Page 37 of At First Flight
“What?” she asks, but it’s soft, not accusatory.
I shake my head. “Just… you’re really good at this.”
“At what?”
“This whole… being here. With the kids. With me.” I shrug a little. “It’s like you’ve been here forever.”
Something flickers in her expression—hope, fear, maybe a mix of both. She opens her mouth, then closes it again. I let it sit. I don’t need her to say anything she’s not ready to say.
She changes the subject. “Oliver asked if you and I are getting married.”
I laugh, leaning back in my chair. “He did?”
She nods, smiling now. “I told him I didn’t think so.”
My stomach twists a little, but not in the way I expected. Not with regret. Just with that strange ache of wanting something you can’t quite name.
“What would you say if I told you he wasn’t the only one wondering that?”
She blinks at me, the smile fading into something more serious.
“I’d say… fools rush in.”
“Every man hath a fool in his sleeve,” I quote.
Another quiet stretch.
She closes her laptop, pushes it aside, and folds her arms on the table. “Do you miss it?”
“What?”
“Your old life. The money. The jet-setting. The power.”
I consider the question. “I miss the simplicity of having a plan and knowing where I was going next. But I don’t miss the cost of it. I don’t miss feeling like I was building something and still had nothing real to come home to.”
Her gaze softens. “You built something with them, Dean. Even before I showed up.”
“Yeah,” I say, voice rough. “But it didn’t start to feel right until you came through that door.”
She blushes again, looking away, but her smile says it all.
We don’t stay at the table much longer. It’s late. The tea’s gone cold. She stretches and yawns, mumbling something about needing sleep. I walk her to the bottom of the stairs, and both of us pause, not quite ready to say good night.
“Thanks for the company,” she murmurs, turning to go.
“Anytime,” I reply.
And I mean it. Because the longer she’s here, the more I realize I don’t want a life that doesn’t include her in it. Even if, for now, it’s just quiet nights and shared glances across the kitchen table.
Chapter Eight – Dean
It’s been just over a week of living under the same roof as Lila. I thought being surrounded by two young children would be the hardest thing I’d encounter over the last seven days, but instead, I find my growing desire for Lila makes each passing second nearly unbearable.
Despite a few nightmares from Oliver and Evelyn, the kids seem to have transitioned to their new situation as best as expected. So much so that Oliver moved into his bedroom at his own request. I’ve set up an appointment with a therapist in town to help the kids, but mainly, it’s for me. The grief over my sister gets me late into the night, and I find myself tossing and turning. I can usually function on a few short hours of sleep, but a week straight isn’t cutting it.
I’ve drowned myself in work to keep my thoughts about Gen and Lila at bay. I’m a silent partner in a few businesses, yet I’m very hands-on with others, especially when technology is involved. But I know running on empty will only last so long.
Today, I have a meeting as a shareholder in my favorite security firm as they try to navigate a possible acquisition. The two tech guys who started the business had once lived in a homeless shelter in Miami. I met them during one of the charity events I sponsor on behalf of my family to help runaway teens become entrepreneurs. Out of all the businesses I’ve seen flourish because of that charity, this one is my favorite. I was on the fence about the acquisition by a much larger tech firm but was willing to hear out both parties.
