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“Dad…”
Keenan startled at the conspicuous sound of Tommy’s voice. He’d slunk into the bedroom and closed the door without him noticing it. “What is it?”
After shushing his dad by putting a small hand over his mouth, he leaned in and whispered, “Ryleigh made omelets.”
One brow arched while Keenan moved his lips against his son’s hand and mumbled, “And…?”
“The undersides are all black. But don’t tell her they taste bad. She’ll cry.”
He engulfed his son’s hand in his and freed his lips. “Are they burned?”
Tommy nodded. “Yeah, and she threw six strips of bacon in the trash.”
“Ouch, I really like my bacon in the morning.” Keenan tried to joke and chuckled, but stopped when Tommy’s lip wobbled.
“Please, don’t get mad at her. She really tried.”
“Hey, come here.” He picked up his son and held him in his arms. He lifted his son’s chin and said to his teary eyes, “I’m not mad at Ryleigh, son. I’m not that bad, am I?”
A tear fell down Tommy’s cheek, and another tear replaced its spot, ready to follow the wet trail threatening to cascade. “No. But don’t fight with Ryleigh. I don’t want her to go.”
How much could a heart take before it shattered in so many pieces it stopped beating? It physically pained Keenan he didn’t know how to heal his son’s broken soul.
“What’s taking you guys so — Oh…”
Keenan looked over his son’s head where Ryleigh stood with a burned omelet on top of one of Keenan’s finer dishes he kept for dinner parties. A hint of a smile tugged at his lips at the idea of Ryleigh rummaging around in his kitchen, searching for the right plate to serve up this mess.
The scent of charcoal mixed up with egg wafted into his bedroom and he wondered how bad the smell in the kitchen would be like.
“What’s wrong? Oh, no… don’t tell me you don’t like omelets?” She hurried into his bedroom, clanked his fine china on top of his bedside table and got on her knees next to his king-sized-bed so she could sit eye-level with Tommy.
She rested her arm on Keenan’s thigh and padded Tommy’s knee. It sparked yet another familiarity between them. How could she feel so right?
He’s seven years her senior. A single dad who’d been heartbroken by the love of his life. A woman that threw his love in his face when she’d left him and their son. A woman that had nothing on this clumsy, sassy and gorgeous young woman, sitting on her knees, soothing his son because he’d panicked that yet another mother figure would walk out of his life.
“Please talk to me, Tommy. Is it something I said?” She looked up with panicked eyes.
“He’s scared I’d be mad at you.”
Her blue eyes went wide, “Mad? What for?”
Keenan nudged his head at the mayhem on his plate. She mouthed ‘oh’ and he nodded.
A sly smile formed on Ryleigh’s lips and she said, “Oh, but this was all a part of my Master Plan, Tommy.”
Tommy stopped his hiccups and wiped his nose with his pajama sleeve. “Plan?”
She padded Tommy’s knee and said, “Yeah… I figured that if I messed up breakfast one more time, your dad would promise to take over cooking from now on.”
“You’re lying,” Tommy said, assessing her.
“Okay, you’re right. I’m an awful cook.” Ryleigh bit her bottom lip, trying to hold in her laughter.
Keenan wanted to have no part of eating that cremated omelet and said, “Okay, I’m taking you both out for breakfast.”
She considered the plate and busted out laughing. ”Fair enough.”
“Should we drive separately?” she asked.
