“I don’t know.” He looks at me and then puts his hands on his hips. “I think that he will see us kissing and know that when you like someone a lot, it’s okay to show them you like them.”

“He’s never seen me kiss anyone,” I say. “And I mean anyone. Not even his father.”

“There is so much that needs to be said right now, but I don’t think Dylan is going to give us another minute before he just says fuck it and eats the steaks. So for now, I’m tabling this, but I’m not going to shy away from kissing you nor will I sugarcoat it.”

“I don’t even know what that means,” I mumble under my breath and go to grab the bowl of salad that I made and seasoned with the olive oil and balsamic I found in his pantry. A pantry that was overflowing with food.

“Give me enough time, and you are going to know what that means,” he says, and I have to wonder if he’s telling me or asking me. Either way, I walk outside and sit at the table. After placing salad on Dylan’s plate, he also opts to have a loaded baked potato.

“Now you dig in,” Justin tells him, cutting his steak for him. “But be careful because it’s hot.” I don’t want to think about how Andrew has never once fed our child, not even a bottle when he was younger. He used to use the excuse that Dylan wanted me instead. He never cut his food or even cooked for him.

“Mom, can we have baked potatoes tomorrow?” he asks, and I have to laugh.

“I have no idea,” I say, cutting a piece of steak and eating it. It melts in my mouth. “I have to work tomorrow, so we will see when we get home.”

He groans and takes another bite. “Do I have to come?”

I look at him. “Yes,” I say. “We go over this every single time.”

“But it’s so boring.” He groans between bites, his eyes never leaving the plate as he does it.

“Why doesn’t he stay with me?” Justin says, and I look over at him. I fixed the table with most of the stuff he showed me, and although I didn’t want to touch the glass pitcher, I did anyway because it looked beautiful and I’ve never had one. “I’m home all day tomorrow, and I kind of have an assignment I need to do, and he can help me with it.”

“An assignment?” I ask, taking another piece of steak.

“Well, I’m going to be on the cover of the next NHL video game,” he says, chewing his own piece of steak.

“WHAT?” Dylan shrieks, throwing his fork down. “On the cover?” The look of pure joy covers his face.