Mav’s pensive gaze flip-flops between Orion and me. “Add ice cream and you’ve gots a deal.”
Stella does a quiet little happy dance while I roll my eyes. Who knew my big protector could be so easily swayed?
“Name the flavor and I’ll make it happen, bud.”
“The kind with the cookies in it!” Maverick shouts.
“Cookie dough?”
“Yuck.” He sticks out his tongue. “No. The chocolate cookies. The ones Miss Emmy likes.”
“Oreos?” Stella asks, but I’m still wondering how my son knows what kind of cookies our neighbor likes.
I guess she is Stella’s best friend, and she lives next door, so she’s probably over here a lot when I’m at work. But still—hearing him say it threw me. I wonder if he knows my favorite flavor?
Orion snaps his fingers. “Cookies and cream?”
“Yes!” Maverick tosses his hands in the air and spins in a circle. “Best night ever!”
“I thought camping was the best night ever?” Orion asks, his brows pulling low as he pretends to be offended.
I don’t know how I’m expecting Maverick to respond, but when he scrambles into Orion’s lap and wraps his arms around his neck and says, “Every night with you is the best night ever, O.” I’m surprised to say the least.
Surprised, and an emotional wreck. Maverick loves Orion so much, and I can’t help but worry I’m making a colossal mistake by letting him become so attached.
What if he leaves? Mav would be heartbroken—I’m talking utterly devastated. But I know I can’t lock him away in a tower to shelter him from every potential hurt either.
I know he needs to experience life—the good parts and the bad—even if the thought of him hurting for a split second makes me feel like I can’t breathe. My mama heart wants to shrink him, bubble wrap him, and carry him in my pocket forever. But I can’t. He has to grow up, and instead of living in fear, I should count us lucky that we’ve somehow managed to find us a little makeshift family of our own.
My son is happy, healthy, and so freaking loved; that’s what matters. And if for some reason, Orion leaves… well, I’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.
“Yeah, bud,” Orion murmurs, his voice deeper than usual, “right back atcha.”
Stella sniffs loudly, and I look up just in time to catch her wiping beneath her eyes. “Well, let’s get ready then. I told Emmy five.”
“This is the best ever,” Stella mumbles around a mouthful of pizza.
Emmy and I exchange knowing looks, totally on the same page.
The two of us are cut from the same cloth—both introverted and wary of newcomers.
We’ve only met a handful of times, but she’s always been nice enough. Her boyfriend is kind of intimidating though, what with him being tall, dark, and growly. Luckily, I pay Stella and she handles paying the rent, because I’m pretty sure I’d just throw the money at him and run, like a total loon.
“Yeah, it’s good,” Emmy finally agrees, dabbing at the corner of her mouth with a napkin.
A look of betrayal crosses Stella’s face. “Good is an understatement, my friend.”
I don’t mean to laugh at her antics, but I can’t help it. When we first met, I straight up told Stella she was a lot—meant it then, mean it now. But I love her for it, too.
“Dramatic,” Emmy singsongs, wriggling her brows.
Stella heaves out an Oscar-worthy sigh. “Why do I even keep you around?” She tears off another bite, chews, and swallows before pointing at me. “Both of you! Y’all’re impossible!”
“Impossibly awesome, you mean?” I ask, causing Emmy to laugh.
“Oh, sure, laugh at her.” Stella crosses her arms over her chest. “Traitor.”
“Sounds like you girls are having fun,” a masculine voice says, seconds before arguably the tallest man I’ve ever seen plops down next to Stella like he has every right to be there.
“Damnit, Gabe!” another deep voice hollers, seconds before an attractive black man with long dreads slides into the booth next to Emmy. “What on earth is wrong with you?”
“With me?” the jolly blond giant asks, one golden brow lifted. “Not a thing. You, on the other hand, may just be beyond help.”
I swear to God, it’s like we’re in some sort of alternate dimension, because in what freaking universe do total strangers just crash someone’s dinner?
More importantly, what’s up with Stella and Emmy, because while my brain is literally short circuiting due to our interlopers, they both look like this is an everyday occurrence.
“There’s nothing wrong with pineapple on pizza, Gabe.”
“Eeeehrr!” the blond one—Gabe—imitates a game show buzzer, “wrong answer. It’s abhorrent. Seriously, how did you manage to hide this from me for so long? Ugh.” He drags his gaze up and down the other man, somehow managing to look both turned on and repulsed at the same time before turning to Stella. “How can someone be so close to perfect only to ruin it in the blink of any eye?”