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“Mmm!” he says with a smile.
Rhett smiles back at him, leaning over so their noses are almost touching. “Aw, yeah, that’s the good stuff, isn’t it?”
“Goog,” Liam repeats.
I set down my fork and rub my fingers over my breastbone. There’s a nudge right there, a tug I keep getting as I watch Rhett and Liam together. Sitting at this table with them sure as hell isn’t helping, the three of us cozy and comfortable as we polish off a delicious, homemade meal (Samuel had to head to work at the Barn Door Restaurant for dinner service, so he couldn’t stay).
I’m full and exhausted and bewildered by the ache spreading inside my chest. It’s not a bad ache. More of a bittersweet one.
I wish it would go away.
I wish I could stop smiling.
“This might be a weird thing to say.” Rhett shakes his head as he glides a forkful of peas into his mouth. That mouth. Full lips and cocky smirks, and oh God, I gotta stop thinking about this stuff. “But it’s really satisfying to watch him eat. Like, it’s almost fun, seeing how much he enjoys food.”
I nod, training my gaze on the single bite of mashed potatoes left on my plate. Samuel put bacon bits, cheese, and scallions in them, and they are out of this world. Can’t help but think what a pleasure it would be, living up on Blue Mountain and eating like this every day. Real food at a real table with the cutest company imaginable.
But I learned a long time ago that that life wasn’t meant for me. I let that fantasy go because that’s exactly what it always was: a fantasy, born of teenage horniness and pubescent hormones.
I have my own life and dreams now. Real dreams, ones that matter. Ones that I hope will make a difference in the world if I manage to make them come true.
That won’t happen if I sit here and pine after my boss-slash-ex-boyfriend.
I’ve let the fantasy of what could be sabotage my life for the last time.
“It is fun,” I say. “Reminds you of the simple pleasures in life. Kids get so happy over the smallest things. You saw how much Liam smiled when he woke up this morning. That’s all it took—waking up.”
“And then whooping his nanny’s behind at badminton. But that made me smile too, so . . .”
I really gotta stop smiling myself. My face hurts. Looking up, I say, “I thought I whooped your behind? Are you forgetting that winner at the end there?”
Rhett meets my eyes across the table, wiping his mouth on his napkin. I can’t see his lips, but his eyes are bright blue and playful, and they’re locked on mine. It’s the kind of look that gives you goose bumps: vulnerability in the feeling I see there, confidence in how long he’s looking at me.
The combination—or maybe the juxtaposition—is so hot I have to look away, a pulse of liquid desire hitting me between my legs.
“We must have different recollections of the event. What about you, Liam?” Rhett turns to his son. “Who do you think won? Daddy or Amelia?”
Liam grins, eyes sliding to my face. “We-wa!”
“Oh yeah!” I throw my arms up, grateful for the distraction, and reach over to give Liam a high five. He doesn’t quite get the concept, so Rhett gently takes Liam’s wrist and guides his sticky hand to meet with mine. “That’s right, Liam, you’re giving me a high five.”
“Great job, buddy,” Rhett says, and helps Liam give him a high five too. “Although I am, in fact, high-fiving you because you’re my kid, not because I agree with you. Daddy won, fair and square.”
Laughing, I say, “You are such a sore loser.”
I glance up and see Rhett looking at me again. This time I can see his mouth, and he’s giving me that fucking smirk of his, the one that dares me to call him out or kiss him or something.
“Makes me a better winner,” he replies.
Crossing my arms, I tilt my head. “Do you always have to win?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because losing sucks.”
“That answer sucks.”
“Who cares? It’s true.”
I look at him expectantly in reply. A part of me wants him to keep brushing me off. I have no right to dig. I shouldn’t dig. I should get up, get my bag, and get the hell out of here.
But another part—the stupid part—is secretly thrilled when Rhett says, “Ugh, fine.” He picks up his napkin again and starts wiping off Liam’s hands. “Maybe there’s a daddy issue or two in there. Some bogus idea about, I don’t know, winning my dad’s love or whatever because I felt I never had it when he was alive.”
My heart clenches. “Wow.”
“Therapy. I tried it for a while.”
“Good for you. But still—that idea, it qualifies as bogus?”
Still wiping down Liam, Rhett meets my eyes. His aren’t playful anymore. “Yes. And no.”
