“You’re putting too much pepper in the eggs. You want her to gasp with delight, not choke to death.”

I chuckle. “Look, kiddo, I’ve been cooking since I was twelve years old—much younger than you are now.”

“Yeah, but I’m the Omelet Queen. Remember that.”

Cee and I are making breakfast for Shayla, who is still fast asleep in the master bedroom. This morning, Cee and I are culinary partners in crime, at ease in the kitchen, equally sharing the task of making breakfast. The tough kid actually cried when she saw me “alive and not burned up with the plane’s scrap metal,” as she so eloquently said.

I add a generous splash of olive oil to a heated skillet before pouring in the mixture of cage-free eggs, chopped bell peppers, ham, bacon, fresh herbs and green onions. We both watch the colorful concoction bubble to life.

Cee adjusts the fire on the gas stove. “You want medium high heat, but keep an eye on the edges. When they start to brown, you’ve hit the sweet spot. I’ll get started on the toast.”

I’m amazed at how proficient she is in the kitchen. Most teenagers have to be on the brink of starvation before they’ll volunteer to boil water.

“How’d you learn to do this?” I ask as I grab a nearby spatula. “Did your mom teach you?”

Her unladylike snort doesn’t surprise me anymore. It’s become her trademark reaction whenever she disapproves of something. “Mama wasn’t hungry for anything but drugs. Even when she came down from her high, she was always looking to get back. I never understood what she saw in that stuff. I finally figured out if I wanted to eat something besides cold cereal, I had to learn to cook my own meals. Omelets and tuna sandwiches are easy.”

I try not to think about this poor girl with Tony the Tiger as her only companion. Instead, I attempt to lift her heavy mood. “Ugh. Omelets and tuna? Not served together, I hope!”

The smile that cracks across her face is my reward. “No way!”

“Speaking of cooking, did you hear about the famous Italian chef who died?”

“No. What happened to him?”

“He pasta way.”

She rolls her eyes. “That was so lame.”

“The good thing is his legacy will become a pizza history.”

“Seriously, you’re killing me.”

We laugh together. “Shayla told me that I have no sense of humor. I’m working on being funny.”

“Keep working. In the meantime, maybe you’d better stick to football and cooking.”

“Fine,” I playfully grumble.

She slathers butter on the toast, which I place, along with the omelet, on a plate. I add everything to the tray Cee found in one of the cabinets. A glass of orange juice and a vase holding a vibrant, red poppy from one of the flowerboxes out front completes the arrangement.

Breakfast in bed for my wife.

“Wish me luck.”

Cee flashes me the thumbs-up sign. “You don’t need luck. You’ve got the Colt Emerson Effect.”

When I arrive at the master bedroom, Shayla is awake. She’s sitting in bed in her nightgown, staring at the view of nature through the oversized windows. Her frizzy curls sprout haphazardly over her head, but she’s never looked more beautiful to me. She eyes me suspiciously when I close the door and approach.

“Hmm, what is this? A man who comes bearing gifts? My daddy told me to watch out for guys like you.”

“Did he also tell you to avoid trays of breakfast filled with mouth-watering goodness from a man who loves you?”

Her impish smile conjures up memories of our playfulness last night in bed. “You don’t have to try to impress me, Colt. I already said yes to your proposal.”

I grin. “If it’s all right with you, I’m going to spend the rest of my life trying to impress you.”

“Truthfully, you had me at breakfast.”

It feels good to laugh again, just like old times—before I screwed up and didn’t appreciate what I had.

“I hope you like it.”

“You made me an omelet!”

“I confess, Cee supervised.”

“She’s an amazing kid.”

“I know.”

I place the tray on Shayla’s lap and then climb into bed and sit beside her. She surprises me with a lingering kiss on the lips. No tongue. I want to ravish her, but I remember my soon-to-be-adopted-daughter is waiting for me in the kitchen.

“I promised Cee I’d eat with her, but I’ll be back. In the meantime, I wanted to get your thoughts on something. “The Vipers want to buy out my contract with the Rogues. Vince Harvoni offered me the Head Offensive Coach position.”

“Colt, that’s great news!”

“You think I should accept?”

