Page 25 of Essence of his Soul

“You don’t need to keep thanking me. Tyler is my son.”

“But—”

“No buts,” he interrupted, his tone firm but kind.

I felt his hand at my waist tighten, the frown on his face fading, replaced by a warm, reassuring grin. I watched his eyes, seeing compassion and something deeper flicker in their depths, and my insides twisted with a mix of emotions I couldn’t quite name.

“I’m glad you’re home,” I said softly, the words slipping out before I could stop them.

He nodded slowly, his gaze never leaving mine. “This is where I want to be.”

One corner of his mouth twitched up into a shadow of the total, high-voltage grin I remembered so well, and even that tiny smile sent heat coursing through my veins.

He pulled me close into a warm embrace, and I wrapped my arms around him, holding him tight. I rested my head on his firm chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart beating against my cheek. I closed my eyes, inhaled his masculine scent, and surrendered to the safety of his protective embrace. The warmth of his body seeped into mine, and Mark tenderly stroked my arm, making me shiver.

It was a relief to know that, even though we might never be more than friends, he was willing to be a part of Tyler’s life—not out of obligation, but because he genuinely wanted to.

A soft sigh escaped my lips as I did the one thing I knew I had to do.

Looking up at him, I offered a small smile and said, “How about some butter pecan ice cream for dessert?”

Mark nodded, his expression softening. “I’d like that.”

I swiveled on my heels and padded barefoot into the kitchen, leaving the lingering warmth of his embrace behind but carrying the comfort of his presence with me.

* * *

Less than an hour later, Essence walked me to the door. Damn!

My fingers gripped the steering wheel tight as I cruised toward midtown. Christmas music blared from the radio, and the city was decked out in holiday cheer, but I felt like the Grinch. My mind wasn’t on the season; it was stuck on Essence shutting down my proposal.

I’d tried to brace myself for her rejection, but I thought I had it all planned—cook dinner, talk about the future, and show her how good I was with Tyler. I thought maybe, just maybe, I could plant a seed in her mind. Make her think aboutus, about building a future together. She was starting to trust me again, and I wasn’t trying to mess that up. But then I made the mistake of touching her. The second my hand slid to the curve of her waist, feeling the warmth of her body, all those memories came rushing back like a freight train, knocking my plan straight off the track.

When I pulled into The Brewhouse parking lot, I was still heated, disbelief and frustration rolling through me. I wasn’t used to being told no—especially not by a woman I wanted this bad. I muttered a few choice words as I slid into a parking space. The neon lights from the new sports bar reflected off the wet pavement, and the place was buzzing with the mid-December rush.

I stepped out, shaking off the tension, and headed inside.Twinkling lights hung from the windows, and the hum of conversations mixed with the clinking of glasses. It felt familiar—exactly what I needed.

Scanning the room, I spotted Chris and Joshua in the back. Chris, always the calm, steady one, was nursing a beer. At the same time, Joshua, looking as carefree as ever, was halfway through his whiskey neat. Chris waved me over with that easy grin, and Joshua, lounging like he owned the establishment, gave me a head nod.

“Look who finally decided to show up,” Joshua teased, shifting his muscular frame in the chair. “Must’ve taken a wrong turn, old man.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I muttered, shaking my head.

"Mark! Welcome back, man," Chris said, standing up to hug me before pulling out a chair. Joshua leaned over, giving me dap.

“Y’all been waiting long?” I asked, settling onto the stool. The leather was worn but comfortable, like this place had seen its share of long nights.

“Nah, just got here,” Chris replied, pushing his black-wired glasses up on his nose.

I signaled the waitress and ordered a whiskey neat, which Joshua quickly added to his tab.

“Shanta said to send you her love,” Chris mentioned. He’d married his college sweetheart, and they had a three-year-old son, Adrian.

“Tell her I’m already thinking about that pecan pie,” I said with a small smile.

Chris chuckled. “She’ll be happy to make you one.”

“I’m holding you to that.”

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