Probably need to get him some good rubber boots to protect his legs from their suspicion.
But since he clearly has this, I take advantage of having time to myself for a leisurely shower. It’s been a while since I haven’t had to rush, knowing Bash was waiting for me, or—more recently—roaming the house since he can now climb out of his crib.
After I’ve stood under the hot water so long that all of my skin is pink, I dry off, pull on lounge pants and a tank top, and head downstairs to check out the breakfast situation. Kitchen’s clean, but I spot evidence of a banana missing.
Yolko Ono is pecking at a chunk of it under the chair Bash usually stands on in the kitchen when he wants to help with something.
I peek outside again and verify the boys are still doing okay without me, which they are.
It’s Sunday. None of us have to go anywhere today.
There’s time to do something else I haven’t done in even longer than it’s been since I’ve taken a leisurely morning shower.
It takes me about fifteen minutes to prep everything and get it in the oven. Once it’s baking, I slip out the back door to say good morning to my guys.
My guys.
They spot me at the same time. Jonas smiles, sweeping a glance over my body that makes every inch of my skin blush.
Bash is oblivious to the look I’m sharing with the man he still doesn’t know is his father. “Mama! Mama! Dick-dick no wike Dona!”
“We’re working on making friends,” Jonas says. One of the chickens pecks him in the shin.
He doesn’t react at all, which I take as a good sign that it was an affectionate peck and not anI’m going to murder youpeck.
Or at least that Jonas sees it that way.
“They’re friends worth making,” I tell Jonas. “Especially when they all let you cuddle them.”
“Do they like to have their pictures taken too?”
“Dodo Ono no wike pikkers,” Bash says.
I take a seat on the porch swing near the coop and watch as Bash chases more chickens and occasionally runs to the coop to check the boxes for eggs. Jonas has refilled the chickens’ water in addition to feeding them, so he seems to be hanging out for the mere fun of it.
“Sleep okay?” His eyes twinkle like they’re made of stars, which fits.
Even if he wasn’tJonas Rutherford, movie star, he’d still have that air.
“I did.” I couldn’t hold back smiling at him if my life depended on it. “You?”
“Better than I have in weeks.”
“Good.”
We have a lot to work out still. I know living here, in my little house, won’t work long-term. Security considerations and all that. And I need to get started immediately on talking to everyone Jonas has promised can help me navigate a world where people outside of my community will know who Bash and I are.
But we have today. And soon, I’m pulling my cheat cinnamon roll bites out of the oven and bringing them outside for a peaceful breakfast on a quilt with my family, complete with Yolko Ono hopping around the yard looking for bugs.
My family.
I love the way those words feel.
Almost as much as I love the way Bash stares at me with open suspicion when I hand him a plate with three small, fluffy cinnamon pastries. “What dat?”
“This is a kind of a cinnamon roll. Like Aunt Sabrina serves at her café.”
“It no wook wike cimmanin woll.”
