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Is he perfect? No. But he’s trying, and it’s obvious he’s getting the hang of it. This is one of those times Rhett could easily pass off his kid and let someone else do the work. I offered, and I’m sure his mother and most of his siblings did too.
But he wanted to do it himself. From the looks of it, he’s having fun doing it.
Beau’s eyes shine, and even Milly looks a little emotional as she watches her brother care for his son. I’ve thought a lot about how, as a society in general, we give men way too much credit for doing way too little when it comes to family life. Women rarely get kudos for doing the lion’s share of that work; it’s just expected of us, and we certainly never expect to be thanked for it. Just look at my mother, who raised me by herself from day one.
But I’d like to think this isn’t an example of that double standard. I’d be impressed by anyone, man or woman, who jumped into parenthood as quickly and as joyfully as Rhett has under the circumstances he’s in.
My throat tightens. I’m so freaking proud of him.
I’m so, so freaking turned on. Despite the obscene amount of food I just consumed, there’s this gnawing hunger in my center that grows brighter and hotter the longer I watch Rhett across the table.
He’d be a great family man. The kind I always dreamed I’d end up with.
Rhett looks up to see us all watching him. “What?”
“Oh, Rhett, sweetheart,” Junie says thickly. “The two of you—you just look so happy together.”
“Never thought I’d say this,” Hank adds, shaking his head, “but you’re good at this dad thing. Like, shockingly good.”
“Should I be offended by that?”
Hank keeps shaking his head. “No. It’s just this time six months ago you were in total playboy mode. Now you’re all, like, Mr. Rodgers or whatever. It’s cool. Although if you show up wearing a cardigan, I’mma have to draw the line.”
Rhett’s gaze darts to me. I look down at my plate, embarrassed for us both.
Playboy.
We haven’t talked much about the nine years we spent apart. We haven’t needed to. Actions speak louder than words, and Rhett’s actions this week definitely don’t fit that description.
Still, the mention of the word makes the niggle of doubt in my head reappear. The one that’s been there since this whole thing started—the one that’s gone dormant over the course of this week.
I believe he’s changing. I’m watching it happen right before my eyes. But change takes time, and so does building trust.
Please.
Please, God, let this time around be different.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Rhett
Beau falls heavily into the rocking chair next to mine.
“So.” He hands me an ice-cold beer. It kills me not to take a sip, but by sheer force of will, I set it on the ground. “What are y’all gonna do about it?”
My stomach clenches. “Who’s going to do what about what?”
“Don’t play dumb. I see the way you look at her.” Beau glances over his shoulder through the big picture window. Amelia is hanging out with Samuel and Emma in the great room. Liam’s running circles around them, apparently not winded from Capture the Flag like the rest of us. “How long did it take for you to fall back in love? An hour? A day?”
Sweat rolls down my temples. I came out to the porch in an attempt to cool off underneath the ceiling fans. It was working, until now.
“We’re not—I’m not—” I sigh, tearing a hand through my hair. “Fuck.”
“She’s your nanny.”
My face burns. “I know.”
“Then you know what you’re doing is wrong, and you gotta make it right.”
“Oh, yeah? And how do I do that? Since you’re the expert.”
“An expert at being a bonehead, yeah. That’s why I’m talking to you about this, playboy. I already told you I don’t want you to make the same mistakes I did. You have a kid now, which means you can’t screw around. You’re either in”—he slices his hand through the air—“or you’re out. All or nothing.”
“Beau—”
“Just listen for a second. Are you? In love with her? Look at me when you answer.”
Takes me a second to gather the courage to do as he tells me. I look up, meeting a pair of blue eyes identical to my own. “Yes.”
“Are you good to her?”
“I try my best, yeah.”
“She good to you?”
“Always.”
“Good to Liam?”
“Course. He adores her. I’m really starting to worry about what’ll happen when we leave.”
“Then put a ring on it, brother.”
My pulse explodes. So does my tempter, even though I’m not sure why. Somewhere deep down, I know there’s some truth to what Beau is saying. But listening paradoxically requires more effort than raging, and I am tired.
“It’s not that simple,” I say, holding the chair arms in a death grip. Somehow I manage to keep my voice to a low growl. “It’s been one fucking week, Beau.”
