Page 111 of When It's Us
“Hold on—it’s probably oneof the boys.”
She answers, her face already softening. “Hey, baby. You guys all set?”
She smiles at whatever one of them says. “Make sure you listen to your dad, okay? And try not to argue the whole flight.”
I stay where I am, watching her. The tenderness in her tone. The way her fingers toy with the hem of her hoodie while she listens. She’s got this glow about her when she talks to them—like the sun turns up a notch inside her chest.
“I miss you, too. I’ll be right there when you land,” she says, and her voice dips, warm and thick.
When she hangs up, she turns back toward me, a smile lingering.
“I was about to ask you something,” she says, walking back into the doorway.
“What?”
“Would you…” she hesitates, “I mean, if it’s not too weird for you, would you maybe want to come with me? To get the boys, I mean.”
“Why would it be weird?”
She shrugs, tucking a bit of hair behind her ear. “Peter has a layover before his flight out. Said he’d like to get some lunch.”
Lunch with her ex? Not my favorite idea. But if it means getting to see her again, being there when her boys land? I’m in.
I nod. “I’d like that.”
She grins and bites her lip.
Stepping closer, I press my body into hers, wrapping an arm around her waist. I lean down and claim her mouth with a deep, slow kiss—hungry but gentle, like I’m memorizing every inch of her.
She fists both hands in my shirt, a soft whimper escaping her lips.
When I finally pull back, I brush my thumb across her cheek and whisper, “See you tomorrow.”
“See you tomorrow,” she echoes.
Hutch
TheBozemanairportbuzzeswith light chatter and the hum of rolling suitcases. As far as décor goes, the place looks more like one part hunting cabin and one part airport with all its exposed wood beams, paneling, and rock finishes.
I’m not usually one for crowds, but this one is manageable. Bozeman airport isn’t big—but there’s something to be said for meeting the man whose ex-wife you’re currently fucking that brings out the nerves in a guy.
I’m not worried about meeting Peter, but fuck if I’m not curious about him. Ginger hasn’t said much, just that they’re still friends and co-parent well together. But I can’t say I don’t think the guys a bit of a moron for letting Ginger get away. Not that I’m complaining in the least. Especially since I’m the one who gets to enjoy the hell out of her company.
For now, a little voice in the back of my mind whispers, but I ignore it.
Across the way, a wall of windows lets in the kind of Montana light that makes everything feel wide open. They’re the kind of windows rich people pay good money to have built into their cabins.
I stand next to Ginger outside the baggage claim, hands in the pockets of my jeans, watching her scan the arrivals board even though she already knows the flight number by heart.
She’s so ready to have her kids back with her. I can tell by the way she cranes her neck every few minutes, then bites the skin on the side of her nail like she’s worried they might not come.
I lean over, tucking an arm around her waist and pressing a light kiss to her temple. “They’ll be here,” I murmur softly into her hair.
She nods, absently before turning her head to look at me, a sweet smile on her lips. “I know. I want them to be here already.”
I wasn’t sure I was. I mean, I’d met them—Tate and Jordan—and they were cute kids, even if Tate would sooner see my head on a pike than crack a smile in my direction.
Ginger and I haven’t talked any more about us or where this is headed since that morning in the kitchen. She hasn’t pushed. And I haven’t brought it up again, even though it tugs at me continually.
