Page 75 of Protected By the Grumpy Single Dad
He climbs the steps and bends to kiss me. His lips linger against mine, soft and sure, before he pulls back with a sigh. “You three survive without me?”
“Barely,” I tease. “Brick’s been spoiling Clara rotten. I think she already prefers him.”
Brick puffs his chest. “Obviously. I’m the fun one.”
Asher shoots him a look. “Don’t get used to it, kid. I change more diapers than you do.”
“That’s because you’refaster,” Brick retorts, deadpan.
***
Later, after Brick is upstairs pretending to sleep and Scout has finally worn himself out in a heap on the rug, Asher and I curl up on the porch swing. The night air is cool, cicadas buzzing, Clara snug in her bassinet at our feet.
“You ever think about how far we’ve come?” I ask quietly.
He leans his head back, eyes drifting toward the stars. “Every day.”
There’s a long pause, filled with the kind of comfortable silence only we’ve earned.
“I mean…” I gesture vaguely toward the house, the baby, the dog curled in the doorway. “Goats on Maple Street. Puppies in bow ties. Brick turning into a sarcastic teenager right in front of us. Did you ever imagine this would be your life?”
He chuckles, low and warm. “Not in a million years. But I wouldn’t trade it. Not for anything.”
I lean into him, pressing my face into his shoulder. “Good. Because you’re stuck with us.”
His arm tightens around me. “That’s the plan, Mrs. Vaughn.”
The door creaks open, and Brick pokes his head out, trying for casual but failing. “She awake?”
“No,” I whisper. “Why?”
He pads over anyway and crouches by the bassinet, watching Clara with the same mix of pride and awe he’s worn since the day she came home. He strokes her tiny fist with one finger.
“She smiled at me today,” he says softly. “Not like gas or anything. A real smile.”
My throat tightens. “She loves you, Brick.”
He beams, and for a moment he looks younger again, our sarcastic boy softened by the weight of love he doesn’t quite know what to do with.
Asher ruffles his hair. “You’ll always be her protector.”
Brick looks up at him, solemn now. “I know. And I won’t mess it up.”
Asher’s eyes meet mine over his head, full of pride.
When Brick finally heads back inside, muttering something about school tomorrow, Asher and I stay out on the porch under a nearly full moon.
“You realize,” I murmur, “that one day she’s going to bring home some boy and Brick’s going to scare him so badly he never comes back.”
Asher grins in the dark. “Good. Saves me the trouble.”
I swat at his chest, laughing. “You’re incorrigible.”
“I’m realistic,” he counters. Then his hand slides into mine, warm and steady. “But whatever comes, we’ll handle it. Together.”
The porch swing creaks, the stars wheel above.
Forever stopped feeling like a risk.
With Asher beside me, it feels like a promise.
