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“Because you’re an incredible woman. You’re intelligent, responsible, shy in a good way, and more than anything else, you’re loving. And your son is adventurous, curious beyond his age, and the best snuggle buddy in the world.”
I soak in his words as tears of relief coat my face, then I remember I need answers. “Where did you go?”
“To curse out my biological dad.”
“Oh, how did that go?”
“Good, good. I’ll tell you all about it later.” His hands cup my face. “I love you, Brooklyn Dulce Sweet, and I know I’m worth loving.”
More tears stream, but his thumbs wipe them away as I cry and begin to laugh.
“Is that funny?” he asks.
As my laughter subsides, a deep breath escapes me, releasing not only the exhilaration accumulated throughout the evening but also the underlying anxiety that has plagued me for the past three nights of worrying about Reed. And the part I played in him feeling like he needed to leave.
“I love you and can’t wait to wear the jersey. But is it yours? Wrong name and wrong number.”
“It’s my lucky number.” He gives me a lopsided smile, and my heart thumps against my chest.
Lifting my brows, I ask, “Oh really?”
“The bonfire was on the seventh. Caleb’s birthday is July seventh. My dad wore number seven. You have seven different color tank tops. You have seven boxes of cereal in your cabinet.”
“A girl can never have too many boxes of cereal.”
“When I kiss your body, there are seven places that give you goosebumps.”
“Seven?”
“Seven. The delicate skin on your wrists. Behind your ear. Between your legs. The small of your back. Your nipples, neck, and hips,” he whispers into my mouth as he kisses me.
I relax into his arms. After a dozen mini kisses that melt my heart, he says, “Let’s take Caleb to the pizza place where there are video games and skeeball. Do you like skeeball?”
“Are you kidding? I’m the reigning champion.”
He curls his lips and raises an eyebrow. “Against whom?”
“My dad.”
Reed invades my space, kissing my nose. “Let’s change the course of the night and give Caleb a happy memory.”
At that moment, I call my father and put him on speakerphone. “Dad, meet us at Chuck-E-Cheese.”
We’re out the door in seconds because Caleb comes first—before anything or anyone else.
For two hours, the four of us play games, ride bumper cars, ride the motorcycles, and yes, play skeeball.
“Cookie, I think your dad let you win the last time you played.” His lips land on the apple of my cheek, kissing my freckles. His eyes then move to Caleb, fast asleep in his arms. “I love him too.”
“The feeling is mutual, Weed.” And his deep, happy laugh tickles my heart in ways never before.
Chapter Forty-Two
REED
“Thanks for coming in. How are Brooke and Caleb?” Her dad looks serious. Maybe the gravity of last night is just now hitting him.
“I went and bought donuts from Magee’s. They were drinking hot chocolate and reading books when I left to grab my gear.”
