Page 58 of One Night with Number Nineteen

“Yeah,” I say, gentling my touch. “I had to do physical therapy myself.”

“Having a baby is a lot of work.” He relaxes into me as the spot starts to loosen. “And Luns says it was the hardest thing she’s ever done.”

I nod. “I think in a lot of ways it was.”

“But?” he asks when I don’t go on.

“Physically it was.” I sigh. “But the real struggle comes during the sleepless nights and the hundreds of diaper changes and the countless decisions you’re making, all while exhausted beyond belief and questioning whether or not you’re doing the right thing.”

He’s quiet for a long moment. “Would you do it again? Have more kids?”

“Without a doubt.” There’s no hesitation in my answer—or in the truth. “Ollie is the best thing I’ve ever done. I…the way I love him is impossible to describe.”

“Even for a writer?”

I laugh. “Even for a writer.”

Smitty’s voice booms around the back yard, the argument about soccer versus hockey fully underway—and in surprising fashion, he’s found an ally in Violet.

Then again, her livelihood relies on the sport.

But I think she could kill it matching soccer or baseball or football players.

Or maybe rugby.

Yum.

Fighting a smile, I keep gently massaging the knots in Sawyer’s neck, and in the tops of his shoulders, and in his back.

“Geez,” I mutter. “You’re hard.”

“Um…”

I still, realize what I said. “I meant the knots,” I say quickly. “Just the knots. Not, uh, you. Not that, uh, that would be a problem⁠—”

He turns to fully face me, dislodging my hands and staring down at me. Heat clings to the edges of his expression. “What if I was?”

“I, uh—” My cheeks burn…and my eyes slide down.

Holy hell.

“Fuck, Pages. Don’t look at me like that.”

“It’s your fault,” I whisper.

“Now, I’m pretty sure it’s you who kissed me the other day. You who makes it impossible for me to concentrate on anything when you touch me.”

I don’t comment on the teasing, on the heat, on the way he steps closer.

I like this part of Sawyer, and I don’t want my mentioning it to bring that insecurity back.

Instead, I just offer, “Everyone’s already watching us.” And they are. Oh, they’re playing it really cool, but their gazes have come to us plenty in the last five minutes. “Want to give them a show and do it again?”

His laughter explodes out of him, and hell, I really like it.

A lot.

The warmth of it, how it surrounds me, what it makes me feel.