"You do?"
He sets his cup down and steps toward me. "Yes. I've been thinking about you for weeks. If I didn't, I wouldn't want you around literally all the time. I was worried you'd think I was being too clingy or something."
I crack a smile as warmth fills my heart at how sincere he's being. "We're really bad at this, aren't we?"
"Yeah, too bad this kind of stuff doesn't come with a manual, huh?"
"Oh, I'm pretty sure there are, but none that apply to ‘How to Secretly Date your Professor' genre."
"Well, I don't see why we can't start one." He rubs the scruff over his jawline, deep in thought. "Step one: Fall for a student who is beyond brilliant, sexy, and sassy. Step two: Be around her as much as possible without people getting suspicious. Step three: Don't get caught."
I burst out in laughter at his lame list and shake my head. "Bestseller right there, baby!"
"Oh, for sure." His lips tilt up in a confident grin. "Then I could quit my job, and we wouldn't have to keep it secret any longer."
I suck in my lower lip and arch a brow. "But then what fun would that be?" I tease. "If everyone's just going to know about it that defeats the whole purpose."
He slaps a hand on his chest. "Wait, so you're only with me for the thrill?" He pretends to sound offended.
"Well, obviously. You thought it was your good looks and charm or something?"
He grabs my hips and starts tickling me. I bend over, laughing, trying to get out of his grip, but he's too strong. "Stop it!" I laugh.
"Take it back!"
"Never!"
He grabs my legs and throws me over his shoulder. "What are you doing?" I squeal, patting his ass with both hands.
"Grocery shopping will have to wait," he says matter-of-factly. "Looks like you need to be taught a lesson first." He slaps my ass with the palm of his hand, and I know exactly what kind of lesson he's talking about.
I've only been to my apartment this week to change clothes and wait for Natalia to go to bed before sneaking back over. As much as it feels weird to have slept over here every night, it also feels natural.
Morgan's still sleeping, so I try to sneak out before his niece wakes up. I want to bring some of my art supplies over as well. I get antsy if I don't paint after a day or two.
I tiptoe to the kitchen and pull open the fridge. I grab a bottle of water and yogurt to eat before I leave, but as soon as I shut the door, his niece is standing directly next to it.
"Uh … hi," I stumble. I look like a hot mess of sex hair with last night's makeup still on. Great first impression. "You must be Natalia." I extend a hand, but her eyes stay focused on mine. "I've heard a lot about you."
"I know who you are."
My brows furrow as my arm falls back to my side. "You do?"
"I also know you've been sneaking in every night for the past week. I may be eleven years old, but I'm not stupid."
I swallow, unsure of what to say. "Oh, well, I don't think Morgan was ready to tell you just yet."
Her arms are crossed as she shakes her head in the most dramatic way an eleven-year-old can. "He doesn't get girls at all. Just a heads up."
I press my lips together tightly, trying to hold in the laughter at how serious she sounds. Her spunkiness is adorable. Based on what Morgan's told me, we have a lot in common. She's built up walls to block her feelings and to keep herself at a distance. It's heartbreaking for someone so young to hold in so much grief, especially the loss of a parent-both parents at that.
"Oh, well, thank you for the tip." I wink. "Maybe I can make dinner for all of us tonight. What do you think?"
She shrugs. "Sure. As long as you're a better cook than Uncle Morgan. He's had to change the smoke alarm batteries twice since I've moved in." I crack a smile at the visual of Morgan burning food in the kitchen so much that the batteries have died.
"What's your favorite food?" I ask, hoping to soften her up.
"Hm … I don't know. I've been living on cold pizza and Grandma's leftovers, so … anything." She finally smiles.
"I know." I smile in return. "I'll make famous Chicago-style hot dogs."
Her brow arches. "Hot dogs?"
"Not just any hot dogs," I defend. "All-beef hot dog on a poppy seed bun topped with mustard, relish, chopped onion, tomato slices, pickle spear, sport peppers, and celery salt. It's delicious. It's the custom Chicago dog." I feel nostalgic just thinking about home and how, as a family, we'd always get them from the hot dog stands on the corner.
Her eyes widen, and I fear I've scared her off. But then she blinks and smiles. "Sure, sounds great."
That night, I bring over all the ingredients and make her and Morgan a traditional Chicago-style hot dog meal complete with cheese fries. They both love it and devour it all, leaving no leftovers.
It feels like sharing a meal with the three of us has sealed the deal. The acts of an actual relationship.
"Please tell me we can keep her?" Natalia looks over at Morgan with wide doe-eyes. I laugh, embarrassed, but filled with a sense of pride.
"As long as you supply the groceries, I'm happy to cook," I speak up before Morgan can respond. "Except spinach." Morgan shoots me a knowing glare. "Sorry, honey." He winks.
MORGAN
Everything in my life feels like it's coming together for the first time in years. Natalia and Aspen have really hit it off, and I can't imagine spending each night with anyone else. I lay in bed wide-awake as Aspen sleeps cradled in my arms. She looks absolutely flawless. Her golden hair is wrapped up in a messy bun. She's in a tank top and shorts, so simple, yet so breathtaking. The confidence just radiates off her whether she realizes it or not. She's a beautiful person inside and out, and sometimes I wonder why she'd be interested in a guy like me.
Ryan is always on my mind but tonight more than usual. I can hardly remember the days where we weren't at each other's throats, but growing up together was always an adventure. He was always into athletics, but I didn't get into lifting weights until college. We were so opposite, it's not a surprise we would always butt heads, but as we grew older, we grew closer.
I still feel an ache in my chest at how I left things with him. I know I can't do anything about it now, but I can devote my life to raising Natalia the best I can. I see him in her so much. His bright eyes. His laugh and smile.
I kiss the top of Aspen's head and carefully sneak out of bed without waking her up. I walk to my office where his boxes are stored. I start unstacking them, ripping them open. I stop once I reach the picture albums. I sit against the wall as I hold them in my hand, staring at the cover that's labeled 1980 to 1990 on it.
Slowly, I open it and see his baby pictures right away. He was my parents' firstborn, which means he has an abundance of baby pictures. By the time I was born, he was five years old. I stare at one of our first pictures together. He's holding me on our old couch. He held me in his lap as he smiled for the camera.
A soft smile forms on my lips as I continue flipping through. So many pictures of us growing up, playing and wrestling around in the grass. We took a family vacation every year and even some of those are in here. The one time we drove up to the Grand Canyon and I lost my first tooth along the way. When we first went to Disneyland and took pictures with Mickey and Goofy while we wore those ridiculous Mickey ears on our heads.
I flip another few pages and come across the ones of our first days of school. Mom took a picture of us in front of the same tree every year from my kindergarten year up until his senior year of high school. He'd always wrap his arm around me and stand tall, making sure he looked bigger than I did.
I lift my head as I hear the door creak open. Aspen's silhouette peers through, and I hate that she's going to see me this way.
"Are you all right?" She drops to her knees and touches my face. "What are you doing in here?"
I look down at the photo album and then back up to her. "I couldn't sleep."
"What are these?" she asks, rubbing a finger over the album.
"Family photos. They were Ryan's."
"Can I see?" she asks sweetly, and I can tell she's trying to be sensitive about it.
"Of course." I pat my hand on the floor and she shifts next to me. She loops her arm through my arm and rests her head on my shoulder as I close the album and start over from the beginning.
For the next two hours, we sit there, shifting through albums and pictures. The memories make me sad and happy at the same time. I'm glad I have them but sad we won't have any more to make.
"You were quite the stud growing up," she teases. "You two looked a lot alike." Her face softens.