Chapter 23

23

Davey

When I wake up in the spare room to the sound of laughter downstairs, I breathe the easiest I have in … fuck. Maybe ever. My good mood lasts the whole morning, through breakfast with the family, joking with Mack and getting the kids ready for school.

If I'm honest, I hadn't realized how heavily this decision has been weighing on me. No matter what I did with the kids or Mack, it always had that tinge of darkness to it that I've never been able to consciously identify. Now, I can. Because looking at them, I know I'll have to leave again, but if I have my way, it'll be the last time. I've never had that freedom before.

I'm cleaning up breakfast from the pancakes that Mack cooked when my phone rings. I snatch it up without checking the caller ID, then have a split second of panic that I've accidentally answered a work call.

"Hello?"

"Hey, I need your kids."

I blink for a second, sure I haven't heard right. Then I pull the phone away, see Art's name, and go back to the call. "I've missed something in this conversation."

He chuckles. "My niblings are coming over tonight for a sleepover, and I thought I could steal Payne's nieces and your kids and make a full event out of it."

My eyes narrow as I fill a pan with water. "And Uncle Art woke up this morning and decided a sleepover sounded like a great idea, did he?"

"Scout's honor."

"Uh-huh."

He huffs. "Fine. I'm trying to give you two some alone time. I'm stealing kids from all over the town to make it happen, so shut up and send your monsters my way."

"Uh, Mr. FBI man who's listening in: he doesn't actually mean steal . You can hear him asking for permission here … kinda."

"No one's listening to our calls."

"True. If they were, you would have been arrested a long time ago." I dry my hands and turn toward where I can hear the three of them thudding around upstairs. It's tempting to take Art up on his offer. He's great with his niblings, and I know he'd look after Kiera and Van as fiercely as he does them—he's a kid around grown-ups and a mature grown-up around kids.

Plus, it gives me free time with Mack. Maybe even enough to take him on a date.

"What are you going to do with them? "

"Bake, play dress-ups, then watch a movie until they crash from their sugar high."

"Sounds well thought-out."

"Not my first rodeo."

I move the phone to my other ear. "Does this mean I'll finally get to find out where you live?"

"Nope. We're invading Joey's place for the night. He's only got the lease until right after Christmas, and then he'll be moving in with me, so we might as well make use of it while we can."

"And you're going to have them for the whole night? Six kids?"

"And because you don't think I can, I will. I don't see how six is any different to two."

Oh, that naive man . "I'll keep my phone on."

Kiera and Van are herded into the kitchen by Mack.

"Hey," I say, holding my phone away from my ear. "Who wants a sleepover with Uncle Art?"

"Ohhh, I do!" Kiera shouts.

"Me. Van, do. Van sleepover."

"All yours," I tell him as Mack makes what the fuck eyes over the kids' heads.

I hang up the phone and step closer to him as Kiera tries to stuff her lunch box into her bag. "I thought, maybe, if you're free …"

"Yeah?"

"Wanna go on a date with me?"

Mack sucks in a breath, and it's a challenge not to kiss him. My fingers brush the side of his hand before he turns it, grabs mine, then lifts it and presses a kiss to my knuckles. "What do you have in mind? Dinner? A movie? "

"I don't know yet. No movie—I want to do something where we can actually hang out again. Chat. Have fun …"

His eyes have lost that sadness they've been clinging to for so long. "I can't wait to see what you come up with."

"Great." Then because I can't stop myself, I lean in and kiss him on the cheek. "Come on, kids, let's get a move on!"

Turning my focus to them stops me fixating on the sweet little smile that I leave on Mack's face.

The whole time he's working, I'm googling fun things to do in Kilborough on a date. There's the usual dinner, walk along the boardwalk, get extreme at Killer Adventures—hey, go, Payne!—and axe throwing at Killer Brew. Scrolling … scrolling … scrolling …

Wait.

On Friday nights, one of the businesses that belong to the Kil Pen ecosystem has a paint and sip night. I look through the booking form and find platter selections, drinks packages, and canvas size choices. From what I can tell, we paint each other while we eat dinner and drink, and then we get to take the "masterpieces" home with us.

Well, fuck. It'll be nothing if not amusing.

I book a "couple's night out" and then hope like hell Mack's into it.

"Do you think this counts as child abuse?" Mack mutters after dropping Kiera and Van off. They were so excited to be spending the night with Uncles Art and Joey and all their "friends." Who they've only met a handful of times, but I wasn't about to point that out to them.

"No, forcing our children to spend time with Art isn't child abuse." I head toward Kil Pen. "Besides, we didn't force anything. If we didn't have the child lock on, they would have launched themselves out of the car before I even got us into the driveway."

He sighs. "I know. I worry."

"Of course you do. But while Art acts like an idiot most of the time, you know he's good with kids."

Mack relaxes. "You're right."

"Always am."

"So where are we going?"

"You just need to wait and see."

"I'm waiting and seeing," he says, peering out the window.

It doesn't take us long to get there. Thankfully, with summer and Halloween over, the main tourist season has wound down, and it's late enough that most of the businesses have closed.

"What's this?" Mack asks as I pull up.

I jump out of the car and round it to open his door, then take his hand. Mack's answering smile is almost shy.

"It's either going to be the best or worst date we've ever had."

