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I glance in the direction of my son whose eyes light up like the Vegas strip.He wants this so badly; I can see it in the way his weight shifts from one foot to the other, as though the entire world’s fate is riding on this one moment.
Okay.I can do this.
I’ve whispered those words to myself so many times since my son was born.Most of the time, it was in a hospital waiting room, hands clasped tightly together, willing myself to dig deep into my soul and pull out just a little more courage for my son, who always seems to have more of it than I do.
This, by comparison, should be easy.
If Nicholas wants to have chicken and dumplings with the neighborhood hottie, I can certainly turn down the volume on my hormones for a couple hours and oblige my son with his wish.
“I warn you that I’ll make you eat your vegetables.”I somehow manage a joke to Harris.
Nicholas’s face falls grimly.“She does.She really does.”
“I happen to like vegetables,” he replies, earning major bonus points.“And to be honest, I haven’t had a home-cooked meal in a long time.”
I feel my breath catch at the feel of butterflies in my belly.What the…?I thought those had gone into permanent hibernation.“Well, then, I’d love to have you.For dinner,” I add quickly.“We.We’dlove to have you.”
Could I sound any more ridiculous?
“Thanks.What time?”
“Six okay?”
“Six sounds great.”He puts his cover on the snowman’s head.“And I’m bringing dessert.”
Dessert?As he says it, those pearly whites flash in a way that has me thinking completely inappropriate thoughts.
Dessert indeed.
This is going to be a long night.
