider his answer. “And I still plan to snuggle you. Just that this couch . . .”

“Is lumpy and old, well-loved but overused,” I finish for him.

Holding out his hand, he tips his head in the direction of Trudy’s room. For half a second, I feel like a girl sneaking into her parents’ bedroom. Not that I ever did such a thing. Wasn’t really into boys back then. I was focused on me. Moving forward with my dreams.

But I’ve been focused only on me for a long time.

And it’s been kind of nice to feel like someone else is looking out for me.

Like Stone.

When we enter Trudy’s room, I say, “Just give me a minute.” Excusing myself to the bathroom, I change into my nightshirt and Trudy’s robe, fixing up my hair in a bonnet.