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She flies into his arms, wrapping her arms and legs around him, and he lifts her off the ground with a delighted, surprised chuckle.
“Hi Mom, Dad,” I say, crossing the room to give the two of them a peck on the cheek. “Thanks for watching Bailey.”
“Anytime,” my father answers. “But I don’t think I’ll be playing cards with her again.”
“How are Maude and Arthur?” my mother asks, even though I already texted her that they were fine when we left the hospital. “Is this Desmond?” my mother asks as Des sets Bailey back down on her feet.
“Yep,” Bailey says, taking his hand and tugging him inside. She shows him off with a sweep of her other arm. “He likes the L.A. Lakers, but I still like him.”
I snort—and there’s a knock on the door. I walk across the room, open it, and see my ex-husband standing on my doorstep.
“Mia,” he says, sounding relieved.
“Hi, Colin,” I say, just as Des steps into view behind me.
Colin’s gaze jumps over my shoulder, then back to me. “I didn’t know you had company. I was just stopping by to make sure you were all okay. I heard you were at the hospital with some friends.”
“We’re fine, dear.” My mother comes bustling past us and hip-checks me out of the doorway. She grips the doorknob with one hand and the jamb with the other. “Is anything wrong?”
“No, no. I just wanted to make sure Bailey was okay, you know, with everything going on.”
It must be divine intervention that allows me to not roll my eyes. Father of the fucking year here, swooping in to make sure everything’s okay. What a freaking hero.
Giving this man the benefit of doubt is not in my skillset, apparently.
My mother gives him a smile that makes me think of the Big, Bad Wolf. “Bailey is perfectly fine. Thank you for stopping by. Bye-bye, now!” And she slams the door in my ex-husband’s face.
Sometimes I love my mother more than usual.
She spins on her heels, gives me a curt nod, then strides to Des and pats him on his big barrel chest. “Now. Des.” She points at the table while grabbing his elbow, the other hand still smoothing his pectoral muscle. “You sit down and eat something. I’ll fix you a plate.”
Des, looking completely out of his depth, follows my mother’s commands and sits at the table. Bailey jumps up beside him, legs swinging off the chair. “Are you staying here tonight, Des?”
“Um.” Des’s panicked eyes meet mine.
“Of course he is,” my mother interjects, placing a plate full of warmed casserole in front of him and another plate in front of an empty chair. She looks at me and gestures to the chair. “Where else would he stay?” She pats his shoulder and hums to herself as she heads back to the kitchen to clean up.
Exchanging a grin with Des, I take a seat at the table and eat my dinner. Under the table, Des reaches over to squeeze my knee.
“Is it okay if I stay tonight?” he asks quietly when my mother has moved to the living room to sit next to my father on the couch.
“Yeah,” I answer. “I’d like that.”
“You can make pancakes for breakfast,” Bailey informs him, then squints. “You can cook, right?”
Des grins. “Yeah,” he says, “I can cook.”
Oof. My poor ovaries. Did I ever stand a chance against this man?
“Good. Because sometimes Mom’s food is not so good. Maybe you can take over.”
I snort, shaking my head, and Bailey scampers away. Des and I finish our dinner and wash the dishes, but before we can go around the corner to join the others in the living room, he curls an arm around my waist and tugs me close.
“Love you,” he whispers. “You have no idea how good it feels to finally say that to you, or how good it feels to have dinner with you and your family.”
“I love you too.” I touch his cheek, heart full. “But to be honest, Des, I think they’re your family too now.”
Des’s answering smile and kiss send my heart thumping—then we go join the rest of the family in the living room to wind down for the evening.
