I get home, exhausted from my absurd double shift, to find Connor sitting on the couch and drinking a glass of whisky.

He looks up at me and nods. “Hard day?” he asks.

“Yeah,” I say, tossing my bag on the table and sitting down for what feels like the first time in years.

He slowly gets up and joins me. “Ryan was good tonight,” he says.

“Yeah? How’d he eat?”

“Chicken nuggets and broccoli.”

“His favorite.” I can’t help but smile and shake my head.

“Also so happens it’s the only thing I know how to make.”

“Match made in heaven.” I nod at his glass. “Found my whisky?”

“Yeah,” he says. “Hope you don’t mind. It’s awful.”

I laugh and stretch my legs. “Can’t remember when I got that bottle, which means it’s pretty old.”

“Good whisky never goes bad, it just gets more complex.” He sips it and makes a face. “Okay, maybe I was wrong.”

“Would you mind getting me some wine?”

“Sure,” he says, getting up. “You hungry?”

“Why, thinking about heating up some nuggets?”

“I’ll make you the best nuggets you’ve ever had,” he says. “Better believe it.”

I laugh a little and watch as he pours me a drink. It feels oddly comfortable, like it’s totally normal to have him waiting for me on the couch after a long day at work. I can’t pretend like I don’t like it.

“Okay, fine,” I say. “I’m taking you up on that.”

“Good call.” He puts a glass of wine down in front of me and busies himself turning on the oven and setting out the nuggets on tinfoil.

“Anything else happen tonight?” I ask him.

He glances back at me. “Maybe. Why do you ask?”

I raise an eyebrow. “I was just making conversation. What happened?”

He sighs, putting the nuggets in the oven and comes over to sit down. “Don’t freak out.”

“Tell me, Connor,” I say, staring at him.

“Piero stopped by. I told him to fuck off.”

I groan and lean back in my chair. “What did he want?”

“Nothing important,” he says, staring at me. “What the fuck is wrong with those people?”

“You tell me,” I say, shaking my head. “They’re my cousins, but apart from Harper, I barely know them.”

“What’s the deal there?”

I shrug. “My mom is Mario Gallo’s sister, but she wasn’t into the whole mafia thing, so she sort of splintered off from their family when she married my dad. We were raised apart from the Gallos, although I was allowed to play with Harper. I can’t even remember how that happened, though.”

“Your family’s completely separate from the Gallos?”

“Pretty much. My mom and dad moved to Florida a couple years ago after my dad retired. He was a podiatrist for a long time.”

“Huh,” he says, frowning. “Complicated.”

“Family’s always complicated.”

He just grunts in response, glancing back toward the hallway. I follow his gaze and think of Ryan sleeping back there, the poor little boy, caught in the middle of years and years of complicated family shit.

“I didn’t really know anything about all this for a long time,” Connor says after a minute or two of contemplative silence. “I met Harper at a bar, and I thought she was just like every other girl at first.”

“What changed?” I ask.

“We started going out, and we just… fell into each other. I didn’t know she was an addict at first, that didn’t come out for a few months at least, but by then… I was invested.”

“How’d you find out?”

He turns back to look at me and sighs. “Came home one day to find her passed out in the bathroom, her gear set up around her. She was alive but fucking barely.”

“Jesus,” I say softly.

“That was the first time I got her into rehab. After that, it just got worse and worse and worse, until she got pregnant. By that time though, I was just around to keep her alive more than anything else.”

“What happened when she got pregnant?” I ask, afraid of the answer.

“She got clean, believe it or not,” he says. “I watched her like a hawk, but I think there was something about having a baby inside of her that kept her sane, at least for nine months.”

“She went back as soon as she had the baby?” I ask.

He nods. “That’s when she went on her bender and stole Ryan away. And you know the rest, clearly.”

We lapse into silence again for a moment. “I wonder what she did with that boy,” I say softly.

“I don’t,” he answers, and his voice is strained. “I never want to know what she put him through if I can help it. All I want now is to make sure he never goes through anything like it again, and if he needs help, we get him help.”

I nod at that, completely agreeing. It’s just so impossible to imagine a junky like Harper raising a boy for as long as she did, but it explains a lot about him. I can’t even begin to suspect and guess at all the little traumas and problems lurking inside of him, and frankly, I think I agree with Connor. I don’t really want to know if I can ever help it.

Connor sighs and finishes his whisky, making another face. “God, that’s so bad,” he says, and we both laugh, breaking the tension. “Ready for your nuggets?”

“Absolutely,” I say. “I’m starving.”

