Page 4 of From the Embers
“Fine, but Eason should be there any minute to drop off Luna. Chances are Rob already knows about the album, but don’t mention to either of them that I told you.”
“Mmhm,” I hummed, biting my lips. My husband’s muscular body swayed as he made his predatory advance. “See you tonight.” I didn’t say goodbye before hitting the end button.
Rob plucked the phone from my hand and set it on the counter, hooking one arm around my hips to draw me close. “Wow,” he whispered, his breath ghosting across my lips. “You look gorgeous.”
“Let’s not get carried away. It’s just a sundress,” I replied, smiling against his mouth. More specifically, it was my least favorite sundress. Yellow-and-brown floral had never been my friend, but I was still on the uphill climb of losing the last ten pounds after having Madison, so it was one of the few dresses I had that fit.
Once upon a time, I’d been a businesswoman—pencil skirts and blazers had made up the majority of my wardrobe. Now, I was a stay-at-home mom of two. On a good day, I wore pants with a waistband.
Sneaking his hand under the hem of my dress, he cupped my ass. “Don’t say the word just about anything when it comes to you in this dress.”
“I take it you like—”
“Mom!” Asher yelled down the stairs.
Rob let out a groan and tipped his head back to stare at the ceiling. “I swear that kid has some kind of sixth sense for when I’m trying to make a move on his mother.”
“That’s what you get for creating your mini-me. He knows when you’re up to no good.”
The side of his lips hiked in a breathtaking smirk. “Oh, it would have been good, Bree. Real good.”
“So you always tell me. Though the jury is still out on your follow-through.”
His mouth gaped in feigned offense, but that damn twinkle in his eyes told me I was in for a long, much overdue night after we got home.
Laughing, I replied to our son, “Yeah, buddy?”
“Is dinner almost ready? Starving kids is illegal, ya know!”
Yep. That was my boy. Five years old and hangry just like his mama.
“Two minutes!” I shouted back just as the doorbell sounded.
Rob arched an eyebrow. “Jesus, did he call in reinforcements?”
“I think it’s Eason. Jessica said he was on his way.”
His smile returned and he dipped low for another kiss. “In that case, he can wait. Now, where were we?”
I dodged his mouth. “You get the door for your man child and I’ll feed our actual child before he calls the cops.”
“Hey,” Rob scolded. “Be nice tonight. Eason’s been planning this for a while.”
“What? I’m always nice.”
He frowned and headed out of the kitchen, saying, “Right. Of course. Calling him a man child is the pinnacle of kindness. Your invitation to sainthood is probably already in the mail.”
I rolled my eyes even as a small seed of guilt sprouted in my stomach.
Fine. No. I wasn’t always easy on Eason. I didn’t hate him though. He was a good guy, the kind who opened doors and made a point to include everyone in whatever conversation he was animatedly dominating. With all of his sandy-blond hair, warm brown eyes, and a sly one-sided smile that made women lose their minds, he’d hypnotized Jessica right off the bat. Factor in that Jessica was gorgeous with a sharp wit and Eason never stood a chance.
In theory, your best friend marrying your husband’s best friend was every high school girl’s dream.
But not with these two.
Jessica had had a hard life, and whoever was destined to end up with Eason was going to have it even harder while he tried to chase a nearly impossible future. At first, they had been all laughter, longing stares, and wild nights. But a positive pregnancy test and the crash and burn of Eason’s career had put them on thin ice—right where I’d always known they’d end up.
However, their relationship was none of my business—or so my husband loved to tell me.
Using an oven mitt, I retrieved the homemade heart-shaped nuggets from the oven and set the cookie sheet on a trivet to cool.
“Dinner’s ready,” I called up to Asher. “Wash your hands before you come down.”
I assumed he’d heard me when there was a telltale thud from him jumping off his bed the way I’d told him not to eighty-seven million times. Rough estimate of course.
Eason strolled into the kitchen, wearing a huge smile on his face and my second favorite baby girl on his hip. “Hey, Bree,” he greeted, pulling me into his customary hug, and it wouldn’t have been Eason if he didn’t finish it with a tight, lingering squeeze. “How ya been?”
“I’m good,” I chirped, awkwardly inching out of his hold. Turning my attention to my goddaughter, I clapped and extended my hands in her direction. “Come here, sweet girl.”
