Page 93 of Rematch
Preston unlocked the door to the condo, smiling when the smell of tomatoes and garlic hit his nose. His flight from L.A. had been delayed due to weather, so his early-afternoon return had turned into an evening one.
Which had driven him crazy, because he’d been chomping at the bit to get back to Chelsea and Lennon.
Just a few months ago, this condo had been too quiet and lonely. Now, it was abuzz with sounds and smells and…family.
Lennon was sitting in his bouncy chair, Miss Rachel singing “The Wheels on the Bus,” on the television, while Chelsea was in the kitchen cooking. She was singing along loud enough that she hadn’t even heard him open the door.
He took a moment to watch her, amused by the way she wiggled her ass as she stirred the sauce, her ponytail swishing back in forth in time with the music. She was already in what she called her comfy clothes, a soft long-sleeved tee and colorful lounge pants.
Lennon’s hands were waving wildly, and he was bouncing so hard in his chair, Preston was surprised he hadn’t launched himself off it.
Chelsea startled when he closed the door, her surprise morphing to genuine happiness as he walked in.
“You’re home!” she said, rushing over to greet him.
After her sleepless night, he’d expected to find her subdued and exhausted, not hopping around like the Energizer Bunny.
Preston tried to hide his shock when she went up on tiptoe, giving him a kiss. A real kiss. A real not-just-friends kiss. His surprise was short-lived as he grasped her waist, holding her close so he could draw the kiss out as long as she’d let him.
Jesus.
She wasn’t wearing a bra.
That realization had him pulling back, since she was pushing the envelope as far as his control went. “Chels?”
“I really missed you,” she said, her dimples appearing as she grinned at him.
“I missed you too. Like fucking crazy.”
She rewarded that confession with another kiss, and while this one didn’t linger as long, it still packed a punch, her tongue meeting his, sneaking him a taste of the sauce she’d been sampling. There was something different about her tonight…and he liked it.
“I thought you’d be tired. What’s all this?” He gestured toward the stove. When he’d called to say he was going to be late, he told her not to worry about dinner, that he would just heat up some soup.
“Spaghetti,” she replied. “I’ve also got a salad ready to go in the fridge. I was just waiting for you to get here before I cooked the noodles and baked the garlic bread.”
“You didn’t have to go to all this trouble.”
She grabbed his hand, leading him to the island that separated the kitchen and the living room. “It was no trouble. Besides, I wanted to do something nice for you. I know it was a long day of travel.”
As she spoke, she poured him a glass of red wine, topping up her own. Lifting the glass, she tapped it against his. “Cheers.”
“Salud,” he added, before taking a sip. Setting the glass down, he walked over to Lennon, bending over to pick him up. Preston’s heart melted every time his sweet son greeted him with a wide, gummy smile. “Somebody looks like they’re feeling better.”
Chelsea dumped noodles into the boiling pot of water and set a timer. “He turned the corner around four a.m.”
“Ouch.” Preston sat on one of the stools by the island, bouncing Lennon on his knee.
“When you called to say you’d be late, he and I took a long afternoon nap.”
That explained why she wasn’t exhausted.
The two of them chatted about the game and his flight and the crappy weather in L.A. while she finished cooking. Once she had their meal plated and on the table, Preston moved to join her, touched when she lit the candle in the middle, trying to make the dinner special. Preston kept Lennon on his lap, quite accomplished at eating with one hand these days.
Chelsea asked about his schedule for the rest of the week, then filled him in on what she and Ethan had accomplished at the bakery. To most people, their conversation topics probably sounded mundane, but Preston loved having her here, being able to share even the smallest tidbits about his life.
After dinner, she cleared the table while he carried Lennon to the bedroom, getting him ready for his bath. He and Chelsea had become quite adept with the nightly routine, their roles well established. After the bath, Preston gave Lennon his bottle as she read Don’t Tickle the Shark.
Rising slowly, Preston placed Lennon in his bassinet, following Chelsea back to the living room. He expected them to claim what he now considered their spots on the couch, but Chelsea surprised him once again by sitting right next to him, curling against his side.
