Page 131 of Single Dad Dilemma
“I like that house,” I protested.
“I do, too, but don’t let that be the reason you leave it here.” He kissed the top of my head. “This is too beautiful to leave hidden away.”
I exhaled heavily. “Okay. We’ll figure it out.” I tilted my chin up at Barrett and he took the hint, leaning down for a soft kiss.
“Do you know which box you’re looking for?”
Tucked in the corner were two small stacks of moving boxes labeled with big black letters in my handwriting.
Dad’s garage stuff
Aaron’s toys
Books
Paperwork
Office items and photo albums
The box on the top of the closest stack wasn’t taped shut, just folded together.
Mom’s kitchen stuff
My hands shook slightly as I pulled it open, silent tears coursing down my cheeks as I looked down into the box. Her cookie cutters. The rolling pin that was probably fifty years old. Vintage glass casserole dishes that she’d kept from her grandma—a burnt-orange-and-white pattern that was just kitschy enough to be cute.
Memories bombarded me, bittersweet and poignant, moments that had been simple at the time, but now they felt like everything. They didn’t devastate me like I’d always feared. I rubbed at my pounding chest and took another breath as I shifted a glass dish to the side.
Folded neatly against the side of the box was a glimpse of yellow material.
I smiled through my tears. “Yeah. I’ve got it.”
Two months later, I gave it to Maggie for her eleventh birthday, and she asked if I was okay as I cried when she put it on for the first time. I told her the truth: I was happy, but I missed my mom, and wished she’d been able to meet her. Then my sweet girl hugged me and cried, saying she wished that too.
Turned out, Bryce had the same reading taste as my brother, and he devoured the comic books Aaron had loved so much, losing himself in the fantasy worlds of animal kingdoms and wars and good versus evil. We read through them together, setting aside time every night before he went to bed to take turns reading.
My dad’s car, which we named Blue, sat in the extra garage stall Barrett had added on to the house as soon as I moved in.
During the first regular season as the coach’s girlfriend, I had a crash course in just how busy Barrett was. Much like when I’d first met him, he tried to be home before the kids went to bed, but it didn’t always work out that way. On the nights when it was later, I waited up until he got home, greeting him with a long hug and a longer kiss. Sometimes he was asleep less than fifteen minutes after walking through the door, but it was always with me in his arms, and that was the only thing that mattered.
He was the hardest worker I’d ever met in my life, and I found that game day was one of my favorite things. Watching him get to do the thing he loved was almost sickeningly exciting. I especially liked his mood after they won. Celebratory sex was my jam. So was consolation sex after they lost. That was usually later at night, once we’d climbed into bed, and I’d wrap my arms around him while he talked about the game and what went wrong.
Like anything with us, all it took was one kiss—meant to be simply that—and it didn’t take long to become more. As we neared the end of the season, closing in on a year from when we met, we were still insatiable. He told me he loved me every day. And I always said it back.
The first time the three of them drove somewhere without me, I didn’t know where they were, and I had a panic attack when they were late coming home. He held me through it and told me it was okay. I started seeing a therapist a couple times a month after that, and to my surprise, all my emotional baggage actually could fit onto her couch.
Turned out, talking to people who could talk back really did help. No offense to Larry, but it was what I’d needed all along.
We argued on occasion. Because we were both stubborn as hell and always thought we were right. The makeup sex was worth it, though. It was over little things—like grilled cheese with ketchup, even when there was perfectly good tomato soup in the house. He was wrong, and I swore I’d get him to admit it someday. Or it was over larger things, like how we thought something should be handled with the kids—especially when it came to dealing with Rachel.
To my surprise, I did not break her nose when I met her. But we’d never be friends, that was for fucking sure. During an eternal Christmas break when the kids were at her house for a week, Maggie sent me a text saying she’d rather be home with us—her real parents—and I cried on and off for the rest of the day.
Barrett was more understanding toward his ex than I was, but even if we butted heads, he knew I’d take a bullet for his kids, and that was always where my intentions were rooted.
It was during that Christmas break, after a day of movies and snuggling on the couch, that Barrett pulled out a beautiful diamond solitaire and proposed to me under the mistletoe.
This time, he’d been the one to hang it.
When he got down on one knee, I couldn’t stop crying.