He gets up and asks me about work as he pours himself another drink. I give him the short version, which turns into the long version as he carefully asks questions. I’m surprised at how well he listens and seems to really. Care about what I was doing.

My nuggets finish not long later and he pulls them out. They’re barely cooked, but he covers them in salt and pepper, and I’m honestly too hungry to care at this point. I eat them like I’ve never eaten anything before, and he grins at me when I’m done.

“Best ever?” he asks.

“Maybe, but only because I was starving.”

“Please. You’re lucky to have me around.”

“Yeah, maybe,” I say, unable to stop myself from smiling.

“Isn’t this what every girl wants? A big, handsome man waiting for her at home with chicken nuggets?”

“It is very romantic,” I agree with him, grinning.

“That’s me, very romantic.” He gets up and pours himself another drink.

I feel like a zombie but being around him is so exciting. Just watching him move makes me feel something, and even when we’re having a normal conversation, it feels like he’s constantly flirting with me. I keep thinking about what it would feel like to kiss him, and I suddenly want it to happen more than I’ve ever wanted something before.

I’m probably just exhausted and losing my mind, though. He comes back to the table and sits down, watching me for a second.

“When’s the last time you did something for yourself?” he asks me suddenly.

I raise an eyebrow. “What?”

“You know, went to the mall or got your nails done or whatever you like to do.”

I laugh a little. “I have a toddler, I don’t do anything for myself.”

He nods. “Thought so. Listen, you should let me babysit more often.” He holds up his hands before I can object. “You know I’m the father, and clearly I can handle him just fine. I’m not saying you should let me watch him all the time, but I think you should give yourself a little break at some point.”

I take a breath and let it out. My initial reaction was irrational anger, like he’s trying to steal Ryan way from me, but I know he isn’t. He’s been totally up front and clear about what he wants. We’re taking it slowly, and I really appreciate that. He could probably get custody if he really wanted to, with or without my permission, but he’s not. We’re working together.

And he’s right. I’ve been dreaming about just getting an hour to myself, without Ryan in the other room sleeping or something like that. I used to be my own person, and then suddenly I wasn’t anymore, and the transition has been hard.

It’s amazing that he can see that. I guess she understands better than I could have guessed, considering he went through this when Ryan was first born. And back then, I bet it was even harder, not to mention he wasn’t equipped with the correct biology to breastfeed the poor baby. I bet it was hard for him, making bottles and washing spit-up covered jeans all the time. Two months of being a single dad sounds really, really hard.

It’s amazing he wants Ryan back at all, but he clearly does. That says a lot about the kind of man he is.

“Maybe I’ll take you up on that,” I say finally. “The transition hasn’t been easy.”

He nods. “I understand. Trust me.”

I sigh a little. “I don’t get why you’re being nice to me.”

“Don’t you?” He cocks his head, a little smile on his lips. “Or are you trying to pretend like you don’t?”

I shudder a little bit and look away. He laughs, and his laughter drives me absolutely wild.

“It’s getting late,” I say. “I should probably get some sleep before tomorrow.”

“Yeah, probably.”

I hesitate a second. He finishes his drink and stands up.

I follow him back to the front door. “If you want to stop by for dinner tomorrow, that’d be nice,” I say to him.

“Promise it won’t be chicken nuggets and broccoli?”

I smile a little. “Can’t promise that.”

We get to the door and he turns to me. We’re inches apart and his eyes are burning into mine.

“I’m nice to you because you care about my son,” he says softly. “But also because I want you.”

I blink, taken completely off guard. He steps closer, puts one arms behind my lower back, and slides presses his lips against mine.

I kiss him, slow and passionately. I love his taste, love the feeling of his hands on my body, and all I want to do is to drag him back into my bedroom and let him have me however he wants. The kiss doesn’t last long though, because I come back to my senses and end it, stepping away.

The smirk on his face drives me wild again, but I just ignore it. “You should go,” I say.

“See you tomorrow, Leah.”

“Yeah,” I say, and watch as he disappears.

I don’t know what to think about what just happened. It’s something I’ve been wanting, but it really complicated this already absurdly complicated situation. Maybe I should tell him not to come tomorrow… but the thought of that makes me angry at myself.

Why can’t I have something that makes me happy? Maybe it’s a little difficult, or complicated, or whatever, but so what? I deserve a little happiness, and if I can find it with him, then I should embrace it.

Or maybe it’s just that I’m standing in my living room, dripping wet and wishing he’d come back to finish what he started.

Either way, I want to see where this goes. It’s crazy, but I want it. I don’t think I have long to wait.