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He flashed me his signature smile. “Couldn’t pass up a home cooked meal.”
“They say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.”
He cut into the baked chicken. “You had mine long before you cooked a single thing.” He paused to chew the piece he’d put in his mouth. “But don’t let that stop you from continuing. This tastes as good as it looks.”
The clatter of Shawn’s plate hitting the floor got our attention. He wore a proud smile at having dumped his food onto his tray before he dropped the plate.
I leaned down to pick it up. “You’re such a little caveman.”
I ran my fingers through his soft hair. He did the same, only he had carrots in his hand that ended up mushed in his hair. Malcolm laughed as I picked out what I could, but gave up when Shawn deliberately put more in.
We managed to make it through dinner with Shawn luckily eating more food than he placed in his hair. I took him upstairs to clean up, and when I got back downstairs, I stopped at the sight of Malcolm cleaning the kitchen. He’d put the leftovers away and was in the process of loading the dishwasher. I stood there, admiring him work. The slight flexing of his arms as he put the dishes in. His butt filled out those jogger sweatpants like nobody’s business. How the hell did he manage to make cleaning look good?
“You don’t have to do that.”
He smiled at me, continuing his task. “Told you division of labor. You cooked. I clean.” He reached, out giving Shawn’s belly a squeeze. “Killer PJs, buddy.”
“Thomas.” Shawn exclaimed happily, pointing to the train character on his shirt.
Readjusting him in my arms, I walked passed Mal to pick up the open bottle of Moscato. I refilled my glass, and could feel Mal’s eyes watching me as I did. He didn’t say anything, but he’d watched me each time I’d gotten a refill. What was three glasses compared to the bottle I’d drank last night so I could sleep?
Dr. Carr had been telling me from the beginning that getting it out, that talking about everything would help. She’d made it seem like I’d be somehow magically healed by not bottling up things. I continued to wait on that magic to happen. As of right now, the only thing talking about Seth did was shine a spotlight on how naive I’d been. The game of what-if seemed never ending.
Taking a seat on the floor in the living room, I sat my glass on the side table, before picking up a book to read to Shawn. I read to him, skipping ahead as he flipped through the pages faster than I could say the words, and listened to the quiet clinking of dishes as Mal finished up in the kitchen. Shawn and I were on our third book by the time Malcolm came over to join us.
I expected him to join us on the floor. Instead, he opted for as much distance as he could, choosing the end of the loveseat furthest away. Shawn quickly flipped out of my lap, taking his book over to Malcolm. I moved from the floor, and curled up on the sofa. I grabbed my glass and watched the two of them interact. If Malcolm ever had any reservations about Shawn, he never let it show. No one did. Either they hid it, or Shawn’s appearance didn’t bother them. The thought made me feel worse, to think I was the only one put off by something he couldn’t control. Malcolm had been a natural with him from the beginning, and Shawn absolutely adored him.
Shawn climbed down, and pulled Malcolm by the hand over to the toys.
“Where’s your roommate this evening?”
“A friend of hers came to town yesterday for a work conference. She and Dorian went out for dinner or something. Not sure if she’s coming back tonight or if she’ll be hanging with her at the W.”
“When does she close on her house?”
“Two weeks or so, I think. Not really sure.” I glanced back at the microwave clock. “Not much longer, kiddo. Bedtime soon.”
“No. Play.”
“Yeah, mommy. We want to play.”
“Really, Mal?”
“What? I’m just trying to help the man out and get him some more time.”
“Are you going to help me out when he’s cranky from not getting enough sleep?”
Malcolm threw up his hands in defeat and went back to playing with Shawn, which was where most of his attention had been all night. It was more than just him playing with Shawn; it felt like a distraction. He’d not been acting like himself from the moment he arrived. No flirty, suggestive comments. No closeness or attempts to touch me. Hell, he’d seemed almost reluctant to come over when I’d invited him to dinner.
I knew we were at a strange place when he dropped me off yesterday. He’d planned a whole night out, one I’d managed to screw up. We’d talked, and I thought—well I wasn’t sure what I thought—but I felt like it’d been resolved. I’d tried to make sure he understood my reaction wasn’t about him directly. Our relationship seemed to be in a near constant state of change. I didn’t know what I expected, but I never imagined it’d be awkward all the time. Being friends with him was easy. We just worked. I didn’t have to think about it, and I didn’t have to worry about doing or saying something wrong. But now there was so much at stake.
I finished off my glass of wine and resisted the urge to refill it. Watching Malcolm play with my son, while barely acknowledging my presence, raked on my already sensitive nerves.
“I’m going to take him up now.”
“All right. Guess I’ll head out then.”
I picked up Shawn, who instantly started throwing a fit, trying to wiggle out of my arms. “Can you wait a minute?”
