“I was in the mood for cake, so thanks for the three pieces I ate,” Joel put in, so I smiled at him.

“Anytime, baby,” I said softly. “See you guys later.”

They waved and got out.

“I’ll be back, babe,” Brock muttered, waited for me to look at him and nod and he got out and followed his boys.

I watched.

Olivia met him on the front step.

I kept watching.

Joel and Rex gave their dad hugs and disappeared inside. Olivia didn’t look once at the car as she engaged Brock in conversation. Brock started to look my way but didn’t get his head fully turned when her hand came up and curled around his bicep. She stepped in closer so his head turned back to her.

I stopped watching.

I was staring out the side window when I heard Brock get in, put the idling car in gear, and reverse out of the drive. I kept staring out the side window as he pointed us home.

About ten seconds later, his fingers curled around mine and he pulled them to his thigh as he asked quietly, “You okay?”

“Just tired,” I lied. “Too much food.”

“Right,” he muttered, giving my hand a squeeze and saying no more but not letting my hand go.

He took us to my house. We both got out, walked up, and I let us in. I shrugged off my coat and took it to the hall closet. Brock shrugged off his and threw it on the sofa.

He went to the fridge for beer.

I went to the island and looked at him.

“If you’ve got football to watch,” I said. He turned from the fridge and his eyes came to me. “Go ahead. I’m going to read up here for a while.”

He stood in the opened fridge door and held my eyes.

I knew why he did this.

Unless he was with his boys, we spent every night together and we woke up next to each other every morning.

And when we were together, we were together, watching TV, a movie, if he was watching a game. We were up together and when we went to bed, we went to bed together.

He did not go downstairs and watch a game while I stayed upstairs to read.

Perhaps, in future, this might change, but now, I liked it like this. I liked being with him. He was attentive, touchy, we cuddled or were close and it felt good.

The fact that Brock was attentive, touchy, and we cuddled meant he liked it too.

And, clearly, from what would happen next, Brock was not ready for us to move on to a different kind of relationship.

I knew this when he closed the fridge and walked around the island. He came to me, grabbed my hand, pulled me into the living room, sat on the couch, and pulled me to sitting astride his lap.