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Chapter Three
Payton
“Do you think he finished?” I ask my husband, turning my eyes away from where my brother-in-law, Ryan, wraps his arms around my sister.
“I’m sure he did,” Dean says beside me, trying to hold on to a wiggly Noah. Our son just wants to get down and run with the rest of them. “He’s good at what he does,” he reassures me. You’d think it was my wedding day tomorrow, since I’ve been more stressed about the trellis not being complete than the bride herself.
“You’re right, he is. I’m sure it’s the best trellis out there.”
I glance around at the room, taking in my family mixed with Nick’s. Brielle plays with her twin cousins, Hudson and Hemi, while little Stella runs over and steals a bite of something sweet off her mom’s fork.
“Do you wish we would have done this?” Dean asks, finally getting Noah to calm down in his arms. Our son is terrible at falling asleep, especially when he thinks he might miss something that’s happening around him.
“What?” I ask, slightly confused by his question.
“This. A real wedding.”
Glancing over at my husband, I see his concern written all over his handsome face. My mind flashes to our quickie wedding in Las Vegas. The jet ride from my dad, the securing of the marriage license and rings, the ceremony at that beautiful little chapel on the strip.
The reason for the urgency.
My eyes instantly go to my daughter once more. No, she may not be mine by blood, but she’s mine in every way that matters. For four years, I’ve been the only mother she’s had – except for Dean’s mom, Gretchen. Bri’s birth mom took off shortly after she was born, realizing she didn’t want the life in front of her. Brielle was this beautiful five-year-old little girl when I met her, and she instantly stole my heart.
When we checked into adoption, it was noted that our relationship was strong, but we lacked the rings on our fingers that a judge would appreciate. With a court date looming to make the adoption final (with no contest from her birth mother), we hopped on a private jet and flew to Vegas.
Best decision I ever made.
“Never,” I tell him honestly, stepping into his personal space. He wraps his free arm around my shoulder and pulls me close into his side. Our son is snuggled into the other shoulder, gently mimicking the motions of sucking on a pacifier (which we took away from him two weeks ago), his eyes closed as he drifts off to sleep.
“Are you sure? We could always have a real wedding,” he suggests softly.
“We had a real wedding,” I remind him. “We just did it differently than most. I loved our intimate little ceremony. I wouldn’t change it for anything,” I reassure him.
Dean looks at me. “It was pretty special, wasn’t it?” He offers me a small grin, his glasses perched on his nose, which somehow makes him that much hotter. He’s a serious DILF. You know – Dad I’d Like to Fuck? He knows exactly how much I love those damn glasses.
“What are you thinking about? You just got this look in your eyes like you’re ready to pounce on me,” he says, his own brown ones heating up a few thousand degrees.
“You. And your glasses. And how much I like it when you take them off right before you come to bed. Naked.”
Dean groans quietly beside me. “You have to do that now? Not only am I holding our son, but we’re surrounded by family. And I now have a massive hard-on because all I can think about is taking you home and devouring your gorgeous body from head to toe.”
“Sign me up,” I whisper with a wink, earning me another moan.
“Dean McIntire, did you smuggle a baseball bat into this rehearsal dinner?” Grandma asks as she approaches us.
Now it’s my turn to groan. “Don’t talk like that around my son,” I chastise my grandmother, hoping to spare my poor child’s ears of what I had to listen to much of my adult life – and much of my teenage years.
“He’ll want to know where he came from, Payters,” she coos, reaching over and running a delicate hand over Noah’s forehead.
“Yes, but not for another twelve years,” Dean adds softly.
“I’ll be long gone by then, but I’ll be sure to will my magazines and movies to the boy,” my grandpa adds, an ornery grin on his face.
“Not necessary, Grandpa,” I tell him, trying not to laugh.
“Who else will I leave it all to? Them’s my boys!” Grandpa boasts like a proud peacock, making Noah stir in Dean’s arms.
“Anyway, I just thought I’d mention that the supply closet is open back by the restrooms. I might have told Ryan and Jaimers already, but they’re still up here. So it’s free!” Grandma exclaims proudly.
