“As for your question,” I told Patience, “a little over a year.”
Her eyes widened. I went to add more, but Patience’s phone rang in the back pocket of her cutoff jean shorts withthe frayed edges that showcased her toned, tan legs. I couldn’t wait to pull those from her body later that evening.
I shook my head and chuckled as my wife pulled out her cell that was playing the song “Fighter” by Christina Aguilera—Capri was calling. Patience had told me which songs all the ladies had picked for each other, and I don’t know how, but between her telling me, along with hearing them from time to time, I remembered them.
It was amazing how well they fit each of them. The group of women knew each other so well, and they took care of one another.
Patience hit the speaker button, and sure enough, Capri’s voice came through. “Girl, I know you want to spend time with your man, but Ruby said to get your cute butt back here because all the kids want to know where Griffin went, and it’s time for dessert.”
The boy in question started jumping up and down at the sound of his name, and then I could hear the screams of the kids not only coming through the line, but they were so loud, they were heard from clear across the field.
We turned in the direction of Gramps’s place, and a whole load of tiny bodies were bouncing in the air like Griffin as they waved their arms enthusiastically.
“Can I go? Please?” our little guy begged.
If he bounced any more his brains were going to be scrambled.
“I promise that I will go straight there and be careful.”
Looking at Patience for her answer, she nodded just as Capri said, “I’ll watch him the whole way.”
“Go ahead. We’ll be there in a couple of minutes.”
I’d barely finished my last word when Griffin took off like a bat out of hell, yelling as he went. We watched him go as Capri laughed.
“Don’t take long; the vultures want their dessert!” she told us.
Then another voice yelled through the phone. “You’ve got fifteen minutes max. No time for hanky panky.”
Patience giggled. “Got it, fifteen minutes. No time for hanky-panky,” she replied before hanging up to what sounded like a lot of cackling ladies.
Turning to face me, my wife stared at me, and I knew exactly what question swam in her big, beautiful gaze. So, without her asking, I answered her.
“I had a plan, but I was just too fucking scared and stupid to share it with you.” I stepped into her and slowly slid my hands up her arms. “When I asked Gramps about building on the property a long time ago, the old man smiled and told me that he was glad I finally used my brain.”
Her eyes twinkled with humor, but she stayed quiet.
Continuing my motion, I smoothed my hands over her shoulders and then around the back of her neck, pulling her closer.
“I can’t promise I won’t ever be stupid again,” I told her, making her laugh. “But I promise I won’t be too scared to ever tell you how I feel about you from here on out.”
Leaning in, I planted a short, sweet kiss on her mouth.
“Me and you, Roo. It’s always been me and you.”
With dreamy, love-filled eyes, she repeated my words. “Me and you.”
“And our two kids,” I added.
“Two? I was thinking you better have big house plans with a good number of rooms because I want more babies with you.”
Do you think it’s possible to feel everything your wife does while she’s pregnant? Because I have to say I wish I could blame the tears burning in the backs of my eyes on hormones.
“How much time do we have left?” I asked, once again changing the subject quickly before I really did shed some tears.
Patience scrunched up her face in confusion before realizing what I was asking. She glanced down at the phone in her hand and then back to me as she shoved it into her back pocket again while answering, “Nine minutes.”
“Not enough time, but I’ll work with it.” Yanking her so our lips touched, I murmured against her mouth, “Seven minutes to make out and then two minutes to make a run for it.”
