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I’m gonna need the recordings of you making a mess of me last night.
Gage:
That mouth. I’m gonna make a fucking mess all over it the next time I see you.
20
Amelia
The week disappears in a blur of glitter, glue guns, and me spiraling over whether we’ve forgotten anything vital for the science fair. It’s on Friday. I spend approximately 78% of my time panicking. Gage spends that same amount trying to calm me down. All I can think is:you wanted this. You wanted a relationship with me. Welcome to the circus, babe.
Our kid-free nights are completely out of sync this week, which means no dates or sleepovers. And since we’ve agreed not to tell the girls yet, and we’re both drowning in work and life, and his nanny is away, we’re stuck with calls when we can fit them and far too much sexual tension. And yeah, it’s been a long week.
The science fair ends up being way less of a trainwreck than I braced for. Mostly because Gage shows up like some overachieving dad superhero who thrives in glitter mayhem and can hang string lights without swearing. He takes charge of set-up like he’s been training for this his whole life, and, miracleof miracles, he even manages to be nice to Stephanie when she arrives looking like she just crawled out of a Pinterest board that caught fire.
Yes, she throws our plans into mild disarray. Yes, Gage gives me alookwhen it happens. The “I told you her planning sucked” look. But he says nothing. Probably because I emotionally steamrolled him the other week about her. I choose to pretend I don’t notice the look and remain firmly in my Gage Black Bliss Bubble.
He hangs my string lights. We hand out the science awards I created on a whim. Not a single complaint from him, even though I know he still thinks “Einstein Enthusiasm Award” isn’t a real category. And the girls? They crush their presentation. Sarah’s nervous at first, but Luna steps in and carries them both through it like a seasoned public-speaker-slash-baby-dictator. By the end, they’re buzzing with adrenaline and practically begging us to take them out to dinner. Together. All four of us. Because the tiny matchmakers are back in action and probably already planning our wedding.
Gage somehow manages to get us into a restaurant you normally need to book six months in advance using both money and magic. I don’t know how he does it. I just know one minute we’re standing on a street corner with two sugar-high kids and no plan, and the next, a host is smiling like we’re royalty and leading us to a table with a view. It’s the kind of place with mood lighting, influencers everywhere, and guests who look like they spent the entire afternoon being styled for dinner. The kind of place you don’t just go to, you make an entrance. And Gage gets us a table like he owns the whole damn building.
Ten minutes in, right after we’ve ordered and the girls are fully distracted by the glam surroundings and their coloring in, Gage finds a pocket of time just for us.
His hand brushes mine under the table and he leans in close. “Hey.”
His touch lights me up immediately and I meet his gaze, my fingers threading with his. “Why is it still Friday? Why is it so noisy in here? And why is my food not here yet?”
His lips twitch. “This is grumbly Amelia?”
“This is tired Amelia,” I say, resisting the urge to lay my head on his shoulder. “I need, like, a full week off life just to recover from this one.”
“Yeah, I feel you there.”
His gaze drops straight to my chest, andholy god of filth, he should not look at me like that in public. Especially not with our daughters sitting across from us. But he does. With no shame. Like he owns the view and has no intention of pretending otherwise.
Still staring at my chest, he says, “I need some time with you.”
“You’re having some time with me now. With my boobs, to be precise.”
That earns me his eyes again. And where I expect a smirk, I get an intense look of heat and rough need instead. “When?”
Whoa.
A girl needs a warning before Gage Black throws a demand like that across white linen and mood lighting.
I shift, my thighs pressing together. And because I’m running on no sleep and too much sexual tension, I blurt out, “My period’s due tomorrow. So, if you want me, you better kidnap me tonight or revise your expectations, because this girl does not let any man near her when it’s period time. Not even when he’s a whole-ass situation.”
Gage goes the kind of still that makes it very clear he’s doing mental math on how to get the girls fed and home, cancel his life, and get me alone.
“I was kidding when I said you should kidnap me.”
“How about Sarah sleeps over tonight. Shirley’s back. I could come over.”
“No. James is picking her up at seven tomorrow morning.”
“She’s with him tomorrow night?”
I nod.