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I fake an exasperated sigh and get back to the kitchen. It’s kind of strange to think of chopping carrots, celery, onions, and potatoes as an act of love. It’s really strange to be thankful for how often growing up I end up in the kitchen helping mom prepare dinner even though at the time I think it’s the worst possible chore. As I chop, I look at the butcher knife in my hand and hum out under my breath, “Now that Mack is back in town.”
I get the big Dutch oven and heat it up on the stove. As Grant and Malcom play, I brown the roast and then the vegetables. I finally get it in the oven and set the timer. As I’m cleaning up, I feel Grant’s arms come around me from behind. “Don’t get any ideas, Mr. Tickle Monster,” I say as I lean against him. “Where’s Malcom, not Mack?”
“All tuckered out and down for his nap,” Grant says. His hands wander and he says, “And I think I know how to take advantage of the privacy.”
“No way, Mister!” I say, “You got that stupid song stuck in my head.”
“It’s a great song.”
“Well, you didn’t grow up with the name Mack.”
He laughs. “You didn’t either. I’m the only one who calls you that.”
“That’s all that matters,” I say. I feel giggly and warm. “Now go away! I have cooking to do.”
“Oh, classic suspect ploy, that one,” he replies. “You just have to set a timer now. We have plenty of time for my purposes.”
“Oh yeah?” I ask.
“Damned right,” he says in that growl of his that always makes my knees weak and makes me feel like I’m a quivering heap of nerve endings and not a person.
“Well, what if we don’t have time for my purposes?” I ask in the most petulant voice I can manage. I don’t do a very good job of it. There are a lot of things I do well. Playing hard to get when it comes to Mack isn’t one of them.
He doesn’t answer. Instead, he just pivots and a movement from him and a yelp from me later, I’m cradled in his arms and he’s carrying me to the bedroom.
Twenty minutes later, I finally push him off and say, “All right, Ireallyneed to go finish dinner now,” I say. “Go bother someone else.”
“Who should I bother?” he asks. “There’s only the three of us. You don’t want me to wake him from his nap, do you?”
“Actually, I kind of do,” I say, “If he naps for too long, he won’t fall asleep tonight.”
I look him up and down and say, “Take a shower first.”
He grins and says, “Only if you shower with me.”
He lunges for me, but I just manage to scurry out of his grasp and say, “Dinner! I have to stop the oven or dinner will burn!”
“Not as much as my heart burns for you,” he says, chasing me out of the room.
He catches me at the foot of the stairs and starts to kiss me. When I finally manage to extricate myself from his arms, I say, “Okay, just let me—” he grabs me and kisses me again and I only manage to pull my lips off him this time. I breathily say, “Let me set the oven to warm. Then I’ll come upstairs and join you.”
“You better be damn quick,” he growls, kissing me behind my ear and down my neck. My nipples harden to bullets and my heart isn’t the only part of me that throbs.
I gasp and pull away just before I lose the will to do anything. I say, “All right. I’ll be right upstairs.”
He lingers and I mischievously allow my ass to sway a little more than normal as I make my way downstairs. I quickly check the roast and determine that I’ve saved it just in time to keep it from drying out. Just to be safe, I add a little more stock to the pot and set the temperature to the lowest setting, just enough to keep it warm without cooking it further.
Then I join my man upstairs.
By the time we finish showering and dressing, my legs are shaking too much to carry Malcolm, so Grant gets him while I stumble downstairs, giggling at how completely he takes my strength away. I suppose two years isn’t all that long of a time, but it surprises me that so much time can pass, and he can still affect me like this.
Then again, heisthe sexiest man alive.
Over dinner, we take turns playing with Malcolm. He giggles and smiles and laughs and everything he does is just the most precious thing on Earth.
I’m so lucky. I have the most wonderful man who’s ever lived, and we have the most wonderful son anyone could ask for. This is the best possible life anyone could ever have and I’m lucky enough to have it.
After dinner, Grant and I put Malcolm down together. Sleeping, his face is calm and adorably serious and looks so much like Grant that I feel a powerful tug in my heart for both of the handsome men in my life.
