Page 27 of Wrangled Love

“We’ll see if you’re this confident by the end of the summer,” he says, a smug glint in his eyes. “Are you and Caleb staying for dinner? Ma should be home soon and planned to make pulled pork sandwiches with slaw and cornbread.”

I nod. “We’d love to.”

My mouth waters just thinking about Julie’s cooking. Despite all the Michelin-starred restaurants I’ve experienced, nothing beats a home-cooked meal at the Halsteads’.

Since we arrived in Bluebell, I’ve made simple dinners at the cottage, including mac and cheese and chicken nuggets. Briar’s been out every evening, probably at the ranch house or with friends. Part of me worries that we’ve pushed her out of her own space, and I decide to bring it up to her later.

Caleb’s bedtime routine is the highlight of my day. Since movingto Bluebell it’s when he’s most at peace, and now that the rest of his things have arrived from Chicago, there’s a new sense of comfort in having his belongings here with him.

Everything else from Amelia’s apartment has been boxed up and placed in storage where it’ll stay until Caleb is old enough to go through it and decide what he wants to keep. She might not be around to watch him grow up, but the least I can do is preserve the pieces of her life that might one day help him feel closer to her.

After Caleb’s bath, he picks out the pajamas he’ll wear to bed, which are always one of three dinosaur-themed sets. Tonight, I offer him two choices: a blue set with smiling Stegosauruses, Triceratops in party hats and tiny volcanoes erupting with confetti, or a black pair covered in glow-in-the-dark dinosaur skeletons.

He’s quick to point to the party hat pajamas.

“Can’t go wrong with dinosaurs in hats.” I smile, setting the others aside. “Arms up, buddy.”

He does as I ask, and I pull the shirt down over his head. Then I kneel so he can hold my shoulders as he steps into the pants, one leg at a time. After our failed nighttime routine during his first evening in my penthouse, he’s been more comfortable with me helping him get ready for bed.

When he’s dressed, he scoops up his dinosaur stuffed animal from the ground and climbs into bed. I’m momentarily frozen in place when he scoots over to make space for me. This is the first time he’s done that. Usually, he takes the center of the bed, leaving me to sit on the edge, trying not to crowd him. After the initial shock wears off, I settle beside him, swallowing down the lump in my throat as I wrap my arm around his shoulders, relieved when he doesn’t move away.

Caleb’s favorite part of our nightly routine is story time. He picks a book from the shelf, and I read it aloud. He’s never asked for more, but I’d read every last one if he asked me.

Tonight’s pick isDragons Love Tacos.

I can’t help but wonder if he did this with Amelia. Would she do the voices, and would he laugh at the silly parts? Did he have a favorite story they read every night? And does he think about her when I’m flipping through the pages of a book they read together?

I push the thoughts aside. There’s no use in dwelling on what I can’t change. What matters now is creating new memories and being here when he’s ready to share the ones he had with his mom.

Once I’ve finished reading, I set the book on the nightstand, leaning down to kiss Caleb’s forehead. “Good night, buddy. I love you.” I’ve never meant anything more.

He doesn’t respond. The only sound is the soft rustle of his sheets as he lies in bed, waiting for me to turn off the overhead light. The night-light in the corner glows enough to keep the darkness at bay.

I didn’t believe in love until now. My parents never showed it, and I didn’t stick around long enough in any relationship to experience it myself. Then came Caleb, proving that love does exist. It’s fierce, exhausting, and unrelenting. I’m constantly questioning myself, convinced I’m not getting anything right. Still, when he looks at me with those innocent brown eyes, there’s no question that being his dad is worth it all.

“Sweet dreams,” I murmur, shutting the door behind me.

I close my eyes, letting out a sigh. Even though I wouldn’t change any of it, being a parent is the hardest thing I’ve ever done.

Leaving my hometown without a penny to my name? Challenging.

Teaching myself to code? Brutal.

Launching a startup in New York with zero funding? Flat-out reckless.

All of it pales compared to raising a kid and the challenges that come with it. Still, now that I’ve had a glimpse of fatherhood, I realize I’d trade it all for more time with Caleb when he was younger.

It’s a quarter past nine, and I should call it a night, but instead,after changing into sweats and a T-shirt, I venture downstairs to stretch my legs. Not because I’m hoping to catch a glimpse of a certain brunette.

Definitely not that.

The only light on is above the kitchen sink, and a sharp twinge of disappointment hits me when I realize Briar has probably already gone to bed—until I look out the window facing the front yard and see her sitting on the porch swing. Her legs are tucked beneath her, a steaming mug cradled in her hands.

In the brief time we’ve been in Bluebell, she’s been constantly on the go. It’s nice to see her relaxing and enjoying the peace and quiet.

A kettle is on the stove and the faint aroma of hot chocolate wafts in the air. I pour myself a cup, adding a generous pour of the whiskey on the counter. Looks like I’m not the only one needing a drink tonight.

Briar glances up when I come outside and join her on the swing.

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