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He released my hip and clutched his fist in a victorious gesture. “Still got it.”
We swayed as one song bled into another, then another. With each one, my heart stitched itself back together a little more.
During what had to be the fifth one, I stepped on his foot. At least I wasn’t wearing heels tonight.
“Sorry. It’s, uh, been a while.” I chuckled.
Liam hummed. “Step on my foot all you want. It just means you’re close to me.”
In that moment, I knew that going back to normal after this would be agonizing. How could we go back to cold words and avoiding eye contact after he’d held me so tightly? After he’d whispered sweet nothings in my ear as we rocked back and forth.
You look so pretty.
Your hand fits perfectly in mine.
I’ve dreamed of this.
The man wasn’t afraid to share his thoughts, and I admired him for it. So often, I assumed he said those things to torture me. As if he were making fun of me, stomping on my heart when he’d utter words I’d longed to hear at the end of our marriage, when all that was left between us was silence. But no, he really meant them. And now he’d dropped his filter entirely and had let me into even his deepest thoughts.
Maybe I should do the same.
“You make me feel like more than just a mom.” The words were hard to admit, and they left my mouth in such a low mumble that if we hadn’t been pressed together from shoulder to thigh, he wouldn’t have heard them.
With his lips at the shell of my ear, he tightened his hold, if that was possible. “You have no clue, do you?” He laughed softly, stirring the hair at my temple. “You’re so much more to me than just the mother of my kids, Goldie.”
Dipping my chin, I nuzzled against the warm cotton of his shirt to hide the way heat was spreading up my neck and into my cheeks. How was I supposed to respond to that? How could I possibly keep myself from throwing every mixed emotion I had regarding this man to the wind and saying screw it, I’m yours?
Luckily, I didn’t have to respond, because the bell hanging above the door chimed, and a group of teenagers poured into the store, chattering and laughing. I took a small step back, but I didn’t let go of Liam’s hand. Not ready to break this connection, I stood in place, just soaking in the sight of him. The way the string lights flickered in his dark irises, the scruff on his jaw that made my fingers itch to run through it.
I squeezed his fingers, silently telling him that I didn’t know how to respond to that just yet. But I was here, and I didn’t plan to change that anytime soon.
Let me be extremely clear: it’s virtually impossible to focus on a field of ten-year-old soccer players while sitting beside Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome.
Especially when he cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted encouragement and praise to the boys.
On top of that, the man was wearing these gray joggers and an FC Storms shirt that stretched tight around his broad shoulders. I’d spent half the game consciously working to focus on anything but Liam.
Wet and cold metal bleachers were the epitome of uncomfortable. I’d forgotten to bring a towel to wipe off my seat, but it didn’t matter. I was so caught up in the warmth of Liam’s presence by my side that the chill that was sinking into me, the one that would likely send me into a bout of the sniffles, was barely noticeable.
Did I mention that when he arrived, he pulled out a spare rain jacket for me? Oh, then he took his off and set it on the wet bleachers and forced me to sit on it.
What was I supposed to do after all of that? Not ogle the guy? No chance.
“Come on, Dallas! You’ve got this, buddy!” Liam shouted next to me.
The mention of my son’s name snapped me back to reality. He was muddy and sweaty and wearing a determined scowl as he worked to keep the ball as far away from his goalie as possible.
“Go, Dal!” I added to Liam’s cheers.
He turned to face me, a smirk on his lips and a flirty tone in his voice. “I’m glad you’re here.”
I frowned in confusion. “I’m always here.”
I never missed a game. And I rarely missed a practice. Calla had once talked me into a girls’ date on soccer practice night. Since it was Liam’s night with the boys anyway, she convinced me that it was okay to take the night off. But the moment I left my house, guilt pressed into my shoulders, weighing me down. Like a little devil perched on my cap sleeve all night, telling me I was being a lousy mom. Whispering that I should have been doing more, showing up more, working harder. They were straight lies, but they stuck anyway. I’d promised long ago to always put my boys first, and that meant in the small things as much as in the big things.
He leered down at me and chuckled. “I mean with me. You know?” He pointed to the cold metal in the gap between us. The one I’d hoped he’d close up so our thighs could press together and we could share the warmth. “As in…here.”
I knew exactly what he meant. As much as the Marigold from a month ago would be annoyed, I really loved sitting next to him like this. Watching his body tense when the ball got close to one of our sons and how it would relax after they’d passed to a teammate. How he scooted, an inch at a time, to the edge of his seat as the ball made its way down the field and the way he’d launch to his feet when our team scored. The pure enthusiasm he had for our boys, when half the dads didn’t even bother to show up, much less cheer their kids on, was astounding. He was astounding. And every time he smiled at me like he was right now, it reminded me of the Liam I’d fallen in love with.