"I dunno, you remember the weekend we spent in Boston?"

Mack had ended up with the stomach flu, and we spent the whole trip in our hotel room. "Eh. It was shitty for you, but I at least got to look after you."

"Pun intended?" he grumbles.

"Come on. Just try to keep an open mind."

The look he gives me does not fill me with confidence that he's doing that. So I'll have to stay upbeat for the both of us.

It's a small restaurant, lots of cement tabletops, lights on strings, and exposed steel beams on the ceiling. There's a line of yellow, orange, and green glass bottles along one windowsill and black-and-white framed photos on the far wall.

Candles sit in the middle of all the tables and across the counter, and every table has a small easel on either side.

"Huh" is all Mack says.

"Evening. Who do we have here?" the young waitress asks, pulling out a tablet.

"The booking is under Eiser."

"Got it. I've set the lovebird seat up for you. This way."

She leads us to a spot in the back. It has two deep chairs that feel like a hug and a wide cement table between them.

"You can get started creating art whenever you like, and I'll be out with drinks and food soon."

Mack's gaze roams from her to the canvas and then over to me. "We're painting?"

I laugh at the way his voice squeaks higher. "Sure are. Portraits of each other."

"You're kidding me."

I squeeze some paint out onto the dish, having no clue what I'm doing but trying to look confident about it anyway. "The night is what we make it."

He still looks torn, but his desire for this to go well wins out. "Fine. But I hope you know it's going to be bad."

"Baby, I'm counting on it."

The soft redness that creeps up Mack's cheeks fills me with the urge to lean over the table and kiss him. But that's not what tonight is about. Tonight is for us to reconnect, and dammit, I'm going to make it happen.

"Read any more of that book today?"

He almost drops the black tube of paint he's wrestling with. "Stop trying to embarrass me."

"I'm not. I'm genuinely interested. "

His eyes narrow as he fills the dish with paint and picks up a brush. "Might have finished it."

"Oh, really?"

"And started on the second."

I want to laugh so bad, but I hold back. "Enjoying them, huh?"

"Yes, but it's not what you think! The plot is really good."

"You're reading for the plot. Got it."

"I am. "

I pretend to act skeptical, but Mack's always loved fantasy-type books. The fact he was able to finish it in one night is impressive. "Told Beau you're reading it yet?"

He shakes his head, studying me for a moment before he starts to paint. "Too awkward. Don't think I will."

"Eh, I'm just glad you're enjoying it again."

"What about you? Built anything new?"

"Hmm …" I concentrate on getting Mack's face shape right while I work through how it felt in my shed the other day. "I haven't."

"Why not?"

"Well, I wanted to the other day, but when I went out there … I dunno, Mack. It didn't feel right. That room felt like it was taking me away from you all, and I've done that more than enough."

His jaw tics, and at first, I think he's going to agree with me, but he changes course. "You could try building something in the house?"

"With Kiera and Van around?"

"They love doing it with you." He pauses. "Maybe we could go home and build something together?"

"Like the Millennium Falcon you broke?"

"Hey, I said I was sorry!" His blush has started to come back, and it's so fucking adorable. "And I don't think I'm up to something like that."

"Relax. It would take way too long anyway. That might be a project for when I'm home … more …" I almost say permanently , but I don't want to put that in his head yet.

"You were serious then?" he whispers. "About figuring something out."

"I'm serious about wanting to try."

His sweet blue eyes meet mine, and they're filled with so much hope it takes my breath away. "Do you think your job would let you have more time working from home?"

No. They couldn't even give me this one. If they had, I probably wouldn't be ready to jump ship on them. They've given me a lot of good years, but when it comes right down to it, they're a big company, and I'm one person. One person who's easy enough to replace. "I can only ask, right?"

Thankfully, conversation steers away from work. Mack fills me in on the gossip from the library, and I tell him about gossip from school pickup. We alternate painting and eating, and painting and drinking, and for the first time in so long, our conversation doesn't revolve around the kids or have that added tension hanging over it.

"Okay, I'm done," I tell him. It's not a masterpiece, but it turned out better than I thought it would. At least it sort of vaguely looks like a badly painted version of him. His hair, skin, and eyes are all remotely the same color.

"Ah …" His eyes swing from his painting to me, and he exposes his teeth. "I think I'm … done."

"I'll go first." I turn the picture around, trying not to laugh, and the look that crosses his face is a mixture of horror and amusement .

"That's actually not terrible," he says, choking on his words. "I'm not sure what it is, but it's not terrible."

"Okay, Michelangelo. Your turn."

He snatches up the canvas before I can and clutches it in front of his chest. "It needs time to, uh, dry."

"Bullshit." I make a gimme motion with my hands. "Show me."

Mack's shoulders are already shaking with silent laughter as he turns the canvas and whispers, "I'm so sorry."

It's an assault on my vision. The zigzags of my curls, how he's painted my skin so dark I'm the wrong ethnicity altogether, and he's had to make my freckles yellow to stand out, my football-shaped skull, or how my eyes are so misaligned one of them is almost touching my mouth.

Mack and I stare at each other. Then at Franken-Davey. Then back to each other again.

The laugh that tears from me sounds like some kind of animal call, and Mack follows right behind me.

We laugh until my stomach hurts, and then we laugh some more.