Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 61672 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 308(@200wpm)___ 247(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61672 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 308(@200wpm)___ 247(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
That means my mom did a pretty good job acting like she was grieving.
“I can’t wait to see the look on his face when I tell him I’ve found you. And you’ve given birth to his first grandson.” Matteo pulls away and grabs two mugs, placing them on the counter.
I pour the coffee into the mugs, emotions battling in my chest. Thinking about our families scares the shit out of me.
Leveling his intense gaze at me, Matteo says, “You know this is amazing. I can’t wait to spend every morning just like this, waking up to see your face first thing and having coffee with you.”
Meeting Matteo’s gaze, I give him a smile. He may just be worth dealing with our insane families. With him around, I don’t feel so alone anymore. Now that he’s here, someone’s got my back. If I can’t deal with something, he’s here to cushion my fall.
“What?” he asks, a cocky smile on his handsome face as he picks up his mug.
I take a sip of the steaming hot coffee. “That sounds good to me.”
The coffee pours down my throat, but that’s not what’s making my chest feel all warm and fuzzy. Time comes to a standstill as our eyes lock, and we come to a silent agreement. We’ll do this. We’ll make it work. Not just for our families; not even for Jack. But for us.
“Mommy!” I hear a high-pitched voice from Jack’s bedroom.
“Oh, shit,” I curse as I almost spill the hot coffee on my shirt.
Matteo follows me down the hallway. When I go inside Jack’s room, he leans against the doorframe, his watchful eyes hot on my back.
I pick Jack up and put him on the floor. As he waddles toward the door, he spots Matteo and grins. “Ice cream!” he points with his index finger.
“That’s me. The ice cream man,” Matteo says, crouching down and holding his hands out as Jack walks on tiny, sleepy, unsteady feet. As Jack falls forward into Matteo’s strong arms, a lump forms in my throat.
I’ve never allowed myself to even fantasize about this moment; I thought it would never happen in my lifetime. But now that I’m seeing it with my own eyes, I realize this is all I’ve ever wanted.
Matteo smiles, his eyes darting toward me as if asking me for permission to tell his son the truth.
I take Jack’s hand as Matteo reaches for his other hand. Linked together, the three of us head back to the kitchen. I sit Jack down on his high chair at the table while I prepare his breakfast.
“When can we tell him?” Matteo asks in a low voice.
“As soon as it feels right,” I say, throwing away whatever stupid advice I read on the Internet earlier.
Those people don’t know my life. Matteo isn’t just my boyfriend; he’s Jack’s father, and he has a right to be in his life.
I’ve already denied him years of fatherhood. I can’t keep him a secret from his own son any longer.
Matteo
“Mommy, what’s that?” Jack points at a bowl made of thin sticks perching on a tree branch.
“That’s a nest, honey. It’s a home for birds.” Grace glances at me and smiles as we walk through the park. I’ve seen young families enjoying an afternoon strolling together like this before, and I’ve imagined me and Grace doing this with our child before, but I never thought it would happen this soon.
Jack squints at the nest, face upturned as he sits in his green stroller. “But there are no birds.”
“Maybe they’re working right now, looking for food. But there may be eggs in there. Those eggs would hatch and become little birds.” Grace looks beautiful in the sunlight, the bottom of her white sundress flapping in the wind as she stands still, letting Jack observe the nest among the tree branches as long as he wants.
This is much better than anything I could’ve imagined. Warmth spreads across my chest, making me feel like I’m about to burst with joy.
Jack remains silent for a few seconds. “Did I come from an egg too?”
I chuckle. I’ve heard about kids having an endless supply of questions, and I used to think it would be annoying. But coming from Jack, this feels like an opportunity to pass on knowledge, like I’m part of a ritual as old as time itself.
“No, honey. You didn’t come from an egg. I told you, you were in my belly before you were born,” Grace explains with a smile on her face.
“Why?” Jack asks.
Grace flicks her gaze to me. “You want to take this one?”
“Are you sure?” I ask in a low voice.
Grace grins and nods. No doubt she finds my apprehension entertaining.
It doesn’t make sense. I’ve answered a million questions in my life. I’ve led meetings with armed, angry, dangerous men who ask me questions that could end in disaster if I said the wrong thing. I’ve literally dealt with life-and-death questions.