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Wes threw himself into his dad’s arms. Dare grunted, but caught him close. Wes’s eyes, so much like his father’s, met mine as he monkeyed himself around Dare’s neck. “Do you like pancakes, Miss—I mean, Kelsey?”
“Only if they look like trucks.”
Wes’s eyes got bigger. “Me too!”
“I do, however, demand to share the bacon,” I said as Dare and I rose.
“Well, bacon is pretty awesome.” Wes wiggled down out of his father’s hold.
“Hey, why don’t you go take the syrup out of the fridge, so it can warm up?” Dare mussed his son’s hair.
Wes raced down the hall to the stairs. “I’ll get the milk and eggs out too,” he shouted.
“Be careful,” Dare called after him before he shook his head. “He’s totally going to break the eggs.”
I laughed as I twined my fingers with his. “I could go for scrambled eggs.”
Dare blew out a breath. “Let’s hope they are salvageable and not on the floor by the time we get down there.” He dropped his arm around my shoulders. “That didn’t go too badly.”
“I’m not sure he totally gets what marrying me will entail. Are you sure we shouldn’t slow it down a little? Give him time to adjust. We have a few months before—”
“Nope. I want you here where I know you’ll be safe.”
“It’s not like we live in a rough area, Dare.”
He turned me to face him, then smoothed my hair away from my face. “The coffee shop is opening at the end of the month, and then there will be tons of people coming and going. No way you’ll get enough rest.” He clenched his jaw. “And I’m fucking selfish. I want you here where I can make sure you’re being looked after. And it will give you more time to get to know Wes as someone other than a child in your class.”
Part of me wanted to shriek, “hold it!” and there was another part of me that wanted just that. To have someone to talk to about the baby, along with all the things that could go wrong. Maybe he’d be able to calm me down.
To not be alone.
To be connected to someone.
I ached to tell him all that, but there was a crash downstairs, which had Dare taking the stairs two at a time. I trailed him into the room by a few seconds and couldn’t stop the laugh when I saw the island counter scattered in flour and a half spilled carton of milk. The eggs had miraculously made it without incident, but the mixing bowl had not.
It was spinning on the tiled floor, flour pouring out.
Wes stood on a chair with a mixing spoon in his hand. The other half of the flour that hadn’t been sprinkled all over the butcher block counter was dotted on his shirt, face, and in his hair. “I dropped it.”
Dare had shoved his hands into his own hair in frustration, so I took over.
This I knew how to handle.
I rushed forward and took the half ripped flour package from its precarious position on the edge of the counter and scooped up most of the flour into the bowl. “Started without us, huh?”
Wes’s chin was down, his shoulders scrunched up as if he was bracing himself for a scolding.
“It’s okay. We can make this work.” I scraped the excess flour into the bowl and dumped it into the trash. “How about we measure it out this time? Where are your measuring cups?”
“I can get them.” Wes scrambled down off the chair and across the kitchen to a drawer. He came back with bright green nested measuring cups. “Here, Kelsey.”
“Do you have a recipe?”
“No, Dad just knows how to do it.”
I looked up at Dare. “Well, come on, Dad, show us how it’s done.”
Dare glanced between us with a rueful grin. “Amateurs.” He grabbed an orange apron off the hook near the fridge. “I guess I could use two helpers today.”
