Page 43 of Yearn

“Oliver gets $2 a week for keeping his room clean, setting the table, and other small things. J gets $4 for the dishes, sweeping, etc.”

“So yeah.” I bobbed my head. “Clearly, they can afford the chef and cleaners. The logic sounds right to me.”

“True, but for some crazy reason I think someone else hired them, and you may know who that is.”

“Me?” I touched my chest. “I’m actually shocked about all of this.”

Her eyes narrowed in amusement. “You had no idea about the surprise?”

“None at all.” I shrugged my huge shoulders. “So you’re telling me that after I helped them with their homework this morning and watched some movies in the afternoon. I came downstairs and they just. . .hung out with strangers in the house today?”

Her mouth curved. “Apparently.”

“I apologize for not being more hands-on when watching them.” I did my best to appear ashamed. “A chef, you say?”

“I can’t with you right now.” She laughed and the sound loosened something inside me.

I left the space, moved to my desk, opened a drawer, and pulled out the envelope I’d prepared earlier. The card was thick, cream paper with a gold foil edge—simple, formal, the kind of choice one made when they wanted to honor someone without shouting.

I handed it to her. “By the way, Happy Mother’s Day.”

“So youdidremember what day it is?”

“I guess I did.”

She took the card slowly, like it might break. “Dominic, a card? You’ve already done a whole lot.”

“Have I?” It came out softer than I meant.

“Yes. Only you could have gotten my kids in suits. Only you would know how much I wanted the house clean and. . .didn’t want to cook tonight. Thank you so much. You made my night. No. You made my year. I was so. . .down and. . .” She shook her head. “You gave me life. The house looks amazing. The food was incredible. J, Oliver, and I. . .since this separation. . .have never had so much fun.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed it.” I tried to swallow down the warmth rising in my throat. “You deserve it, Teyonah.”

Her cheeks warmed. “Thank you.”

“You’re an incredible mother.”

“I try.”

“You do more than try.” I stepped closer, even though I knew I shouldn’t.

She didn’t move away. Her teeth caught her bottom lip for half a heartbeat, then let go.

Electricity hummed between us.

“I was thinking. . .” She glanced at the ceiling, then back to me. “This Sunday you should come upstairs for dinner. I want to thank you—”

“I’ll come for dinner, but not because you have to pay me back for today.” I held her gaze. “You already paid me back.”

“How did I do that?”

“I heard you laugh, and I love to hear that. It’s the most beautiful sound.”

Color flared up her throat. “Dominic, for what you’ve done for me you should get more than that.”

My mind flashed images I had to choke down—her naked and beneath me, those curves beneath my hands, the way I would make her come from my tongue.

“Mmm. Maybe, you’re right, Teyonah. Maybe I should get more.”