Page 32 of At First Flight
Oliver and I make a game with the soapsuds and the utensils as we finish washing the dishes. I keep an eye on him as he stands on a barstool leaning over the sink, with the forks battling against the mixing spoons.
A rush of heat floods my back, and then I feel it—his hand, warm and firm, settling against my hip. The fingersflex once, a gentle press that sends a shock wave through my body. Every inch of my skin reacts like it's been lit on fire, the sparks crawling up my spine and down to my fingertips, leaving me breathless and dizzy. I swallow hard, my pulse thumping erratically. The air feels heavier now, charged with something raw, something electric. “You know there is a dishwasher,” Dean’s gravelly voice growls against my ear.
A sound similar to an agreement stumbles from my lips. He chuckles as he sets the additional plates in the open sink, and I instantly miss the loss of his touch as he steps away, sweeping Evelyn up into his arms. We’d discussed during the meal that tackling bath time after dinner would be best for a new routine.
Despite being wary about caring for the kids, Dean has great instincts. He even offered to do Evelyn’s bath, something he’d done before when his sister visited with them. I’m not sure if it was nerves, but he disclosed the first time he took care of the kids, Oliver had just turned three and Evelyn was a few months old. His sister had dropped them off at his penthouse and ran off for a month before he and his parents could track her down.
My heart breaks every time I hear more about the children’s upbringing.
Oliver and I finish up the dishes and make our way up to the bathroom, following the spurts of giggles, both male and female, mixing with the telltale sound of splashing water.
Dean’s shirt is soaked through, the white cotton molded to him like a second skin. I have to force my tongue to stay in my mouth so he doesn’t catch me ogling him.
“Hey, my man, ready for your turn?” he asks Oliver as Evelyn stands and reaches her arms out for him. Swapping places, I take the toddler out of the bath and wrap her in a bright pink towel.
Unlike his sister, Oliver speeds through his bath, the duo joining us in the bedroom as I tug the llama pajama pants onto Evelyn.
The couple of hours before their bedtime are spent in the playroom, and I notice Dean frowning at his phone as it continues to ping with notifications. At one point, he either mutes or turns it off and shoves it in his pocket with a deep frown etched on his face.
The kids fall asleep rapidly as Dean reads them a story, Evelyn slumbering across his lap while Oliver’s head is tucked under Dean’s arm. Without thinking, I grab my phone and snap a picture of the trio, ignoring more of Prescott’s unread messages.
Downstairs, I pour myself another glass of wine and settle against the plush couch in the living room. Beyond the French doors is a screened-in deck running the expanse of the back of the house. I can’t wait to spend time out there in the summer.
Snap out of it, Lila.I need to keep reminding myself that this is not a permanent situation. Just something to tide me over until I can get a new research grant and find a facility.
But watching the sunset over the bay leaves an ache in my chest. I’ve missed the town and people here and how, even though everyone knows your business, they are the biggest supporters.
“Hey.” Dean settles onto the couch next to me with a glass of amber liquid. So lost in my own thoughts, I didn’t even hear him descend the stairs and enter the room.
“Hi. Did you get the kids settled?”
“Yeah,” he says, sipping his beverage. “Oliver asked when his mom was coming to see the new house.”
I nearly spit my wine out. “Oh, Dean.”
He turns toward me, and I see the pools of water lining his lower lids. “How do I explain to them their mom isn’t ever coming back? How do I tell them that drugs meant more to their mom than they did? How do I navigate any of this?”
The nurturing part of me, the part that loved being a nanny when I was in high school and enjoyed babysitting my siblings, broke free. Reaching out, I grasp his hand and intertwine his fingers with mine.
“Dean, just one step at a time. That’s the only thing you can do.”
“I never wanted this…being a father. The fun uncle? The one that sneaks treats after bed and plays hooky from school? That’s me. I’m not sure I can handle all this responsibility…but I want to try. I’m just…out of my element.”
“I think just questioning whether you’re capable of being a parent means you’re already on the right path to being one. No one can be prepared to answer the sort of questions you’ll face, Dean. Just answer honestly and help them understand that your sister had some flaws but loved them very much.”
“Did she, though?”
“I can’t answer that, but they adore you. You can do this, Dean, with or without my help.” I squeeze his hand gently and start to pull my hand away, but Dean tightens his grip as he settles onto the couch.
I hate to admit how good his hand feels against mine. Despite his silver-spoon upbringing, Dean’s hands are rough. My dad always said that was a clear sign of a hard worker.
The silence that grows between us isn’t uncomfortable, but the mood is still heavy, like a weighted blanket that’s not as cozy.
I twist on the couch, tucking one of my feet under my opposite knee. The selfish part of me doesn’t release Dean’s hand. I don’t think I could if I tried.
“So, Ashvi had some interesting things to say about you.”
Dean’s body tenses before he turns his face toward me. “Oh, really?”
