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“Mmhmm,” he answered easily as he stepped toward me.
The butterflies in my stomach seemed to have descended with each second that passed.
He smiled and moved around, walking into the bathroom.
I exhaled. “Better than the dancing?”
“Mmhmm.” He pulled two toothbrushes from the toiletry bag he’d packed in a suitcase that’d been waiting in the room when we checked in.
Both toothbrushes were blue. He set one down on the bathroom counter before meeting my gaze with a nod.
I waited until he spread a generous amount of toothpaste on his brush and opened his mouth before opening my mouth to speak.
“Better than the sex?” I questioned.
Mid-scrub, he paused and looked at me again, grinning around the brush and foam.
When he didn’t answer—only staring at me—it was my turn to slip around him and into the shower. I slid the glass door open and stepped in before turning on the water.
I wasn’t worried about split ends or stretch marks or whatever made me different from the hundreds of women he could’ve had instead. I’d carriedhischild. If he didn’t like how that had physically changed me, he’d have to just deal with it.
But all through my shower, he didn’t look away. Not after he continued to brush, not when he spat out the minty froth, and not after he dried his face. He simply turned and continued to watch. And when I stepped out after wringing out my hair, he grabbed the towel and wrapped me in it.
“Still want to go out on that date?” he asked, his voice husky.
I shook my head at him and laughed when he scooped me in his arms.
* * *
The next day,Dexter and I faced the morning together. We packed up, checked out, and headed home, our fingers entwined like we were in high school again. We picked up Dylan and spent hours as a family at my house, the way I’d always wanted it to be.
“Ralph called, said he’s in Seattle. Do you mind if he comes over?” Dexter asked that afternoon as he leaned down to kiss my forehead and muss Dylan’s hair.
“Of course not.”
Nearly an hour later, someone banged on the front door and Dylan started crying, the noise startling him.
I laughed as Ralph entered and picked up my crying boy, holding him close. “I’m sorry, little buddy,” he said as he leaned down to pinch my cheek.
I served sandwiches for lunch and as I was about to lay Dylan down for a nap, Dexter’s phone rang.
“Hello?” he said.
Even if I didn’t register the concern in his eyes, the voice on the other end sounded frantic, though I couldn’t understand what was being said.
“Rachel? Calm down.”
At the sound of her name, my insides clenched. I moved to stand closer to Dexter, my hand on his arm. It was so easy to forget she was forever linked to us.
Dexter hung up and sprang into action, rushing to grab his jacket and telling us Phoebe was unconscious and Rachel had no idea what was wrong.
“Did she call for an ambulance?” I gathered Dylan in my arms and grabbed our jackets. “I’m coming with you.”
“You don’t have to,” he told me as I zipped Dylan’s jacket and set him down to put mine on.
“Of course I do,” I said, moving to stand directly in front of him. “This is our life now. I go where you go.”
Ralph helped me get Dylan’s bag ready, then we got in my car and headed for Rachel’s. I expected to hear sirens and see chaos around her house, but it was eerily quiet. There was nothing to tell us anyone was home other than the sway of the curtain, as if someone had been watching us from inside.
