I listen to her voice go soft for him. I listen to her tell him that adults are strange, that people do things no one understands, and I watch my boy look at her like she's the first person who's ever made that make sense.
I listen to enough. Enough to make my chest crack open in a way I wasn't prepared for. Enough to make my heart race like never before. Not the way it races when I want her. Not the way it raced in that bar, or in my truck, or every night since, when I can still feel her lips on mine.
This is different.
This is worse.
She slowly turns to face me, and Wyatt runs towards me.
I ruffle his hair with a smile, pulling him into my side. But my eyes don't leave her. Can't. She's standing there in that white uniform with her red hair falling out of its tie and her cheeks flushed and her eyes wide.
I need to call Ashley. I can't have him crying on his damn birthday because he thinks his mom doesn't love him. "Your friends from school are outside. Uncle Ace is about to open the bounce house, but we need the birthday boy to do the first big bounce. Want to go do that?" I ask him.
He nods but doesn't move. "I want to show my friend Gary."
Fuck.
My friend. He's known her for five minutes, and she's already his friend. That does something to me I'm not ready to name.
"Alright. We can show Lola the goat after you've played with your friends. Deal?" I say.
“Lola. Do you know her? Is she your friend already, Daddy?” Wyatt asks innocently.
I smile at him. “She is.”
He grins, turning back to Lola, giving her the thumbs up. And then he's off. Running out of the room and back outside, his little boots slapping the hardwood.
Leaving me and my city girl in the same room.
And this time, I ain't letting her leave here without a fight.
The door is still open. The noise from outside filters in, kids screaming, Ace's laugh carrying over the music, the distant hum of the party I should be at. My son's sixth birthday is happening without me, right now, because I can't make my legs move.
Because she's here.
She's here, and she didn't leave town, and she's standing in my son's playroom looking at me like she's terrified, and all I can think is… She's special.
I think she's mine.
I used to listen to my dad tell me stories about how he knew the day he met our mom that she was the woman to change him. I'd roll my eyes. Tell him he was full of shit. That love like that didn't exist outside of the fairy tales Mom used to read us before bed.
And he loved that woman until the day he died. Even when she passed, his love kept her alive for us. In every story he told, in every time he said her name and his voice cracked just a little, even years later.
I get it now.
Standing in this room, looking at this woman—I fucking get it.
"You lost for words, firefly?" I ask, pushing myself off the doorframe and stepping inside.
She chews on her lip, watching my every move like I'm something dangerous. Smart girl.
I close the door behind me. The click of the latch is the loudest sound in the room.
"I shouldn't have been in here. I'm sorry. I didn’t mean to overstep. I heard him crying," she says quietly, hugging her arms around herself.
A grin twitches on my lips. I take another step toward her. There goes another kick of my heart. “Don’t apologize for looking out for my son, firefly,” I mutter.
"I-I need to borrow a mop," she blurts out.