Page 87 of 10 Signs You Need to Grovel

She smooths her hand over my ass. “Can’t argue with that. But no. I realized most good things in life come with sacrifice.”

My brow pinches. The word sacrifice isn’t giving me the warm fuzzies. I want to skip to the part where she says we’ll build a life as a family because she’s happier with me in the picture. More fulfilled. That we’re better together. “Can I have the fine print to this realization?”

She pulls her hand from my ass and traces the edges of my collarbones. “Being with you means losing some of the independence I’ve fought for, which is tough for me. And there will be times when Max might like you better, when you’ll have fun outings I’m too busy to join, or book club moments that are special for just you two. And.” She firms her jaw, as though readying to do battle. “Sometimes we have to let go of old dreams to make room for new ones.”

I’m not sure why she’s suddenly so intense, or what dreams she’s spent her years working toward. All I’ve been doing is trying to get through each day without tattooing my face. But maybe she’s right about sacrifice. I’ve been ambivalent about returning to law, procrastinating over the prep work, lacking the excited determination I had coming out of college. I’ve realized I don’t want it as much, but the sacrifice of these tougher years will lead to better days ahead. Financial stability. Now that I’m a parent, all my choices aren’t about my happiness alone. Parents need to plan and provide.

“Whatever your plans are,” I say, “count me in. I don’t even need a vote. I promise not to undermine your independence, and I’ll never knowingly hurt you or Max. I just want to be with you both, any way I can.”

She nods, emotion shining in her eyes. “You get votes. You’re his dad.”

“Does that mean I get to see you more often? Spend time with you both as a family?”

“No sleepovers yet. I don’t want to tell Max until he’s more used to having you around, and we’ve had longer to find our feet together, but we’d both love it if you were here more. And I want to spend more time alone together too. Do more fun stuff like axe throwing and that street food night. But I have a condition.”

“Anything.” She can have the skin off my back. Every horrible craft I’ve ever created, which isn’t saying much about my worldly possessions.

The corner of her lips tilts up. “We need to work on your stamina.”

At least she’s not too emotional to tease me.

“It might take months of practice.” I pull her flush against me, guiding her arms around my neck. “At regular intervals.”

“We might need to do a whole series of studies. Controlled situations with multiple positions. For science.” She kisses me, soft and slow.

“Right.” I smile against her lips, unsure when I developed a resting-grinning face. “For science.”

TWENTY-SIX

I am a baking disaster. Three other groups of two are in the kitchen of Delilah’s shop, Sugar and Sips. Two are moms with their daughters. One is a mom with her son. I’m the only dad, and I’m the only one covered in flour and smears of scone batter.

“How much longer?” Max asks, stirring our cooling pot of jam.

I finish wiping our section of stainless steel and check our timer. “Eight minutes. Is the showstopper almost ready, Captain?”

He giggles. “Why do you keep calling me captain?”

“Aren’t you the leader of this mission? Also, you’re cleaner than me.”

He glances at me from the corner of his eye and snorts. Yeah, I’m a sight. A six-foot-two man, tattooed neck and arms, wearing a too-short apron, looking like I had a fight with a scone and lost.

“The scone batter isn’t supposed to be used as shampoo,” Delilah says, coming to our table, her amused expression locked on my head.

I cringe. “There’s some in my hair too?”

She pats my shoulder. “I already took a picture and sent it to E.”

Fucking great. That asshole will go to town with that ammunition, but spending time with Max is worth the ridicule.

“What do you think?” I ask Max. “Should I stick my head in the oven and see how it bakes?”

He smirks. “Only if we sprinkle it in chocolate chips.”

“Chocolate head scones. We’ll be famous for a new invention.”

“Dipped in strawberry jam.” He lifts a spoonful of our homemade jam, his smile so wide my chest feels like it is in the oven.

He’s been awesome today, relaxed, joking with me. Chatting with the other mini bakers as we watched Delilah demonstrate how to mix the lemon blueberry scone batter.