“Of course. Well, only if you want to. You have to do what’s best for you.” She sips her orange juice. “What does this mean for your football career?”

I fold my arms across my chest. “It’s finished. At least I can go out on a high. No injuries. No more scandals.”

“Your agent will be so bored. No more babysitting a grown man.”

“She’s got a few other headaches to deal with. Young players who’ll ensure she has to take a lifetime supply of Extra Strength Tylenol.” Shayla’s burst of laughter tells me that I am funny! “Plus, I’m getting older. Football is a young man’s game.”

“Oh, stop it. You’re only thirty-two.”

“Yeah, but those rookies are faster and healthier than me on any given day.”

“Humph! You could have fooled me. Your performance last night could rival that of any rookie.”

Damn! Shayla giving compliments? I must be doing something right.

I pause, hoping I didn’t read the signals wrong last night. We’d had one hell of a lovemaking marathon, but does she still feel the same about me today? “What would you think about moving to Atlanta with me and Cee?” I rush on, before she can possibly let the wind out of my sails. “I think you know how much I love you, Shayla. And so does Cee. All of this doesn’t mean anything without you. We’re a family.”

I don’t know if it’s the dapples of sunlight from the window dancing on her face. Or her trembling bottom lip. Or the nearness of her warm flesh next to mine. Our gazes lock, and I’m driven by an impulse so intense, I can’t stop myself. I tip her chin upwards and capture her mouth. This time, I want to sample everything she has to offer. As if melted by some magical spell, her moist lips part, allowing me full access to sweep inside her mouth. Our kiss is all-consuming, making every hair follicle on my body stand on end. It’s more than physical. It’s a homecoming. I’m back where I belong. All the love and desire I feel for this woman increases exponentially.

Her skin feels like satin beneath my fingers as I caress her face and neck. She feels so right in my arms. So natural. As though she belongs to me. She’s the sexiest, most incredible female I’ve ever known. I can’t believe she’s here with me. After all these years, she’s my woman again. My wife. She’s mine. All mine.

She pushes against my chest, freeing herself from my kiss.

“What’s wrong,” I ask, fearing the worst. Maybe I’ve pushed her too far.

“Colt, I…”

“You don’t need to say anything. We can take it one day at a time.”

“It’s not that.”

“Then what?”

“I’ve been…such a bitch.”

I shake my head. “No. Any reaction you gave me was one I had coming for a long time, Shayla. I won’t let you take the blame.”

“Maybe we’re equally at fault. But we’re on the same page now. And no matter what our differences, our first responsibility is to Cee.”

“I agree. But we have a responsibility to each other, too. If we’re fake, she’ll see right through us.”

“I’m afraid she already did.” I listen as Shayla tells me about her argument with Cee and how the feisty girl almost drowned. Shayla’s eyes glisten with tears. “I feel so bad. She could have died because of me.”

I brush away a renegade tear that manages to escape down one of her cheeks. “Cee already told me how you saved her life, Shayla. She thinks you’re the best mom a kid can have—and so do I.”

“Thank you, Colt. That means so much me.”

“C’mon.” I stand. “Let’s go.”

“Go where? I haven’t eaten my breakfast.” She digs into her omelet.

“I thought I could teach Cee to drive today. Why don’t you come along?”

“Me?” She talks with her mouth full. “In a car with a teenager behind the wheel? Uh-uh, I’m not ready to have my heart leap out of my chest.”

“Remember how it was when you were first learning to drive?”

“Yes! That’s what I’m afraid of.”

“Look at it this way. This’ll give us a chance to test the airbags on the rental car.”

She squeals with something between shock and laughter. “That did not convince me!”

“If anything happens to me, you’ll be my rich widow.”

“Oh, no, you didn’t go there.” She throws a pillow at me. A knock on the door interrupts our playful teasing.

Cee pokes her head through the door. “Sorry to interrupt, guys. Someone is coming up the drive.

The three of us scramble to the bay window at the front of the house. My stomach drops at the sight of a familiar red sports car following a Lincoln Town Car. My worst fears are confirmed when three people exit the Town Car. A mature woman with stylish gray hair holds the arm of a striking older man.

“Who is that?” Cee asked.

“Kid, get ready. We’re about to have your first family reunion.”