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“Zayn.” I hide my smile as I take a sip of water, proud that he’s so protective of me.
“Yes, Mom.”
“Liliana taught Mommy how to make a man cry with a taser. I promise there will be no funny business, okay?”
Ciaran blinks slowly as he realizes what’s going on. If he protests too much, he paints himself into a wall because he does want to date me. If he doesn’t say something, then my son will definitely draw the wrong conclusions.
“Do you trust your mom to make her own decisions?” he asks. “She looks like someone who is really smart to me. Is your mommy smart?”
“Yes,” Zayn says seriously. “She helps me with my homework, has a business, and… yes.”
There are things he can’t say to people outside the family, and he knows it.
“Good. Funny business is determined as unwanted behavior and I would never do that. I promise there will be no funny business. My friends and I are coming up from Denver to teach you how to ice skate, possibly play hockey, and we’re going to have a good time,” Ciaran says. “I’ll sign a contract to that effect if it’ll make you feel better.”
Zayn and I share a glance, and I already know who my next call will be to.
“Trust that your mother can make good decisions. When you boss her around, it’s not nice, okay?”
“Sorry, Mom,” Zayn mumbles.
“Apology accepted,” I say affectionately.
I gave Arran keys to the house a couple of weeks ago, and I smile as the door opens behind me.
“Hey,” he says breathlessly.
“Please tell me you didn’t run all the way here,” I say, accepting the kiss he presses to my cheek.
“I won’t tell you that,” he replies.
“Zayn?” Ciaran asks, pulling his attention back.
“Yes, sir,” he says, looking more interested now that they’ve ironed out some things.
“Instead of worrying about me, let’s make sure your mom takes it easy today, please,” Ciaran says.
“Tomorrow will be a better day,” Zayn says cryptically with a nod.
Ciaran’s lips open and close before he forces himself to stay silent. “If we have a contract in place, are you willing to take ice skating lessons from us?”
“Yes. I want Mom to be there. How long are they?”
“Two hours,” Ciaran says. “We’ll take frequent breaks while you get used to it. Do you have any questions?”
“Why can’t I have someone closer?” Zayn asks.
“Hmm good question,” Ciaran says. “Geography sucks sometimes. Take care of your mom.”
“Always do.”
“Bye,” I chuckle as Arran picks me up.
“Can you clean up, Zayn?” he asks. “I need a second with your mom.”
“You can kiss her if you want,” my son grumbles.
“Thanks, kid,” Arran grins, walking inside.
