12
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Lina
Five Years Later
I wiped down the coffee shop counter for what felt like the hundredth time that morning, stealing glances at the corner where my four-year-olds had set up camp with their coloring books. Rowan was meticulously filling in a dinosaur, tongue poking out in concentration, while Thea had apparently decided her unicorn needed to be every color at once. Possibly some colors that didn’t exist in nature.
“Mama, look!” Thea held up her masterpiece, rainbow streaks going well outside the lines. “It’s a special unicorn!”
“Very special, baby,” I agreed, unable to hide my smile. Everything Thea did was special, according to Thea. Yesterday her sandwich was special. This morning her socks were special. I was waiting for her to declare her bowel movements special.
The morning rush had finally died down, leaving just the regulars scattered throughout the shop. Mr. Garrett was in his usual spot with what was definitely not the financial newspaper but another paranormal romance. Mrs. Patterson hummed while working on her knitting. Normal Tuesday morning stuff.
Well, mostly normal.
“More green,” Rowan muttered, digging through the crayon box. He pulled out three different shades, holding each to his nose and inhaling deeply before selecting one. Because apparently my son was a crayon sommelier now.
The bell chimed and Jake Morrison walked in, construction boots leaving dusty prints I’d have to mop later. Again. The man was like a dirt fairy, spreading construction dust wherever he went. He navigated between tables, accidentally bumping the back of Thea’s chair as he passed.
The growl that came from Rowan’s throat made every hair on my neck stand up.
It wasn’t a playful sound. Not the kind of noise a four-year-old should be able to make. It rumbled deep and threatening, pure animal instinct that made Jake freeze mid-step.
“Sorry about that,” I said quickly, moving around the counter. “Rowan, we use our words when we’re upset, not our... animal sounds.”
My son looked up at me with those gray eyes that never failed to make my chest tight. Mostly because they reminded me of someone I refused to think about. “He hit Thea.”
“He bumped her chair by accident. There’s a difference.”
Jake forced a laugh that sounded about as natural as my kid’s growl. “No problem. Kids, right?” He placed his order quickly and chose a seat on the opposite side of the shop. Probably updating his Yelp review to mention the feral children.
“You scared him,” Thea informed her brother, going back to her coloring. “Mama says no growling.”
“He shouldn’t touch you,” Rowan insisted, but picked up his crayon again.
I caught Mika’s concerned glance from behind the register. She’d been here through it all - the morning I’d thrown up in the back room and she’d guessed before I’d even taken a test.“Either you’re pregnant or the expired milk got you. My money’s on knocked up.”The shock of twins.“Of course you’re having two. You never do anything halfway.”The rebuilding after the beast attack that had nearly destroyed everything.
Some anonymous benefactor had paid for all the repairs, leaving a cashier’s check with a lawyer who wouldn’t reveal their client. I’d spent weeks paranoid it was drug money or some weird mob thing, but the check cleared and the shop came back better than ever. Pine Valley had embraced my little family with the aggressive enthusiasm of a small town with nothing better to gossip about. Sarah had been incredible, stepping into the grandmother role with ease. She watched the twins when I worked late, taught them to bake cookies, and never once asked about their father. God bless her.
But lately, the twins’ odd behaviors were becoming harder to explain away with “kids are weird” and “must be a growth spurt.”
“Mama!” Thea’s voice pulled me from my thoughts. She’d dropped her favorite purple crayon and it had rolled under the heavy oak table in the corner. “Mama, help!”
But she was already gripping the table’s edge, little face scrunched with effort. The table that took two grown men and a lot of creative swearing to move during our last deep clean shifted an inch.
“Whoa there, tiny Hulk,” I swooped in, grabbing her hands before anyone could notice. “Let me get that for you.”
I retrieved the crayon, trying to keep my hands from shaking. Four years old. She was four years old and trying to move furniture that I could barely budge. What was next, bench pressing the espresso machine?
“You know what? Let’s practice using our gentle hands,” I said, settling them both with fresh coloring books. “And Rowan? You have such a good imagination when you pick colors with your eyes instead of your nose.”
“But they smell different,” he protested.
“I bet they do! You have a super nose. But let’s save the smelling for flowers and cookies, not art supplies that have been in a dozen grubby hands.”
“You’re weird,” Thea shot back loyally.
