Page 136 of Forever Flames: Padraig & Stevie
From his spot on the blanket, Rafferty stirs at the commotion, blinking awake. He squints at the TV, then points with one tiny finger. “Da-da.”
“Wow. You reallyhavebeen friends a long time,” Lila squeals.
I glance at Stevie snuggled into my other side, she smiles up at me. “We have.”
The kids start talking over each other. Lila firing questions, Jude wanting to see more videos, Isla leaning back like she’s pretending not to care. Rafferty’s conked out again.
Looking at Stevie, I realize her eyes are lit the same way they were in the old clip. Without thinking, I lean in and kiss her.
The kids shriek and throw popcorn.
I can’t stop smiling as I kiss their mother.
Because if there was ever a sign we’re going to be fine—it’s this.
forty
Stevie
Six Months Later
Thekitchen’squietina way it almost never is at my house.
I’m appreciating the quietness on a Saturday afternoon. It’s unusual, to say the least.
Lila left for a sleepover a few minutes ago. Jude’s off with my dad tonight for some “secret adventure” which probably involves sugar and some sort ofStar Warsmovie.
Out back, in the guest house Padraig converted into his studio, I see a flash of movement through the wide-open doors. Isla’s ponytail swinging as she leans over a canvas. He’s next to her, head bent, showing her something in the mess of paint between them.
They’ve been out there for hours.
It’s one of the things I love most about him. How he gives his attention to my kids without making it feel like a performance.
Even with all the tension over Fireball, he’s here. Really here. He’s held his ground with Liam and Linus, trimming his commitment to the band without burning it down. June will pull him away for a few months on tour, but for now, his time is ours.
I finish slicing the apples, grab a box of crackers, and arrange them on a plate with cheese and peanut butter. My business calendar’s open on the counter, reminders pinging for a client call and an event proposal, but I’m trying not to let my weekends be ruled by work. It’s not easy when you plan events, but I do my best not to get dragged under.
Mara’s wedding is circled in bright ink on the wall calendar. I’ve offered to take three-year-old Rafferty while she and Tanner are on their honeymoon, and while Padraig’s on the road, so it’ll be my first time with the little guy alone. I’m excited for him to fill the house with his soft toddler babble and gummy grins.
Balancing the plate in one hand, I cross the yard. The closer I get, the more I can hear Isla’s insistent questions.
“So you and Mom always talk about how you were friends when you were my age. Did you ever kiss my mom?”
Padraig’s paintbrush stops. “Isla.”
“What? I’m asking.”
He sounds pained. “Uh, I’m not really—”
“Did you?” I’m close enough to see her poke him in the side with the handle of her brush.
He exhales. “We were close.”
“What a stupid answer.” Her chair squeaks as she turns. “Were you her boyfriend or not?”
“Ask your mom.”
“That means yes,” she squeals, triumphant. “How long? Did you write her songs? Did she have your hoodie?”
