I’m officially caught up.
So I set off in search of the boys. I saw them walk around the house earlier toward the barn.
As I approach the barn, I can hear music playing and my son giggling.
“Twenty-nine! Thirty! Thirty-one!” Sam is counting loudly, almost gleefully. I step inside and stop short when I see Rhys executing perfect push-ups with my son sitting on his shoulders, smiling as if he were on a ride at Disney. “Hi, Mom! Mr. Rhys needed more weight!”
“I see.”
“Oh good, you’re here.” Rhys stops and smiles up at me. “Hey, Sam, hop off. I need more weight than you. Let’s give your mom a turn.”
“It’s really fun, Mom.” He climbs off and waits expectedly for me to climb on.
“You’re serious.”
“Yep.” Rhys grins. “Climb on.”
I raise a brow, my mind immediately taking a dive into the gutter, and Rhys’s smile widens, clearly reading my thoughts.
“You want me to sit on your shoulders?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I need more weight.”
I look between both of these handsome men, then shrug and sit Indian-style on Rhys’s shoulders. He pushes up, surprising me, making me yelp.
“How’s your balance?” he asks, as if he’s not lifting a whole separate person as he does push-ups.
“Off,” I reply with a giggle and hold my hand out for Sam, who immediately takes it and walks around to stand at Rhys’s head. “That’s better. My boy saved me.”
Sam smiles widely, missing half of his teeth. I decide to make this a game. Each time Rhys pushes up, I kiss Sam’s cheek, making him giggle.
“How many kisses can I give Sam, Rhys?”
“How many do you want to give him?”
Smack.
“Lots and lots.” I kiss Sam’s other cheek, making him giggle. He doesn’t often let me kiss him anymore, but this is a fun game.
I’m going to take advantage of it.
“How many is that?” Rhys asks as I kiss Sam loudly.
“Ten!” Sam exclaims.
“Oh, we can do better than that,” Rhys says. After twenty-five kisses, Rhys collapses, finally breathing heavily.
“Are we done?” I ask.
“For now.”
I climb off and Rhys stands, but before I can turn and walk out, he takes my hand and leads me to a bench, making me straddle it on one end.
“Sam, I have a question,” Rhys begins, holding my gaze in his.
“Okay,” Sam says.
“Would you mind if I kissed your mom?”
I feel my eyes grow wide and I start to shake my head, but Sam makes a gagging noise.
“Why?”
“Because,” Rhys replies with a chuckle, “I think she’s pretty, and I want to play another exercise game.”
“Oh.” Sam seems to think it over, and then shrugs. “Okay. If you want to.”
“Gee, thanks.” My tone is dry, but I’m smiling at both of them. Rhys straddles the bench, facing me. God, he’s beautiful. He’s only wearing a black tank and shorts. He’s sweaty. A little dirty.
And I want to strip him bare and climb him.
Instead, I wait for him to give me instructions.
“I’m going to do sit-ups,” he says and gently glides his knuckles down my cheek, making me soften and go all gooey inside.
Sweet baseball player.
“Every time I come up, I get a kiss.”
“How many sit-ups do you plan to do?” Sam asks curiously.
“About a hundred.”
“Ew. I’m gonna go throw my ball at the tree.” He runs out, clearly disgusted at the thought of Rhys kissing me one hundred times.
I’m not disgusted by it in the least.
But instead of lying back to begin, he leans forward and touches his lips to mine. “You look happy.”
“I am happy. Sam’s home. I know he can be a lot of work, but he’s the best part of my life, and I missed him.”
“I missed him too,” he admits softly. “And I don’t think he’s a lot to handle. I think he’s a kid who has a lot of energy and he’s intelligent, so he has a lot to say. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
“Yeah, he gets the talking a lot from me.”
“He has so much of you in him. He’s amazing.”
I blink at him, stunned. I know that Sam is lovable. I’m proud to be raising such a great kid. But to hear Rhys say such kind things about my son touches me in a whole new way.
Because Sam is my world. If someone wants to be with me, I’m a package deal.
“I’m glad you like him. He likes you, very much.”
Rhys kisses me again, then lies back on the bench, ready to get down to business. “Okay, enough slacking.”
He begins to easily execute the sit-ups, kissing me with each one.
“This is the best workout I’ve ever participated in,” I tell him as I watch his body flex. Good God, he makes me crazy. I even like the stubble on his face. “I’m getting all kinds of affection today.”
“Why do I get the feeling,” he says, but pauses to kiss me, “that you don’t get nearly enough affection in your life?”
Because I don’t.
“I’m not complaining,” I reply.
“I didn’t say you were.” Kiss. “But you should—” Kiss.“—get kisses all the time.”
“My seven-year-old isn’t very hip on kisses these days.” He sits up, kiss me, and rests, panting just a bit. “How do you exercise so hard, and you’re barely out of breath?”