“You didn’t need to bring him anything,” I say, walking over to them.
He looks over at Slade, putting the bear on the floor. “Polar bears were Slade’s favorite when he was little.”
Slade kneels, letting Finn hug the bear. “Must run in the family,” Slade says.
His dad looks up at me, and I’m not sure if he’s surprised to hear his son talk like that or proud that he did. Either way, it makes my day. I kneel beside them, taking hold of Finn. “Say thank you.” It’s not that I actually expect him to utter those words, but it’s never too early to start instilling good manners.
“Dinner will be ready in a few minutes,” I say, heading back toward the kitchen.
“Paige?” Slade says, his eyes begging me to stay, but I’m not going to be his buffer. The man has multiple houses, cars, business ventures, and makes million-dollar deals, so he can handle dinner with his father. “Five minutes tops.”
I might stretch the five minutes to ten just to give the ice a chance to thaw, but we’ll see. I get Finn’s food together, setting it on his high chair and sneaking a peek at the three of them in the den. Slade’s on the floor with Finn, holding him up while he moves his legs like he’s trying to walk. Finn’s making too much noise for me to really hear what they are saying, but at least they’re talking, and it doesn’t appear to be angry. That’s an improvement.
Taking the roast out of the oven, I call the guys in for dinner. The condo doesn’t have a dining room. The only place to eat is the table in the kitchen, so dinner will be pretty casual, which is best, less pressure.
They each file in, and Slade puts Finn in his high chair. I’ve positioned Finn between us tonight. It’s best to have a two-man offense to combat his spills with company over.
“Smells good,” Lyle says, taking his seat.
I smile but think he must be lying. I’ve got no appetite. I’m not sure if it’s the pressure of having Slade’s father over, the fact that I’m lying to the man I love, or a combination of both. Nothing smells good to me, but I have to muster through this dinner for the sake of Slade and our family relationship. It’s too important. Slade starts filling our plates, and I notice he’s not putting any carrots on his. It would serve him right if I called him out on that in front of his father, but Lyle beats me to it and spoons a few on his son’s plate. “Need to set a good example for Finn.”
I can’t help but burst out laughing and reach out, holding my hand up for his dad to give me a high five. “I’m not eating those,” Slade says, grinning at me.
“Did you ever make him sit at the table until he ate his vegetables as a kid?” I ask Lyle.
“Only once,” he says, looking at his son. “You remember.”
“Brussels sprouts,” they both say in unison, a disgusted tone in each of their voices.
Lyle looks over at me. “We found him asleep at the table at breakfast the next morning. Stubborn kid sat there all night.”
“Did you ever eat them?” I ask, moving the food around on my plate but not able to take a bite.
Slade eyes my plate then looks at his dad, something sweet in his eyes. “Mom packed them in my lunch box that day. She called the school and asked them not to let me throw them away.”
“My Juliet,” his dad says.
“When I brought my lunch box home, and she saw they were still there, she put them on my plate for dinner.”
“I like her,” I say.
“Slade figured they’d eventually get old, and he’d get out of eating them,” Lyle says.
Slade rolls his eyes. “She just made me new ones.”
“How long did this last?” I ask.
“A month,” Lyle says.
“You’re kidding?” I say. “Who finally won?”
Lyle looks at his son. “I ate the damn Brussels sprouts, okay? Happy?” Slade says.
“What made you eat them?” I ask.
He looks at his dad, grinning. “Dad came home from work late one night, and I was sitting at the table with those damn sprouts. He didn’t say a word. He just reached into his briefcase and pulled out a bottle of that spray cheese.”
“That stuff is disgusting,” I say, my stomach churning at the thought.
“Yeah, but all kids love it,” Slade says. “He covered those Brussels sprouts in that cheese.”
“We just smiled at each other, and he ate them,” Lyle says.
“Did you ever tell Mom that?” Slade asks.
“I told your mother everything,” he says. “You can’t be in a relationship and have secrets. Even small ones.”
My stomach clenches.
“Besides,” Lyle says, “it was your mother’s idea.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
SLADE
I peek in on Finn, fast asleep in his crib. He stayed up later than usual, having taken to my dad. It was a good night. Leaning against the doorway, I listen to him breathe and watch his little chest rise and fall. Paige has given me so much more than I ever expected or even knew I wanted.
Which is kind of ironic since she didn’t have a penny to her name when I met her, living in that run-down apartment in the worst neighborhood in Nashville. On the other hand, I was the one who seemingly had it all—career, money, houses, yet she’s the one who’s given me everything. Without her, I wouldn’t have Finn. Without her, I wouldn’t be speaking to my dad again. Without her, I wouldn’t be remembering my mom or talking about her. I haven’t done any of that in years. All of that I owe to Paige.
It’s not that I think things with my dad are fixed by any stretch of the imagination, but we seem to have found some common ground again. We both loved my mom. If for no other reason, we can get along to honor her memory. She would want peace. She would want us to get along. And surprisingly, my dad seems to really enjoy being around Finn.
It was surreal to see him holding Finn at the dinner table, feeding him mashed-up carrots. Watching him with Finn, it’s like watching him with me when I was little. I’d almost forgotten about that. The bad was so bad that it overshadowed the good we had together. As I said, I haven’t forgotten all the things he said to me, the women he brought into my mother’s house. I won’t ever forget, but somehow, it seemed a little easier tonight to remember the good things.
Stepping away from Finn’s door, I walk to my bedroom, finding Paige all curled up under the covers with her eyes closed. She’s still, but I don’t think she’s asleep already. We usually end up under the covers when Finn goes to sleep, but we’re usually together and naked. We’ve come a long way since I first found her asleep in my bed at the ranch.
“Paige,” I say, walking over and taking a seat beside her on the bed. Her eyes flutter, and she looks up at me, and it’s obvious that she’s sick. She didn’t look herself before dinner, and during dinner, I noticed she didn’t eat much, simply moving the food around on her plate. “What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know,” she says. “I just don’t feel right.”
“You didn’t eat much earlier,” I say. “Maybe you need to eat something.”